《The Souls of the Damned》


 Chapter 1

    The crowd fell silent as the two horsemen faced each other, each on one side of the balustrade. Both held long decorated lances pointing up at the blue and clear sky, both were armoured in plate and mail that shone in the sun. One was clad in emerald and white and the other in raven-black and gold.


    A herald blew in a horn and the two horsemen sat out, charging at each other. The man in black and gold held his shield tight and sunk his lance. The two collided and their lances were broken against the shields, but no rider was thrown off his horse. They rode about and prepared to face each other again in the second round. They were given new lances which they weighed carefully in their hands.


    The horn blew again, and they once again charged, except that the rider in black and gold leaned slightly aside a moment before the clash. A risky strategy, since if the opponent still managed to hit cleanly, he would be caught off-balance and thrown off his horse while his lance would miss.


    The black horseman felt the opposing rider¡¯s lance slide off his shield, though the glancing blow still shook his arm to the shoulder. He nevertheless succeeded in driving his lance forward, getting a straight hit and sending the azure rider crashing down from his horse.


    He slowed down and came to a halt, staring back with concern. Gallivan, the knight in emerald and white, hadn¡¯t risen from his fall yet. A few people assembled around him.


    Suddenly trumpets and drums sounded all over the place, celebrating the glorious victory. He turned to the tribunes and brandished his lance high over his head, causing the crowds to erupt into cheers. The commoners cheered from all sides, while many noblemen clapped enthusiastically. The king, however, seemed indifferent. Arthan couldn¡¯t help but feel mildly irritated, though he had expected such behaviour from him. They all had. King Arkansas only attended such ¡°boring games¡± because it was expected of him.


    It was of no matter. The important lords and ladies were all present, and his reputation was now solid. His name would be written down in history now. He couldn¡¯t keep an ecstatic smile from showing on his face. Then he remembered that he was still wearing the helm, so there was no need to restrain himself.


    His loyal squire, Canil, held his horses¡¯ reins while he dismounted. He took the helm off, shaking his hair and enjoying the cool breeze on his skin covered in sweat. The helm was suffocating but necessary. A noble lady descended from the tribunes, one whose face he didn¡¯t recognize. She handed him a golden clasp encrusted with rubies, an extremely valuable ornament. He accepted it with a gracious bow and a polite kiss to her hand. The lady was no beauty, and he felt no desire to get to know her, though her broad smile suggested her interest.


    He left the field as soon as he could without being rude, with Canil following right behind along with his horse.


    ¡°You did well today, sir.¡± His squire said eagerly.


    ¡°The day is not over yet.¡± He replied with an excited smile. Canil seemed confused but did not question him.


    While the young boy took care of his horse, he entered his spacious tent. To his surprise, his sister had preceded him.


    ¡°Stella. Shouldn''t you be with the ladies?¡± He commented, though agreeably surprised.


    The young woman smiled. ¡°I couldn¡¯t wait to congratulate you on your victory.¡± She said, jumping into his arms. His hulking armour of plate made the hug a bit awkward, but they were used to it.


    She took a step away, and he couldn¡¯t help but admire the young woman she had become. Her hair was long and golden, falling on her bare shoulders in soft waves. Gallivan had shared that he thought her to be a female version of him. There was a resemblance in the hair maybe, but his face had stronger angles while hers was softer and triangular. She wore an emerald-green dress which underlined her thin figure, too thin he sometimes thought. She seemed so fragile. Her eyes were two bright emeralds, shining with joy and optimism.


    ¡°It is yet too early to celebrate, my sister. This afternoon, I shall win the melee too.¡± He said with a confident smile.


    She frowned. ¡°Brother, should you not rest? You must be tired, and you are already champion of the jousting tournament!¡±


    ¡°I can rest later. Stella, only one knight in memory has ever won both tournaments in one day. If I win, then my name will join his amongst the legends!¡± He said passionately. SHe didn''t seem to share his enthusiasm though, instead, a look of concern showed on her face.


    ¡°Arthan¡­ They told me of men who took injuries to their heads. They didn¡¯t die, but they were never the same. If that happened to you, I¡­¡±


    He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. ¡°That will not happen. We¡¯re richer than ever, Stella. All the knights I have defeated today, their armours and horses are my prizes, along with the priceless award for the champion. If I win the m¨ºl¨¦e, we could buy real land. Imagine a castle near the western sea, as you have always dreamed of. It is within my reach!¡±


    She shook her head, pulling away. ¡°If you¡¯re doing this for me, then I ask you to stop. I do not want this if it puts you in such danger. The king¡¯s salary to you should be enough to live comfortably already. I need nothing more.¡± She said, almost in a begging tone. He was taken aback, surprised by her sudden discouragement. She had usually been supportive in the past.


    ¡°Have you no faith in me? Gallivan was injured earlier in our joust. He did not rise; either the fall was brutal or my lance got through to him. Lavance, the former champion, is away and so is Hector. Three of the best knights are out of the tournament, an occasion like this will not arise again.¡±


    She nodded with resignation, seeing that she could not sway him. ¡°I hope that you will not be too weary to attend this evening.¡±


    ¡°Of course not, even a hundred bruises to the head would not keep me from seeing you perform.¡± He said with a smile, patting her head teasingly. Another privilege of the champion, to attend a ball thrown by the king himself. It was ordinarily reserved for only the most important of nobles. ¡°Now go to your friends. They must be lamenting your absence.¡±


    She giggled and tried futilely to straighten her hair again. ¡°I wish.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to meeting them. They treat you well, I hope?¡±


    ¡°I shall present you to them this evening. I must admit that they are eager to see you.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± He let out with a raised brow. ¡°Why so?¡±


    She blushed. ¡°I might have been¡­ talking a bit about your many exploits.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He said softly as he turned her around and pushed her out of the tent. ¡°Off you go.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure about how he felt towards her not so subtle attempts at setting him up with some ladies from the court. She was adorable, but her judgement of character had never been the best.


    ¡°Good luck!¡± She shouted as she left. And she couldn¡¯t help but glance back with concern, though she tried to hide it behind a smile. He sighed. He could not resent her for her worry.


    ¡°Canil!¡± He shouted while beginning to pull his armour off. The break would last at least three hours, while the nobles stuffed their bellies with food and the last-minute preparations were made. He needed to breathe a little out of this encumbering armour. It was always a hassle to get it off, especially when his page wouldn¡¯t show. He promised himself to give the boy a good disciplining later.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Once free, he stretched out and sat down with a grateful sigh. Canil soon came back with a mug of mead and his earlier resentment disappeared like snow in the sun.


    A while after, there was another visitor who entered the tent. With auburn hair and brown eyes that showed earnestness, the man was wide and strong, though his left arm was hanging in a newly made sling.


    Arthan stood up, welcoming him. ¡°Gallivan, you¡¯re quickly up! I assume the injury was not too grave?¡±


    Gallivan shrugged and the movement caused him to wince. ¡°I¡¯ve had worse.¡± They both took seats.


    ¡°So, I suppose you¡¯re here to praise me for my victory?¡± Arthan said with a crooked smile.


    He chuckled. ¡°You strike was perfectly timed, you deserve the title.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Arthan said genuinely, surprised by the admission.


    ¡°Also, my armour was custom made, so I would appreciate it if I could buy them back immediately.¡± He said sheepishly.


    Arthan nodded. ¡°I have no objections, though it will be expensive.¡±


    ¡°I did win everything before encountering you. I think I¡¯ll manage.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all settled then,¡± Arthan said.


    ¡°Also, I meant to congratulate you. With this victory, no one can question your place amongst the Silvered Knights.¡±


    Arthan bowed his head respectfully. The Silvered Knights were an order founded by prince Hadrian, the illegitimate son of the old king and the highest commander of the royal armies. Normally that was the role of the king, but he had delegated the role due to his disinterest. Arkansas himself had been adopted by the king in his late years.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ll need to prepare myself for the melee.¡±


    Gallivan laughed. ¡°You¡¯re ambitious, Arthan. I wish you the best of luck.¡±


    Arthan thanked him again and the wounded knight left the tent. Gallivan was an exemplary knight, the third son of his family, and he fought mostly for glory and personal achievements. Money wasn¡¯t much of a problem for him, he could always fall back on his house¡¯s considerable wealth.


    When the time finally came, Arthan reequipped his armour. He chose a mace and a shield as his first weapons while hanging a sword in his belt, safely sheathed in a scabbard. The mace was easy to handle and quick to use, and especially efficient against plated and heavy armour. It was impractical on the defensive, however, and a shield was thus needed. The sword was excellent all around; its thrust could find gaps in the armour while its swing was no joke either. It could also be used to parry or divert attacks of all kind. A good weapon to fall back on.


    The melee was a competition between two teams and Arthan found himself in the red team, facing the blue team. The team colours showed by the cloths wrapped around their arm. Arthan found himself in the centre-right. He was flanked by two knights a bit shorter than himself, one carrying the crest of a serpent and a sword and the other one that of a bull. Scanning the opponents, he saw Tristan, a Silvered Knight, amongst them. Tristan was recognizable by the blue swan on his chest and shield as well as his white tunic passed over his armour.


    Arthan looked to his right and saw the king and his court. He couldn¡¯t find Stella, but he saw Hadrian, sitting at the king¡¯s right. A tall and powerful man with a proud manner, his back was always straight as an arrow and his eyes vigilant. He looked like a true warrior-king of old. Trumpets blew and then the two groups began advancing towards each other, shoulder-to-shoulder. Most wielded maces like Arthan, though a couple had opted for war-hammers or morningstars. They were positioned on the far sides, so they had the space to use their weapons. A direct hit to the head with a Morningstar could be fatal.


    Thus there was little space between the armour-clad men, as they tried to protect their sides. Though it was in their interest to have as few victors as possible in their team, as to face fewer in the next rounds, they still needed to be sure to defeat the other team.


    The two groups hesitantly clashed, no one too eager to get into the fighting this early.


    Arthan played it safe, keeping his opponent at distance with his shield while holding his mace prepared to strike should he find an opening. In the first minutes, it would be the flanks which would be the deciding factor. He felt his opponent grow frustrated, and he succeeded in drawing him into their formation. The knight to his right saw the opportunity and kicked him in the side of the knee. The enemy staggered and his shield sunk. Arthan¡¯s mace immediately smashed into his shoulder, heavily denting the plate. He had aimed for the head, but the man had moved in time. His opponent groaned and lifted his shield to parry the next hit. He was too slow, however; Arthan''s mace connected with his helm in a clean hit and the man was sent to the ground, not to rise again.


    At the same time, their right flank had been swept away, several knights lying still in the dirt with others crawling out with grave injuries. The sound of steel against steel and groans and gasps filled the air, as the knights clashed. The fight had lost its form and order, dissolving into each man fighting for his own life. Arthan had engaged a crimson knight with a black ironclad fist on his chest. He stepped on an abandoned mace and lost his balance, which made him miss the opponent¡¯s sword. It hammered into his wrist, throwing the mace out of his numb hand. He managed to smash his shield into the crimson knight¡¯s elbow to cover his retreat.


    He clutched his hand a few times to test it and then drew his sword. The hand seemed to be doing fine still. The crimson knight came back on the charge, letting a rain of blows fall over Arthan¡¯s shield, slowly chipping away at it. He decided to part with it, throwing it in the knight¡¯s face. He used the split-second of blindness to grab his sword with both hands and swing it into the back of the knight¡¯s knee.


    The crimson knight¡¯s leg collapsed under him and Arthan quickly finished him off, taking care not to wound him fatally. He then took a moment to gauge the situation. Two knights of the other team were still on their feet, facing the man of the bull. Arthan moved in to help him but was too late. The knight of the blue swan defeated him in an impressive feat of swordplay and turned to Arthan, flanked by the other one, whom Arthan didn¡¯t recognize. He was a knight of many colours, of which green seemed to be the most dominant.


    Arthan stood his ground, preparing himself mentally to fight a difficult battle against the two of them. The green knight was equipped with a mace and a shield, While Tristan wielded a sword instead. He would need to use either one of them to shield against the other, to only face one at a time. The key was to keep moving as much as possible. Suddenly he regretted his heavy armour.


    Tristan and the green knight were no fools though, they approached him from two widely different angles. Wherever he moved, they corrected their positions accordingly until he was trapped against the corner.


    At this point, the only option left was to attack. He decided to charge the green knight, whom he figured would be the easiest to defeat. If only he could swiftly deal with him before Tristan came to his aid¡­


    Bolting forward as quickly as his armour allowed him to, taking the green knight by surprise. In a furious onslaught of swings and thrusts, he pushed the man back a series of steps using his superior reach, even landing a couple of hits on the shoulders and arms. He was too slow however, Tristan interrupted their fight with a swing straight to Arthan¡¯s head.


    He tried to pull himself out of Tristan¡¯s reach, but he was once again too slow. The tip of the mace glanced off against his helmet, and he fell to the ground with his head ringing and his sight blurring. Although disoriented, he prepared himself for the finishing blow, but it never came. The green knight had suddenly turned against Tristan, landing a brutal hit on his upper arm. The man probably couldn¡¯t see himself win in a one on one with the knight of the blue swan, so he had made a quick decision. Tristan quickly had retreated away and was now gauging his new opponent. The attack had been heavy, but not decisive. And he had been too early too, Arthan thought, as he felt himself regain his faculties slowly.


    While the two of them duked it out, Arthan dragged himself out of their range, still with his sword in hand. He pulled himself up on his feet and watched as Tristan dispatched the green knight masterfully, throwing him to the ground in another display of excellent skill. There would be no more rounds then.


    Tristan then faced Arthan, pushing his visor up and revealing his fair features.


    ¡°Are you still able to fight, Arthan?¡± He asked in an unperturbed voice. He had many dents in his armours though, and probably just as many bruises. But Arthan had never seen anything faze these cold traits of his.


    ¡°Of course, Tristan,¡± Arthan responded, letting his guard down. The distance between them was large enough, or so he judged.


    ¡°My compliments on your defeat of Gallivan,¡± Tristan said. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid you will not be champion twice on this day.¡±


    ¡°You will do your best, and so will I.¡± Arthan retorted. "Then we shall see who stands victor today."


    Tristan nodded and pulled his visor down again.


    Then there was silence, the calm before the storm, for before long the two knights were clashing in a thunderous battle. There was no interest in holding back now and Arthan threw everything he had against Tristan.


    A blow glanced off Arthan¡¯s armour, giving him a window to attack. He went for Tristan¡¯s throat, his thrust coming dangerously close, but Tristan pushed it away and batted a second attack away in a blow that shook Arthan¡¯s arm up to the shoulder. Arthan was thrown on the defensive again. But as he shook off each attack, he felt his arms getting heavier and his legs refusing to move as fast as before. The fight was dragging out, and they were getting tired.


    And then there was a mistake. The crowd held their breath as the knight lost his balance for a moment, trying to avoid stepping on a treacherous half-broken shield. The other immediately exploited the opening with a well-executed swing to the hand, ripping the sword out it.


    Arthan fell to his knees, clutching his bruised wrist. He inclined his head. ¡°It is your victory, Tristan.¡±

 Chapter 2

    The hall of the feast was immense, able to fit hundreds of people with ease. The Royals had their places at the hall¡¯s end, grandiose seats of stone on an elevated stage so that they could look down on their guests. The hall was filling up already, musicians playing a soft tune while the brouhaha of conversations began to fill the hall.


    Arthan found himself wondering what his place was in all this. He was a mere knight, a champion perhaps, but still a far cry from these wealthy and powerful men and women. He dared say he could with a sword in hand challenge and defeat all present, with the notable exception of Tristan of course. But these men wielded hundreds or even thousands of swords, he was but one of them. And the most powerful of them all, the king, who sat, or rather lied, on his spectacular throne of marble and gold.


    His head was resting on his fist in a relaxed but bored manner. He had a slender build, with long and thin fingers wearing priceless rings. His legs were straightened and crossed. His hair was long and straight and seemed to have been woven of silk, the way it fell on his shoulders and down to where his belt would have been. His face was ageless and fair to the point that there seemed to be no flaws in his figure. The king¡¯s eyes were grey and tranquil but had a glow in them which seemed to Arthan like they were constantly looking for a source of amusement. Arkansas was a far cry from the imposing warrior kings of old.


    A voice from behind pulled him from his observations. ¡°You are alone?¡± Arthan turned his head to the familiar voice, which belonged to none other than Tristan.


    ¡°As you say,¡± Arthan said. Tristan didn¡¯t seem to care though, handing him a sealed paper.


    ¡°From Hadrian.¡± He simply said.


    ¡°You¡¯re courier now?¡± Arthan commented. Normally they had servants to run around handing letters and orders, whatever this was. Tristan ignored him.


    ¡°I have no time for this, you¡¯re going to have to do it for me. Consider it your price for losing to me.¡±


    ¡°I respect you, Tristan, but you have no authority over me.¡± He said carefully.


    ¡°Hadrian has approved of my choice for a replacement,¡± Tristan said. ¡°He needs me elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Then I guess there¡¯s no way around it.¡± He muttered while taking the letter. ¡°What is this task?¡±


    ¡°I suggest you find out.¡± Tristan let out and left promptly, not sparing him another word.


    Arthan raised a brow, following Tristan with his eyes. The knight disappeared from the hall, leaving without much form. He wasn¡¯t much for the life of the court, probably more a warrior than anything else.


    That¡¯s when the hall fell silent, the last murmuring voices disappearing one after another. The king had risen from his throne and stood at the edge of his stage. He had a glass of white wine in his hand.


    ¡°Friends.¡± He said, gesturing to the assembly. His voice was soft but carried itself to all spectators without issues. ¡°I have the pleasure of presenting to you the first play of Celarl Meistrich.¡± Arthan felt a warm gush of excitement in his stomach. It was Stella¡¯s turn now. The Celarl Meistrich was a story of a young Prossian man¡¯s tragedy; how he discovered the grandeur of the Azurian court and grew to love its culture and people. The tragedy itself consisted in him being torn apart by the duty to his homeland Prossland and his love for Azure. The only reason Arthan knew this much, was because Stella had told him secretly.


    He saw his sister step forth in a beautiful scarlet dress, along with another woman who paled in comparison and two men whom he didn¡¯t pay attention to. By their clothing, he determined that the woman was the singer. One man held a lute while the other had a harp, Stella played the flute which was the lead instrument in the play.


    It was beautiful, even to Arthan¡¯s untrained ears and eyes. He felt pride swell his chest up as Stella performed admirably. He glanced around at the spectators and noticed that many were gawking at her, and not necessarily because of her skill. And the king too, he noted with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. A king¡¯s attention could be very rewarding but also dangerous.


    Arkansas had a smile on his lips as his eyes fixated on Stella. They sometimes darted away to the other performers, but they quickly returned to her.


    The play ended, and applause filled the hall. The performers bowed or curtsied and left the stage. As soon as servants had taken care of their instruments, they mingled with the audience to receive praise and hopefully sponsorship, while many connoisseurs came to congratulate them on their performance.


    Arthan contemplated on joining her but soon resigned himself on waiting for later, people were already flocking around her. His protective instincts urged him to go to her side however, to show people that she was not alone and defenceless. She had a champion knight backing her.


    But as such, he was not without his fame, and he was soon accosted by some young highborn men and boys who seemingly admired his steady hand with a lance and deplored his unlucky battle with Tristan. Many nobles were knights only in name, having mainly trained as a sort of hobby and possessing several armours and many weapons and mounts. And although he had little respect for them, he made sure to act like he had, discussing the fights as well as different types of armours and their respective advantages and flaws. These young men came from powerful houses, with the potential to make life very difficult to him should he offend them.


    Suddenly, however, a group of young girls split the noblemen apart, led by Stella.


    ¡°Hello brother,¡± she said with a bright smile, ¡°what did you think?¡±


    He smiled back. ¡°It was breath-taking.¡± She had three girlfriends with her, of which the oldest was maybe a couple of years younger than him.


    Stella¡¯s smile broadened. She gestured to her friends and presented them to him one after another. Two of them were sending each other small looks and giggling behind their hands like small girls, but the last one was more composed and seemed more mature to him. He took her hand and kissed it as was the custom. She had long and curly hair, in a strong fire-red shade. Her eyes were green and watchful. She was tall for a woman, which permitted her to look down on most. An advantage she most assuredly exploited, judged by the way she looked at the two other friends.


    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Geraldine.¡± He said.


    ¡°Likewise.¡± She responded with a faint smirk, which he couldn¡¯t quite decipher.


    Stella began to explain the small details she thought they had missed about the play, about her mistakes so minuscule that none had even noticed. Geraldine herself interceded a couple of times, clarifying Stella¡¯s otherwise unorganized account with a welcomed precision.


    Arthan nodded and smiled, though he had a question that he yearned to ask. He had noticed earlier how Arkansas had introduced her performance, but even more so how the king¡¯s eyes had been captivated by his sister. The moment never came, however, as a couple of famous troubadours came over and began to praise Stella, the first two in a long line.


    Arthan sighed mentally and sat at an empty table with a glass of wine. He took out the letter he had received from Tristan and opened it.


    It was an order from Hadrian, detailing how he was ordered to go arrest a witch that had been bothering a couple of villages a few days away. Another silvered knight would go with him, Parceval. He was a knight renowned for his lack of fear, as much in combat as in his way of living.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Just as he had finished the letter, which also contained a series of instructions as to where and how to do the task, he saw Geraldine approach from the corner of his eye. The lady took the chair next to him.


    ¡°Strange, to see you reading a letter at such an occasion.¡± She said, eyeing it curiously. ¡°It must be important.¡±


    He hesitated but saw no harm in telling her. ¡°It is from Prince Hadrian. I am apparently required to hunt a witch.¡±


    ¡°A witch-hunt? There hasn¡¯t been one for almost a year. I thought you were done with it.¡± The kingdom had a long history of hunting witches and sorcerers. The hate of both commoners and nobility ran deep, not to mention the clergy. All in all, they were considered something of a plague to society for most, an evil that had to be removed from the world.


    He shrugged and gestured to the letter. ¡°Well, apparently not.¡±


    She smiled amusingly. He wasn¡¯t sure why, and it bothered him. ¡°How is your relationship with your sister? You seem very close.¡± She asked.


    ¡°Since our father¡¯s death, she¡¯s my only family. Do you have siblings?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I do have a child with my deceased husband though.¡±


    ¡°Husband? You seem so young.¡± He let out without thinking. ¡°Pardon me, that was insensitive.¡±


    ¡°I married early. Do you have a¡­ romantic interest?¡± She tilted her head. ¡°I know that you are not married, nor even betrothed. I would have heard of it.¡±


    He slowly shook his head, seeing where this was going. ¡°I suppose I am still open to suggestions.¡± He said, his lips curving up slightly.


    She smiled again. ¡°I need fresh air. Would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens?¡±


    ¡°With pleasure, my Lady.¡± He stood up and presented his elbow, which she took graciously. They crossed the hall and left it for the garden.


    The Royal Gardens were a project initiated by Arkansas in the first years of his reign. It had been an enormous courtyard, used for the mustering and training of soldiers. Those barracks had now been moved to the outskirts of the city, right next to the city walls. It had been a move to add to the prestige of his court, but at the same time, the moving of the barracks conveyed a new message to the people that had made him quite liked: he wanted to protect the whole city, not just the royal palace and castle.


    The gardens were vast, with huge rows of finely cut bushes and trees, wide beds of flowers in all colours and sizes. In the night, they were only illuminated by the pale moonlight and the stars. Arthan and Geraldine slowly strolled through them while conversing back and forth. She was a pleasure to talk to, a witty but open-minded woman. She was a woman like he hadn¡¯t met before, one who had nothing to prove to anyone. She wasn¡¯t even trying to impress him, but rather simply being her genuine self.


    *


    Stella enjoyed the attention thoroughly. She spent the evening eagerly talking to the many people interested in both her performance and her brother. One noble even described her and her brother as splendid examples of what heights humans could attain with talent and hard work, which gave her immense pleasure. Her brother was a man who she admired and loved beyond anyone else. Which was why she had introduced him to Geraldine, the young widow who had been one of her first friends in the capital. She suspected they had already left the party.


    She was joking around with a charming and handsome noble, who seemed both kind and very fond of her. She wouldn¡¯t mind him courting her, though she wasn¡¯t sure if he was strong enough to hold his ground against her at times over-protective brother. Few men were.


    Suddenly, however, he grew quiet and took a respectful step away. His eyes were fixed on a point beyond her shoulder.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± He said with a respective bow of his head. She spun around, seeing the king standing right in front of her, a little smirk on his face.


    ¡°Dance with me, Stella.¡± He said, presenting his hand confidently like he knew that she would accept without the shadow of a doubt. No one in their right mind would refuse a king.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± She greeted shakily, curtsying to him and then taking his hand carefully, her heart beating furiously in her chest.


    He led her out on the dancefloor and then laid a hand on her back while grabbing the other firmly. As if on cue, the music switched to a waltz, a dance where the two partners'' hips had to be intimately close to performing correctly. He took a step forward in between her legs and she followed his lead.


    His grey eyes were staring into hers as they danced, the same smug smile on his lips. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to meet his eyes.


    ¡°You performed my play perfectly.¡± He muttered to her, the whisper strangely reaching her ears clearly despite the music and the noise.


    ¡°The play was perfectly written.¡± She complimented back.


    ¡°Of course, it was. I have been working on it for years.¡± She had never directly interacted with him before, but he had often come to their practise sessions, giving their teachers advice and pointers.


    The dance ended, and she thought he would let her go. This was already too much; she had danced with the king! An incredible achievement for a girl coming from the lower tiers of nobility. But he didn¡¯t let go of her, instead, he laid a gentle but firm hand on her lower back, leading her forward.


    ¡°Come, I want to show you something.¡± He said, slipping out of the party with her as another piece of music started playing.


    She glanced back nervously. ¡°Is it really okay for us to leave?¡±


    He giggled. ¡°Of course! I am the king.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t sure how she dared, but the words simply left her mouth without thought. ¡°Especially so, the king shouldn¡¯t leave his ball.¡± Maybe it was the fear of what he might do to her once alone. He was an exceptionally handsome man, beautiful even, but she had never been in bed with someone before, and the thought scared her. She wanted her first time to be on her terms.


    The king¡¯s smile disappeared, his unreadable grey eyes fixating on hers. ¡°I am surprised. For a moment, you sound like I imagine a queen would.¡± He then said.


    She was unsure of how to respond. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°You sound like a boring queen reminding a husband of his duties.¡± He stopped up, slowly running his hand through her hair until his hand was on the back of her head. ¡°Tonight, you should act like a princess instead. An adventuring, keen and awe-inspiring princess, who is worthy of even a god¡¯s attention.¡±


    A god? She thought, feeling that his expectations were impossibly high. This would inevitably end in disappointment, she feared.


    He spun around and led her upstairs, where the floor was covered in red carpet wherever they walked, and as they got further up, the luxury increased too. The walls were covered in insanely detailed tapestries, which were complemented with threads of gold and silver. Then there was a hallway of reflections, or so Arkansas called it. It was an entire corridor where the walls and ceiling had been entirely clad in mirrors while a layer of white and polished stone had been laid on the floor. The result was mesmerising, and she couldn¡¯t even imagine the cost of such a project.


    ¡°Incredibly¡­¡± She muttered at the sight of their endless reflections.


    He laughed. ¡°I made this years ago. Come.¡±


    He led her through it and into another room, which seemed to be a sort of exquisite living room. It had a large and heavily ornamented hearth, with both pelts of exotic animals covering the armchairs placed around it. There were also beautiful instruments of the highest quality positioned up against chairs around the room.


    Her heart skipped a beat. This was the king¡¯s personal quarters. There were several doors, one of which led to his bedroom, she was sure.


    He smiled again. Had he guessed her thoughts? Her cheeks reddened furiously. The door didn¡¯t open to a bedroom though, but instead on a large balcony of marble. The balcony was like a miniature garden, with a few flowers ascending from earth lying in beds of stone. As they approached the solid balustrade, her breath was once again taken.


    The view was magnificent. The large city of Parth extended below them. The castle of the king was situated on an island separating a large river in two, along with the richest of citizens and crafters and the noble¡¯s mansions and residence. The rest of the city lied on the other side of the rivers, connected to the river by many large bridges of both wood and stone. The balcony had a clear view of the river running into the sea, as well as the rest of the island and parts of the city.


    Many small lights illuminated the streets, coming from countless oil lamps across the city, carried by patrols and fixed to buildings. Parth was one of the few cities large enough to have a nightlife.


    As her eyes eagerly absorbed the view, Arkansas was instead looking at her, with an emotion that seemed strange and foreign in his eyes. It dissipated as quickly as it had come the moment, she turned to look at him.


    ¡°This is beyond magnificent.¡± She commented.


    He was leaning calmly against the balustrade. ¡°And yet I¡¯m more captivated by you.¡±


    ¡°Only because you see this every day.¡± She retorted. ¡°You¡¯ve been keeping this to yourself all this time?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m showing it to you, am I not?¡± He pointed out.


    For the first time since they had entered the balcony, she shifted her attention to him again. His amusement was gone but he did not look displeased. His formerly pale eyes had grown to become shining stars enthralling hers, while his lips seemed to grow more appealing by the second. Following her impulse, she approached him slowly and pressed her lips against his. For a moment, they connected gently, and he did nothing. Stella feared she had made a mistake. Then his hands enwrapped her waist and the kiss grew more passionate.


    She was inexperienced, so he guided her. They stood embraced on the balcony for a while until suddenly, he pulled on her dress and slipped a hand under. She gasped, growing weak in the knees. He still had a firm grasp around her waist, however. He swept her off her feet and carried her through the living room and into the bedroom. What followed was the most exciting and pleasurable moments of her life, as she experienced sensations she had only dreamed of before. She only hoped it was the same for him.


    Arkansas was gentle and soft in his touch, and though there was pain at first, it was soon replaced by waves of pure pleasure. His fingers were electrifying, and he seemed to enjoy making her lose all control.


    That night, she did not get much sleep.

 Chapter 3

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    .

 Chapter 4

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 Chapter 5

    They didn¡¯t ride to Parth immediately since they needed to report to Hadrian, who currently was at the stronghold of Levanore, according to Parceval. The fortress was situated north-east of Parth and was quite a detour. Parceval had forgotten to tell him of their delay in returning to Parth which had, in turn, soured Arthan¡¯s mood. It was five days from Parth and they would have to cross several large rivers, some almost comparable to the Lameine on which Parth lied. The trip back and forth would take at least ten days, probably more.


    And to his frustration, that passed so close to Parth that he could glance to its walls and even see the palace faintly, reaching to the sky from the island. He was dangerously tempted to simply leave Parceval to make his report alone. That conduct would hardly be fitting for a knight, however, and he resisted the urge. He was worried for Stella, alone in a palace full of vipers. And he wanted to see Geraldine too, despite what Parceval had told him of her.


    They followed the road of pavement that had been built between the fortress and the city. He had been to Levanore before since Hadrian often resided there. It was the base from which the prince recruited and trained the standing army of Azure, a professional force many thousand men strong. Most kings relied on a small contingent of knights supported by masses of conscripted peasants, but not the king of Azure. A standing army was an extremely costly expenditure, and no other kingdom truly had the means.


    Only the last vestiges of the Kroman Empire in the south could compare, still fielding the old legions, but the empire had slowly been declining under corruption and hordes of enemies over almost a millennium. The southern parts of Azure had once been under Kroman rule but had been reconquered centuries ago. Now the border between the two had been drawn over the mountains of Satenaire, high and near impassable with an army.


    Even then, they were still a force to be reckoned with. The Kromans were masters in the use of war galleys though, so they were always a constant threat. They had a few times attempted to reconquer their lost dominions, without lasting success.


    And if the mountains defended the south, then Levanore was the keeper of the far north of Azure. It was a fortress in all senses of the world, built to protect against the north-eastern enemies, mostly the Prossians. These easterners often looked south greedily from their cold and barren northern forests. Thus, Levanore had been built, a large fortress atop a hill overlooking the landscape. Its inner walls were massive, too large to be taken down by catapults, with large and square towers which were low but wide. Parth¡¯s high towers were built just as much for majesty as for defence, while Levanore was built only to be impregnable.


    The outer wall of the fortress encompassed a large territory, as large as the isle of Parth itself. Inside, there were mostly barracks to host the many units of permanent soldiers. In between them, there were paved paths to offer secure footing in times of rain and mud, but the rest was left for vegetation. Large grassy fields were dedicated to exercising and training for the soldiers. Then there were smithies, tanners, butchers and bakers, and large barns and granaries to keep all that the army needed to sustain itself. The many soldiers needed both equipment and food, and the fortress had formed a veritable town to supply the Azurian army.


    The gates were open at day, though heavily guarded. Hadrian¡¯s security measures were as thorough as always, he would not risk an enemy poisoning the wells or otherwise trying to sabotage his army. Every stranger to the guards was therefore searched extensively. Arthan and Parceval were known silvered knights, however, and they were let through without trouble.


    They rode through the first gate into the fortress¡¯ grounds, where already they passed a bunch of soldiers marching in a square formation, all armed with spears and shields. They had open helmets which covered both the cheeks and the nose and were heavily equipped with both chainmail and hardened leather, the whole covered in a deep blue tunic. An officer was screaming his lungs out trying to command them around, but they seemed to be newbies, fumbling a bit around.


    They followed the path, walking in between large barracks entirely built of stone to limit the risk of fire in a siege. They received many brief stares, but knights passing through was business as usual, even so for silvered knights, so they didn¡¯t get any special attention.


    They reached the second gate, passing under a portcullis which could be descended at a moment¡¯s notice if the outer walls were lost. This one led to the fortress itself, and not anybody could simply enter here. Thus, they were stopped.


    ¡°Sirs?¡± The guard in command inquired respectfully. It was only a formality though. Silvered knights were men personally selected by the prince, who he trusted and who therefore had access to his residence.


    ¡°We¡¯re here to report to Hadrian.¡± Parceval explained.


    ¡°He¡¯s in the southern tower, in his office.¡± The man said helpfully.


    They rode into the fortress¡¯ inner yard and dismounted, the two knights leaving their horses to the pages. They began striding to the tower, and then Parceval fell behind. Arthan glanced back and saw him unsubtly checking out the figure of a petite girl drawing water from the well. She didn¡¯t notice though; she was trying to pull the full bucket up but was having a hard time. Parceval graciously appeared behind her, a shining knight at her rescue.


    Arthan sighed, exasperated with the knight. Did he have to delay their return further? ¡°Parceval!¡± He called out; perhaps a bit harsher than he had meant to.


    His comrade excused himself to the girl as soon as he had finished pulling the bucket up. ¡°Excuse me for helping a girl in need.¡± He said with an arched brow.


    ¡°It¡¯s her job. If she can¡¯t do it, she should be fired or moved to another position. You¡¯re not helping her.¡± Arthan vented irritatingly as they walked to Hadrian¡¯s study. His reproach didn¡¯t faze Parceval in the slightest.


    They took several sets of stairs up and were stopped by two soldiers outside of the study.


    ¡°Please wait, he will receive you in a moment.¡± One of the two assured them.


    Parceval crossed his arms impatiently, while Arthan narrowly kept himself from doing the same. He had to show respect to the prince, however, no matter how bad his mood was. Moments after, the doors were opened and they were led inside by an official, probably serving as a scribe.


    The room was large and lit by several slits in the wall, as well as oil lamps. There was a large desk with a mountain of paperwork between them and Hadrian, who was reading a scroll attentively. They walked in, their armours chinking and clicketing in the silent room.


    ¡°Your Highness.¡± Parceval and Arthan greeted him as they both bowed deeply.


    Hadrian looked up from the document, his sharp eyes gauging them keenly. He was a large man, which was evident even as he sat behind a desk. His unruly hair was thick and black, and his beard was full but short. He had a square jaw and had that rugged handsomeness that many ladies adored. Wrinkles were appearing in the corners of his eyes though, along with strands of grey hair. He was middle-aged but still as strong as an ox and a formidable foe on the battlefield. ¡°You¡¯re back.¡± He let out in a deep and slightly hoarse voice, leaning back in his seat.


    ¡°We found and killed the witch. She won¡¯t be bothering the smallfolk anymore.¡± Parceval said.


    Hadrian stood up from the desk, stretching his limps. He was taller than both of them and larger. It was rumoured amongst the populace that he had once wrestled a bear and come out victorious. The rumours might not be entirely unfounded, Arthan figured. ¡°Anything else to report?¡± The prince questioned, enjoying a moment of respite from the paperwork.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Parceval felt Arthan¡¯s insistent look and reluctantly obliged. ¡°We ran into bandits. There might be a real affliction south of Parth, though we took care of some.¡±


    ¡°Well done. I will see to it.¡± Hadrian said, looking down at the papers at his desk. He didn¡¯t seem overly enthusiastic. Even in his own stronghold and surrounded by loyal men, he still carried a sword at his side and was clothed practically, in leather and wool and steel. At heart, the man was a warrior, a protector of the realm. ¡°I wish to spar. It has been too long.¡± He suddenly declared, looking thoughtful. ¡°If you are not afraid of fighting a prince?¡±


    Parceval grinned excitedly, while Arthan raised a brow. He had only been a silvered knight for a few months and had not seen Hadrian fight yet, but he knew that fighting a royal was rarely a good idea. ¡°As you wish, Your Highness.¡± He nevertheless said. Hadrian was not the type to execute people because they landed a hit.


    Hadrian gave a few instructions to the scribe, who sat at the desk and took over the mountains of paperwork. The official didn¡¯t have as much authority, but he could take the smaller cases and prepare the larger ones.


    Hadrian walked first, followed shortly by Parceval and Arthan. Servants and guards alike made space for them with respectful curtsies and bows.


    Arthan felt his chest swell up in pride at being in the personal company of the prince, a man he truly respected. They reached the training grounds reserved for knights, a small square of carefully fitted pavement, with an armoury next to it. There was a wide array of weapon choices, including ones of wood made to imitate the weight and balance of swords as well as possible. Only trainees and soldiers fought with those however, knights were supposed to know their craft good enough to not injure or maim in training matches.


    Arthan would feel uncomfortable raising his sword against the prince and was relieved when Parceval was his first opponent. He would never forgive himself for wounding the prince, and thus he would never be able to fight effectively. And despite Parceval¡¯s grin and excited manner, he could still feel the tension lying underneath.


    After having swung the sword around a bit to unstiffen the muscles, they faced each other. Both extremely concentrated, Arthan was surprised when Parceval was the first to move. A series of exchanges followed, but none were really threatening to the prince. Parceval was holding back though, his aggressive demeanour was hollow. He was punished for it, hesitating at a crucial moment and Hector¡¯s sword hit close to the guard and smashed the blade out of his hands.


    ¡°Stay on the defensive, I will attack,¡± Hadrian ordered after the brief exchange. He was used to this and knew that Parceval wouldn¡¯t attack wholeheartedly, so instead, he simply made him focus completely on the defence so that he could give it his all.


    Before they began the next round, however, he waved a guard over who had been standing at the edge of the square. ¡°Find me Lavance or Hector.¡± The prince said.


    Arthan felt a wave of chills run down his spine in excitement at the mere mentioning of the name. Was Sir Lavance truly at Levanore? He had only heard stories of the famous of the silvered knights, a man who had been away for almost a year on a quest for glory in the name of Azure. He had won tournaments and defeated champions all over the continent. A man whose fame was comparable to Hadrian¡¯s, or even Arkansas.


    Hector was, in contrast, a man of a more subtle character who had served as Hadrian¡¯s shadow for years. Arthan had met him under several occasions, but he was a quiet man and not much of a talker. He did not need the spotlight or the glory but his devotion for Hadrian was complete. He was the most loyal and dependable of all, a knight whose skill was supposedly only really surpassed by Lavance¡¯s.


    Parceval didn¡¯t have a chance against Hadrian unless he truly fought seriously, which he refused to do as he would risk wounding the prince. And once couldn¡¯t win when focusing entirely on defence. Arthan observed with intrigue as Hadrian drove Parceval around the square, the knight trying to parry or get out of reach of each attack. He tried to stand his ground, but it was next to impossible against such an adversary when he couldn''t hit back. The two were drenched in sweat now, though the prince didn¡¯t seem to be slowing down at all.


    Then he suddenly stopped, taking a step back and resting his sword over his shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Parceval withdrew, panting heavily. Hadrian raised a hand and waved Arthan over. ¡°Your turn.¡±


    ¡°Your Highness?¡± Arthan said with a nod.


    ¡°Stay on the defensive. Try to hold your ground.¡± The prince ordered grabbing his long sword with both hands again.


    Arthan bowed his head in understanding and held up his sword firmly, stepping forward to face him. His stomach was tied to a tight knot of nervousness, and he was already feeling sweat gather under his arms.


    The prince attacked with a large and predictable swing. Then at the last moment, it shifted aim for his head instead. He had to step back deflect the strike. As the swings began raining down on him, his nervousness faded, and he settled into a familiar calmness, focusing on the fight.


    And he was forced to take step after step back despite his best efforts, to get out of the monstrous reach of the prince. The man¡¯s strength was brutal, and Arthan feared for his wrist if he tried parrying the strikes head-on. Suddenly Hadrian thrust forward instead of swinging and he narrowly pushed the blade away, only to be rewarded with a ruthless descending swing which could no doubt bash in his skull if it hit. In a split moment, he opted to parry the swing instead of retreating away. Maybe because of the prince¡¯s urge to hold his ground.


    He felt the strike resonate through his arms and shoulders and his left wrist exploded in pain. He grimaced as he withdrew from the fight. Hadrian frowned, letting his sword fall.


    ¡°You have not recovered from your fight with Tristan. Nevertheless, your sword is quick and your reflexes impressive.¡± He commented. ¡°I am not sure I could best you in a real fight.¡±


    ¡°You are too humble,¡± Arthan said genuinely, massaging his wrist. ¡°I fought without problems against bandits, but your strikes are of another world.¡±


    Hadrian arched a brow. ¡°Are you comparing me to bandits, Arthan?¡±


    ¡°My apologies Your Highness.¡± He immediately said and bowed respectfully.


    ¡°I jest.¡± He said dismissively, his attention suddenly elsewhere. ¡°Look who has finally come.¡±


    Another man had just entered the square. He was the shortest of them, though he was still taller than most men. He had long hair the colour of sand, tied together in a low ponytail. His slender but athletic build hinted towards the incredible physical prowess that Arthan knew he had. He was clad only in silk and velvet, well-fitted but comfortable but offering no protection whatsoever. His electrifying eyes met Arthan¡¯s, his pupils the colour of lightning on a night¡¯s sky.


    ¡°You asked for me.¡± He said in a soft and tranquil voice. ¡°But I see that you already have company.¡±


    ¡°Choose a sword,¡± Hadrian said, his breath almost recovered.


    Lavance smiled, exposing a row of perfectly white and straight teeth. ¡°As you wish,¡± he said and picked a sword from the armoury. It was on the longer size for arming swords, but still shorter and lighter than a longsword.


    Hadrian took his guard up, just like Arthan and Parceval had done earlier. Lavance walked up to him and gripped his sword with both hands. Then Hadrian suddenly attacked with a large and powerful swing and the fight begun.


    Except that Lavance held his ground, ceding not a single step to the larger man. He was only a wolf facing a bear. His timing was surreal, either deflecting Hadrian¡¯s swings away before they reached full strength or evading them by a hair¡¯s width. It was as if he predicted every strike, moving slightly forward or sideways, but never backing down. He dominated the fight, yet he didn¡¯t attack.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the footwork?¡± Parceval asked incredulously. Lavance only moved his feet when it was strictly necessary, otherwise, they stood still. He was standing still one moment, then he exploded in movement and the magic happened.


    Hadrian opted to retreat away to get the space to execute a full swing with all his raw strength behind it. Lavance countered with a full swing of his own to bat the blow out of its course. But just as with Arthan, he changed the target at the last minute. And somehow, so did Lavance, reacting and adjusting his riposte accordingly in a split second.


    Hadrian pulled away with a nod, breathing hard. ¡°As impressive as always. You could have killed me ten times over.¡±


    ¡°That is true,¡± Lavance commented with a grin, nonchalantly throwing and catching his sword. Arthan did notice that he wasn¡¯t entirely unaffected though, sweat glands had formed on his brow and he was breathing heavier than before. ¡°You want another round?¡± He asked.


    Despite having sparred with both Parceval and Arthan, Hadrian still acquiesced. He had to be quite tired though, Arthan figured.


    They were about to go at it again when a man came running into the square. Arthan was about to bar him passage so that he wouldn¡¯t interrupt the prince¡¯s training, but the man seemed very alarmed. He recognized him as the scribe from earlier.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Speak, Eujean.¡± Hadrian ordered.


    ¡°Milords, we just received a dove from the capital. The king has broken his betrothal to the princess of Anglearth, in favour of a new mistress.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Parceval let out while Hadrian¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    Eujean gave him a brief glance. ¡°The letter didn¡¯t say, because it¡¯s not important.¡± He said, putting the knight back in place. Parceval fumed but didn¡¯t retort. He knew he had spoken out of place.


    ¡°I will have to get back to Parth.¡± Hadrian declared. He glanced at Eujean and Lavance. ¡°I leave you two in charge here.¡±


    He quickly began dispatching orders, preparing a company that would leave at dawn. Arthan offered to leave immediately with a missive, not entirely without ulterior motive. Hadrian refused, however, sending one of his own instead.


    The rest would leave the following day.


    day.

 Chapter 6

    The luxurious room was empty apart from Arkansas and Stella. The room was lit only by candles, which shed the king¡¯s face in fleeing shadows. He was as dazzling as ever, his pale grey eyes not leaving hers while he took a sip of the exquisite wine. They sat face to face, eating dinner in his private quarters.


    She had not left his quarters since he had first taken her here, even though she had gathered the courage several times to suggest that they leave. The king was adamant, however, and much more eccentric than she had previously thought him to be, even with all the strange rumours going around. Their time had been spent with him trying to teach her all manners of artful pursuits. He was very fond of painting, and he was a true master at it, his pencil effortlessly drawing complicated patterns and images to the smallest of details.


    They had also played strange games he claimed to have invented himself, one of which consisted of putting a small and heavy ball into a hole with a strangely formed wooden club.


    And all this made her feel desired and beautiful and important. A king was giving her days of his time, teaching her personally. And although he was away occasionally, that only left her the time to improve her newly taught skills. But even so, she had a life. She had friends and a brother, dearest of all. She had sent him several messages through servants and his lack of response worried her to no end. She missed him, she missed his fervour and his passion and the look of determined devotion in his eyes when he gazed at her. It was a look full of kindness and warmth, a guarantee that he would always be there for him. He had in the past been absent for times, but never without letting her know where to.


    And then there was the other concern. Arkansas had nonchalantly told her that he had broken off the betrothal to the princess of the kingdom on the isle in the north, for her. There had been no end to her joy at first until she had realised the consequences. To many, she was now an obstacle to a crucial royal marriage. In other words, she had entered the political game of intrigues at the court. She was genuinely afraid for her own life, and even more so for Arthan¡¯s. She knew that he would always position himself between her and her enemies whoever they might be, which would put him in even more danger than herself.


    ¡°Your mind is elsewhere.¡± The king suddenly commented, looking curious.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sorry.¡± She said with a sigh. ¡°Were you saying something?¡±


    He looked amused. ¡°No, though I didn¡¯t know you were that distracted. Tell me.¡±


    She gave him a pained look, feeling sorry for sharing such concerns over what was supposed to be a romantic dinner. ¡°Do you think¡­ that it was wise to break the betrothal to the princess?¡± She ventured timidly. She had wondered a few times, whether he truly did choose her over a real royal princess, or if it was an excuse to break an unwanted betrothal.


    ¡°Wise?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Perhaps not. But it was what I wanted, and I am king.¡±


    ¡°Are you not afraid? They might declare war.¡± The Angles had sailed up the Lameine a few times to threaten and blockade Parth.


    He laughed. ¡°What will they do, send a flock of sheep to invade? They are harmless, Stella. A small and isolated kingdom. It was Hadrian¡¯s idea; I didn¡¯t care much at the time. Then I found you, a woman more beautiful than any princess.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t taking this seriously at all, she realised, it was all on a whim. She had been overthinking it, though it did show that he was at least very fond of her. The thought made her blush stupidly, even after all they had done together. ¡°Oh darling, are you only interested in my beauty?¡± She inquired with a faint smirk. Then she bashed herself mentally for the cheeky question.


    ¡°At first yes. Then I found your music captivating. And finally, I grew to love your awkward and na?ve cuteness, as well as that complete transparency of yours. You couldn¡¯t lie even if your life depended on it.¡± He said, laughing to himself.


    She was unsure whether to take it as a compliment or not, but his smile told her that he meant well. Or maybe he was making fun of her? She couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°Thank you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Your turn.¡± He said, resting his head on his fist and staring at her expectantly.


    ¡°My turn?¡± She repeated confusingly.


    ¡°I told you what I liked about you. Now, you will tell me what you like about me. Or are you only here because I am king?¡± He explained with a smirk.


    ¡°No, I¡­¡± She tried to quickly assemble her thoughts. ¡°You are enthralling, intriguing. Mysterious. I guess I am drawn to you.¡± She admitted, embarrassed beyond words.


    His threw his head back and laughed. ¡°That¡¯s one way to describe it.¡±


    ¡°Describe what?¡± She repeated, but his attention was suddenly elsewhere. His head was turned to the balcony, the place they had kissed first. He rose from the table and crossed the room, opening the two doors up wide.


    ¡°My king?¡± She said curiously and followed him. They found an eagle sitting on the balustrade, majestic and proud but with a nasty wound along its back, a mess of bloody and dishevelled feathers.


    ¡°Ah.¡± Arkansas let out in understanding. He walked over to it and strangely, it didn¡¯t fly away. It did not even seem alarmed, even as he reached out to touch it. He gently caressed it over the back and folded wings, and then she gasped. The feathers had grown out and the wound had disappeared, leaving only old blood. ¡°There you go, little one.¡± He said softly as the eagle set off with a cry that seemed grateful to her.


    He smiled humorously when he noticed her baffled expression. ¡°It was a gift from the Almighty, Stella. These hands of mine can work miracles if need be.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s incredible!¡± She blurted out and took his hand in hers. It was covered in traces of blood, but she stared at it like she expected to find a sign of the divine. The hand was normal, but one of his rings somehow caught her eye instead. It was a golden, with a strange inscription on it and with a square ruby encrusted in it. Her eyes were drawn to it like it was screaming out for her very soul. She shuddered and let go of his hand. ¡°How come people do not know of this?¡± She muttered in amazement, staring up at his eyes.


    He tilted his head like the answer was evident. ¡°Only a chosen few can know, or every sick person in the continent would come running for aid¡­ Parth would be swamped.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± She said, a little flustered at her reaction, which was precisely what he was trying to avoid by not telling everybody. Then she hid a smile. She had truly found someone special, someone, who had judged her worthy of this immense secret.


    ¡°But enough of me.¡± He said, guiding her back to the dinner-table ¡°I understand that you have been trying to contact your brother.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t want to be here¡­¡± She frantically began but he raised his hand, signalling for her to stop.


    ¡°I have no desire to stop you from seeing your brother. Unfortunately, he is not in the capital these days.¡± Her heart sunk, just as she had gotten hope that she would see him. ¡°However, I assure you that I will send for him as soon as he gets back.¡±


    She smiled gratefully, trying to hide her disappointment. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Arkansas gestured for the table, while all the candles suddenly dimmed a bit out of the blue. Was this him too? ¡°Let us eat.¡± He said as she took place again, though she hadn¡¯t recovered completely from her bewilderment.


    She eyed him carefully while they ate, a silence taking place between them. Had he been born with healing hands? Or was it something the Almighty had given him when he was crowned to be king? She was about to ask, when she noticed that he seemed lost in his thoughts, considering something indecisively. She decided to inquire. He hadn¡¯t seemed annoyed in the slightest by her previous questions.


    ¡°Whose mind is wandering now, my king?¡± She pointed out softly.


    He looked at her tranquilly, but hesitantly. Then he smiled as if finding his indecisiveness ridiculous. He opened his arms theatrically. For a split-moment, his expression seemed insane, with wide-open eyes and a broad smile. ¡°Well, Stella, I have other gifts.¡±


    She was stunned. ¡°How so?¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Suddenly all the candles went out, pitch-black darkness descending upon the room.


    ¡°Arkansas?¡± She murmured slowly, her eyes trying to pierce through the ominous darkness. She tried to keep herself from shuddering. ¡°Arkansas you¡¯re scaring me.¡± She said as she began rising from her seat, fumbling in the dark.


    Suddenly hands fell firmly on her shoulders and she yelped in surprise. The candles were lit again, and she turned her head to find Arkansas grinning behind her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did I surprise you, darling?¡±


    ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°With nothing but a thought.¡± He raised his brows suggestively. ¡°I have been chosen by the Almighty, after all.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°You¡¯re making fun of me.¡±


    ¡°I am!¡± He agreed, laughing again.


    ¡°But how¡­¡± She let out, not willing to let the matter go. His evasive and playful behaviour was beginning to get on her nerves.


    But he clapped his hands loudly, and she shut her mouth as a bunch of musicians immediately entered, carrying different and exotic instruments. ¡°Start with something¡­ exuberantly merry!¡± He exclaimed with a smile, looking childishly pleased by his own choice of words.


    She couldn¡¯t help it, she smiled at him in a mix of amusement and exasperation.


    It was only later that evening when she was falling asleep beside him, that the thought occurred to her. What if he was¡­ a sorcerer? The kind her brother hunted. The thought alone made her shiver, and she discarded immediately.


    If he was a sorcerer, then it was simply proof that not all of them was bad. He was making her happy, after all, albeit in his particular way.


    *


    Arthan breathed out, a stone lifting from his heart as a turn of the path revealed Parth to them.


    ¡°Are you relieved? You will see you sister again.¡± Parceval commented, sharply noticing his reaction at the sight of the city.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t even get to say goodbye.¡± He explained, without looking away. ¡°If she didn¡¯t get my message, then she is probably worried sick.¡±


    ¡°Really? This can hardly be the first time you two are separated.¡± Parceval said dubiously.


    ¡°And yet she always worries.¡± Arthan let out with a faint smile.


    ¡°Well, at least we are returning in style.¡±


    Arthan glanced at Hadrian, who rode ahead of them at the centre of the column. He had taken a whole company of soldiers with him, and Hector rode behind him as always, a silent but watchful guardian. He wasn¡¯t as big as Hadrian, but he was a strong man with a vigilant eye, his figure completely covered in armour. A bit behind, Lavance rode in his usual relaxed manner. His long hair hung freely behind him, waving with each step of the horse. Arthancouldn''t have found a worthier company in the kingdom, perhaps not even in the continent.


    They entered the city under the curious stares of people. There were even cheers as people recognized the prince, the protector of the kingdom. He was a man who had earned the respect and admiration of the people. Lavance''s face too was quite famous, as he had won quite a few tournaments.


    They rode to the isle of the palace and abandoned the horses in the courtyard, the stable boys rushing to take care of them. The soldiers left for the barracks, meaning that Hadrian was accompanied only by his silvered knights. And although Arthan desired nothing more than to leave to see his sister, he had to wait for Hadrian to dismiss him. And he had also promised to inform Geraldine of his return, he reminded himself.


    But for now, he was stuck following Hadrian, who was resolutely marching through the hallways of the palace to the throne room. Guards and servants had already departed to let the king know of his arrival and soon, the whole court would assemble. Including the delegation from Anglearth.


    Arthan made sure to look only vigilant and professional as they entered the Hall containing the throne. It was large, with majestic pillars carrying the sides and showing a way to the throne. It was not the same as in the ballroom, this one was more sumptuous and made to impress and intimidate whomever the king was facing. It was made of carefully carved oak plated in gold and with a wide backrest that reached for the ceiling.


    They entered, Hadrian, stopping before the throne and crossing his arms. The hall was slowly filling with nobles, lords and ladies alike. They all placed themselves behind the columns, leaving Hadrian and his knights to stand alone in front of the throne. Royal Guards were positioned at all the entrances as well as behind the throne in numbers, watchfully investigating all in the room. Arms were allowed even in the king¡¯s presence, as long as they remained in their sheaths and many men had swords at their sides.


    Then another large company entered. At their front walked a short and balding man clad sumptuously in red and gold. The colours of Anglearth. Behind him, there were young noblemen who were probably knights, though they were unarmed and clothed only in silk. Foreigners had no right for weapons in the royal palace.


    ¡°Prince Hadrian.¡± The man said and bowed his head. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, despite the unsavoury circumstances. I am Lord Melington of Anglearth.¡±


    Hadrian bowed his head respectfully in return, though not as deeply. ¡°Well-met. I understand His Majesty has broken his promise?¡±


    ¡°That is so,¡± Melington said, his brows gravely furrowed. ¡°It is a grave offence that my king will not take kindly, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    Hadrian nodded understandingly. ¡°I will see what I can do.¡±


    ¡°I only hope that the king will come to see reason.¡±


    Hadrian¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Watch your words, it is still the king that you speak off.¡±


    ¡°Forgive my manners.¡± The man said with an indifferent smile. ¡°But it is common knowledge that you are the real force here, Hadrian.¡±


    Hadrian didn¡¯t get the chance to reply, a herald finally announced the king¡¯s arrival.


    Arkansas came out from behind the throne in an impatient stride and installed himself comfortably, paying no heed to all the eyes on him. Then his pale and serene eyes found Hadrian¡¯s. The prince fell on one knee, so did his knights.


    ¡°You have returned.¡± The king remarked; his tone uncaring and bored. ¡°Why is that?¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty¡­¡± Hadrian said. His face was carefully neutral, a clear sign of the frustration that swelled within him. ¡°If we could¡­¡±


    ¡°Is this about the betrothal?¡± Arkansas scoured the nobles until he found Lord Melington and his company. ¡°My decision is final, don¡¯t feel obligated to stay.¡± He said with irritation, waving them away. ¡°I have an announcement though.¡±


    He stood up and took a step forward, waving for someone behind him to come forth. It was a woman who came out from behind the throne, clothed in a priceless dress and covered in jewels. No doubt that hours had been spent on her hair and appearance and the crowd stared avidly, many trying to recognize the king¡¯s potential bride, the one he had favoured over the Angles¡¯ princess. But it was not her beauty that made Arthan suddenly leap to his feet from his position on a knee. It was his sister, standing there with the king and meeting his eyes nervously.


    ¡°Stella?¡± He muttered in disbelief.


    Arkansas flashed a cocky smile. ¡°This is Stella Karendis, my new betrothed.¡±


    Lord Melington walked forward, shaking his head and with an even deeper frown than before. ¡°Anglearth will not stand for this humiliation. You have committed a grave mistake.¡± He turned on his heel and walked out, followed by his men.


    Arkansas¡¯ eyes met Hadrian¡¯s, with smugness. He didn¡¯t look the least regretful. There was an amused twinkle in his eyes though, as if he was enjoying a spectacle. ¡°Is there anything else, prince?¡±


    ¡°No, Your Majesty.¡± Hadrian pressed out through his teeth. The king had likely just thrown them into war, but Hadrian and his men would be the ones to fight it.


    ¡°Then this no longer requires my presence.¡± He said uncourtly and returned from where they had come with his soon-to-be bride, leaving a baffled Arthan still standing in the middle of the hall.


    Immediately as the king left, the nobles began loudly discussing the repercussions of this turn of events. There were curses and complaints, but also excitement and anxiousness. Arthan would perhaps have felt grateful for the opportunity of proving his worth on a real battlefield, but that feeling had been completely blown away by Stella¡¯s appearance at the king¡¯s side.


    His mind was working overtime, trying to figure out how and when. The music lessons where she had seen the king. The cold hand of fear locked around his heart. Was she even doing this willingly? No-one could refuse a king. Knowing her, she was probably more afraid for his sake, of what he would do. She was always talking about how to pay him back for all she felt she owed him. But she was family, there was no debt. Everything he did out of his own free will. She had no other family, she didn¡¯t know it was supposed to be like that.


    Perhaps this was her way of realizing the dream, and of protecting him. As the queen, she could have immense influence and power. Didn¡¯t she realise the danger of it? Didn¡¯t she realise that she risked being discarded whenever the king found another girl to his liking? Or the risk to be murdered by people who felt she was in the way?


    He cursed under his breath. This was terrible, he had lost all control. Even if he somehow managed to pull off the murder of the king, then they would both die for that. Entire families were executed for king-slaying. Even if they did let her live, then she would be shunned. He clenched his jaws and his hands tightened into fists. He wasn¡¯t sure he could stop himself from killing the king if he was hurting her.


    Later, as he was brooding alone in his room trying to figure out how to get her out of the mess, a messenger knocked on the door. ¡°Sire?¡±


    He angrily ripped the door open, the messenger stepping back in surprise. It was a royal guard, to his surprise. ¡°There¡¯s a lady here to see you.¡± The man said.


    He finally looked behind the guard, only to see a woman behind him. Stella! He pushed the guard aside like he was made of feathers and hugged her tightly, her figure nearly disappearing in his arms.


    ¡°Brother¡­¡± She let out, surprised at the display of affection.


    He then grabbed her shoulders tightly, meeting her eyes. ¡°How did this happen? Did he force you?¡± He asked urgently, examining her for bruises.


    ¡°No! He is sweeter than you think. He let me out just to see you.¡± She said with a smile that she wanted to be reassuring. But her words alarmed him.


    ¡°He let you out?¡± he had to suppress the warm sensation of outrage and anger that was building up inside him. He glared at the guard with unmasked hostility. The guard met his eyes awkwardly and looked away. ¡°Is this man here to keep an eye on you too?¡±


    She realised her blunder and quickly tried to appease him. ¡°Brother, no! I want to be his queen with all my heart, he is simply protective. Like you are.¡± She added with a small and cautious smile.


    He shook his head, trying to calm himself down. ¡°You¡¯re happy with him?¡±


    ¡°Yes, believe me, I truly am. Now, tell me what you have been up to.¡± She asked of him, walking into his small quarters and taking a seat upon his bed, careful not to wrinkle her dress.


    He reluctantly told her of his small adventure with Parceval and answered her questions. She gradually managed to convince him of her content though, and they finished the evening on a higher note than he would have thought possible earlier.


    Still, he did not approve of their union. It was unbalanced, the power was all on the king¡¯s side, unlike with the princess of Anglearth who had her home country backing her. But what could he do? Arkansas was king, and he was a lowly knight.


    There was nothing he could do.

 Chapter 7

    He left his humble quarters late in the evening. He needed to think, to come to terms with his sister¡¯s sudden estrangement. He no longer felt that he was the most important person in her life, yet she was still the one he cared most about. Never would he have guessed that Parceval¡¯s prediction would come to fruition so early¡­ He suddenly felt very alone.


    He found his horse well-groomed. It had been fed and brushed, and its stall was clean. He smiled to himself at his page¡¯s devoutness. Canil was a diligent and hardworking boy, he had been lucky to get him. He really should give him more attention, the boy deserved it. He was from a small noble house in the north of Azure, in the duchy of Karamaine. His family owned a small piece of land with a single village and a few farmsteads. They had no castle, only a little mansion. Still, Arthan had no land, but his coffers were full and his combat skills plenty, so they had allowed Canil to become his page. He was riding on the wings of his skill and glory, yet he knew that wouldn¡¯t last in the long run.


    Sure, he might be taken in as an instructor late in his life, but he was more ambitious than that. He wanted his own castle; he wanted his own people and his own land. In his dreams, he saw a humble but well-built castle atop of a cliff looming over the ocean, with the constant soothing music of waves swashing over the beach. Behind the castle, there would be golden fields of wheat and whatever the peasants could cultivate.


    And travellers would come from far to see the legendary knight, Arthan Karendis, only to gaze at his face and perhaps even exchange a few words with him. He smiled to himself at the image. He would be a powerful man, who few would dare cross. Stella would, of course, live not too far off, someplace where he could keep a watchful eye on her and make sure that her gentle husband behaved.


    But this was only a far-off dream, and the narrow and difficult path to its realisation seemed more impossible than ever. He would be strong somehow though, or else there was no point.


    He reached the gate of the palace, where the guards stationed opened it for him and told him to have himself a good night with meaningful looks and even a few winks and grins. He did not doubt that there would be rumours in the following days, about him going out late at night. Was he going to the red-light district? Had he a secret lover? The attention on him would further explode in scale as he was now the future in-law of the great king of Azure.


    He rode to Geraldine¡¯s mansion, which was naturally situated on the isle. Only the poorest of nobles lived in the rest of the city, with a few notable exceptions.


    It was strange, riding through the streets at this hour. The isle was heavily patrolled and no place for drunkards. It was mostly a residential area except for the few artisans whose presence didn¡¯t annoy the nobles. There were no smiths because of the noise, or dyers or butchers because of the smell. Most Nobles had their personal cuisines too. But there were tailors and dressmakers to quell the insatiable needs of the wealthy.


    He recognized her mansion by the stone arc over the door, painted red in the Kroman style. There was no exterior wall or garden, apart from the house itself. The mansion was built like a square, with a flat roof. It had high windows though and the stone was solid and well-cut. Space was tremendously expensive in the isle.


    He was about to knock when he noticed that the gate wasn¡¯t closed. He hesitantly slipped his fingers in the small gap and pulled it wide open, entering warily. He regretted the fact that he had forgotten his weapon at home and he suddenly felt dangerously vulnerable without any protective gear. He was clothed only in a loose silk shirt and black pants. He scanned the first room, which was an entry hall with stairs leading to the first floor and doors to the adjacent rooms.


    ¡°Geraldine?¡± He shouted out, going for the stairs. Something was wrong. ¡°It¡¯s me! Arthan!¡± He mounted the stairs three by three and quickly got to the first floor, where he heard a muffled scream.


    Throwing the door open, he saw a short but bulky man stand over Geraldine, his hands tightly wrapped over her throat. Her hands were desperately trying to loosen his grip, while her face was stuck in a shocked and agonizing grimace. The man¡¯s head jerked around and their eyes met. The bulky man¡¯s eyes were swollen red and had lost all sense, like those of a wounded beast backed into a corner.


    Arthan bolted forward without hesitation. The bulky man threw her to the side and tried a wild swing, which glanced off Arthan¡¯s chest as he tried to evade it. The knight successfully countered with a ruthless punch to the jaw. He felt it dislocate and then he followed up with a kick to his lower chest. The man was thrown back against the wall, with at least a bruised if not broken rib. Arthan took a moment to make sure he wasn¡¯t getting up, but he seemed down for a time, not even trying to get on his feet.


    He then turned to Geraldine who was coughing weakly, rubbing her throat. ¡°Thanks¡­¡± She croaked so feebly he barely heard her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you out of here.¡± He muttered with concern, wondering if she could walk. He was about to ask her when a tumbling step alerted him. He spun around to the assailant, who was on his legs again, breathing hard and with wide-open but hazy eyes. And somehow, he had gotten hold of a dagger, which he was holding in a fist so tight his knuckles were whitening.


    Arthan took a step forward to put himself between the man and Geraldine, all his senses focusing on that one dagger. The man charged. Arthan tried to catch his wrist, stepping in close and using his superior size to push him back. He couldn¡¯t retreat a single step, or he would put her at risk. The dagger opened a long gash on his forearm. Arthan clenched his teeth and attempted to rip the man¡¯s dagger out of his arms, and they wrestled brutally for the weapon. He had almost succeeded when his opponent suddenly headbutted him in the forehead. He lost his focus and the bulky man tore the dagger away and shoved it back.


    Arthan felt his stomach explode in pain as he grabbed the man¡¯s head and headbutted him back, right in the nose. The man stumbled away; his hands suddenly empty. Arthan stood steadily, breathing deeply but hardly. Then he looked down, swallowing astoundingly as he saw the handle of the dagger stick out of his stomach. His legs betrayed him, and he collapsed to the floor.


    He found himself on the side, his fingers locking around the handle. Through a fog of agony, he considered pulling it out. A wound to the stomach was a slow and agonizing death. It could take days, he had heard. He would die quicker if he bled out. He remembered his sister and decided to let it remain in. Maybe someone would find him? But even then, was this not a mortal wound? He lost all strength and his hand limply fell to the floor.


    To his horror, he then heard heavy and unsteady steps circle around him. The man was still conscious. He walked past Arthan and soon after, the knight heard low gurgling and gasping from Geraldine. She was being strangled again.


    He sighed softly as the sounds died out and the man dragged himself away. In the end, it had been for nothing. His death.


    He regretted not pulling the dagger out, but it was too late now. His strength was gone.


    *


    Leslian rushed through the gate, calling eagerly for his mother. The middle-aged governess mumbled irritatingly to herself, wondering how he had gotten in. Shouldn¡¯t the door be locked? The boy¡¯s lesson had been late in the evening, night had already fallen. Even though it was safe on the island, it was still common-sense to not leave doors open for any curious soul to enter.


    Suddenly the boy¡¯s yelling went quiet though. She hoped he hadn¡¯t barged into the bedroom again, only to find his mother with some new stranger. Needless to say, she disapproved, but Geraldine was her employer and it was not her place to say anything. She needed the money too. With that in mind, she rushed into the room, ready to apologise and tow him out if necessary but she nearly choked upon the words at the scene that came upon her.


    The lady lied at the foot of the bed, her face contorted into a painful and dreadful expression though her eyes were now emptily staring into the ceiling. Blue bruises covered her previously long and graceful throat.


    On the other side of the room, a man was lying on his side curled up around his stomach. He looked slender but strong, his blond hair spread out on the floor. A pool of blood had assembled at his stomach. And his large spot on his stomach, around the handle that stuck out of it.


    The scene was picturesque. And horrific.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    She pulled the boy to herself and screamed for help.


    *


    Stella¡¯s face lost all colour as the guard detailed the incident. The man looked calm but understanding.


    ¡°But he¡¯s alive?¡± She asked in a panicked voice. ¡°Right?¡±


    The man nodded. ¡°Barely. But a wound like that¡­ You should go see him, milady.¡± The guard said hesitantly and bowed his head. Before it¡¯s too late. His eyes conveyed what he couldn¡¯t bring himself to tell her.


    It felt like a sucker punch. And then a slap to the face. She gasped for breath, just as she turned around and began rushing through a series of giant and luxurious rooms that constituted the king¡¯s quarters.


    ¡°Arkansas¡­ Arkansas!¡± She called, tripping and almost falling because of the long dress. She reached the bathing room, where a large pool had been filled with hot waters. Arkansas glanced at her lazily from his comfortable position in a corner. She realised that she had never called him by name before, but it was quickly pushed it to the side. ¡°My brother is dying! He needs your help, please!¡± She pleaded to him.


    He tilted his head. A moment passed, and she feared he would refuse. She would beg on her knees if need be. She was just about to when he nodded. She realised what she was asking of him. Arthan¡¯s condition must be well-known by now if it had even reached her ears. For him to suddenly recover after a visit from the king would be highly suspicious.


    ¡°Very well. Show me the way.¡± He exited the bath while servants eagerly came with clothes to him, helping him in taking them on.


    As they left the palace, more and more men joined with them until it became a veritable retinue of royal guards and knights, as well as a few doctors and healers. Arkansas even sent for his personal healer, Tomaire, an old but very knowledgeable man. He had been the caretaker of the previous king too.


    They entered a carriage pulled by four magnificent mares, but Stella didn¡¯t even notice that. She was having a hard time containing herself from biting her nails off, even after years of careful attention to them. A steady hand suddenly enveloped hers. Arkansas seemed calm, almost serene.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t worry. All will go according to my will.¡± He assured her. ¡°I am sure that he will, for many years, become my most loyal servant.¡±


    She grabbed his hand tightly, trying to take comfort from it. ¡°If you heal him, I am sure that he would be very grateful! You would be able to trust even more than me!¡±


    He arched a brow with a hint of amusement. ¡°Is that so?¡± He said lowly, unconvinced. ¡°I am sure that there are none more faithful than you.¡±


    ¡°He has protected me all my life, you can depend on him. Just¡­ save his life.¡± She pleaded again, unable to keep her desperation from showing. Arthan¡¯s death? A world without him would be cold and cruel, empty from happiness and hope. She sometimes had terrible nightmares, of eternal winters and his corpse lying dead in the snow, eye lifeless but fixed on her, as if blaming her for his death. ¡®Why couldn¡¯t you protect yourself? Why is your life more important than mine?¡¯


    She was about to plead again when she realised that she was boring Arkansas with her unceasing praise of her brother. His attention was already elsewhere, somewhere far beyond the bumbling carriage, her or Arthan.


    They reached the place, and the door to the carriage was opened by a royal guard. The rest of them had formed a corridor to the house, keeping him separated from the people. The streets were thankfully mostly empty at this hour, though quite a few had still been attracted to the scene and were now pointing and gasping at the king and his companion.


    Stella hasted in, followed by Arkansas who walked steadily and unperturbed.


    They took the stairs up and entered the room of the incident. It was filled with people, healers, soldiers and even a couple of priests. The brother of the king¡¯s betrothed lied mortally wounded, of course, it would garner attention. Many would probably see it as a very bad omen for their union, Stella caught herself thinking. Then a wave of guilt surged forth from her stomach. Her brother was dying, and that was all she could think of?


    He had been placed on the bed, which was now soiled with blood. After having overcome the initial shock, she went to his side, taking his hand in hers. His pale and sickly complexion broke her heart, it was like someone was tearing it up from inside. His shirt had been ripped open to reveal the dagger in his stomach. Beyond that, his forearm had been sliced open too. ¡°Brother¡­!¡± She muttered, tears coming to her eyes. ¡°What have they done to you?¡±


    His eyes tiredly focused on her. His chest rose and fell weakly, but he looked appeased at her sight.


    ¡°He¡¯s weak.¡± A voice muttered from the other side of the bed. Stella had been too focused on her brother; she hadn¡¯t seen Sir Gallivan. ¡°He won¡¯t make it through the night.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll make it!¡± She replied violently.


    She tore her eyes from Arthan¡¯s pale figure and focused on Gallivan instead, feeling ire at how quick he was to give up hope. When she met his eyes, however, she saw genuine pain in them, and then compassion and pity when he met hers. She immediately regretted her outbreak at him. He had always been nothing but kind and respectful to her, and a good comrade to her brother.


    He spoke. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I really am. His loss is a terrible blow to our order and he was a dear friend of mine. I will mourn him deeply.¡±


    She looked to the king, hoping that he would deny the knight¡¯s ghastly predictions, but Arkansas hadn¡¯t followed the conversation at all.


    He was looking down at the wounded figure, a smile slowly forming on his lips. ¡°He¡¯s perfect.¡± He murmured to himself, his pale grey eyes sparkling.


    ¡°My king?¡± Stella muttered uneasily, while Gallivan frowned indignantly.


    ¡°A fallen knight has the claim for respect, even from you.¡± He said, facing the most powerful man of the kingdom, and perhaps even the continent, without backing down an inch. ¡°This is not a scene for one of your paintings.¡±


    ¡°All of you¡­ leave the room.¡± Arkansas ordered, ignoring him. Most obeyed him, but Gallivan stayed, his glare unflinching. Arkansas lazily switched his attention to the knight, seeming surprised by his lack of obedience. ¡°Are you not under my command? Why do you disobey?¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty, I would die to protect you without a moment of hesitation. In return, you must respect our right to honour and dignity. I will not leave my comrade in his final moments to your¡­ personal interests.¡±


    Arkansas tranquilly switched his attention to the knight. ¡°Leave the room.¡±


    Gallivan quickly found himself surrounded by royal guards, one of them grabbing his shoulder heavily. Gallivan gave him a dark glare and removed the hand slowly, by bending one of the fingers until the man was forced to stand down. It made the guards go from firm to alert though. ¡°I will leave, Your Majesty. I only hope that you remember my words.¡± He added as he passed Arkansas. With a last apologetic glance to Arthan, he left.


    The room soon was empty, apart from Stella, of course. The reactions of the men were mixed. Some thought the king wanted to honour the knight by staying with him for the last moments, others like Gallivan thought this was more a sort of morbid interest of the king¡¯s. They were all wrong.


    Arkansas wrapped his hand around the dagger as soon as the last man had closed the door. He pulled it out and leisurely threw it to the floor. Stella yelped, but then covered her mouth, fearing to interrupt him.


    The room seemed to grow darker and the air heavier as Arkansas slowly passed his hand over the wound, as he had done with the eagle. The only oil lamp illuminating the room seemed on the verge of going out, and Stella wrapped her arms around herself as the room grew colder. Stella thought she saw black fumes rise out of the wound unless it was the hallucinations of her tired and aching mind. He did the same to the forearms¡¯ wound though.


    Arkansas¡¯ mouth widened into a satisfied smile as he suddenly jerked his hand away, hiding the palm in his fist. His hand was covered in blood from the wound. ¡°It is done.¡± He said, looked very pleased with himself.


    She slowly looked at the wound, and it was almost too good to be true. Under the layers of dry and still wet blood, the skin was smooth. The wound had closed, leaving only a faint scar. The wound in the arm was still there, but it was not endangering his life. She could no longer contain her wildly flowing emotions, and her eyes watered as tears of joy began freely flowing down her cheeks. Arthan was safe. She gave the king an adoring look of gratitude.


    ¡°He should be up in a few days,¡± Arkansas said, presenting his arm to her. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    She hesitated, wanting to stay with Arthan to make sure he was okay, but she couldn¡¯t refuse the king, not after what he had done for them. She placed her hand inside his elbow, and they walked out together. She managed to get a last look at him, verifying that his wounds were truly gone.


    She was relieved but also strangely satisfied, as they walked out. Wasn¡¯t it thanks to her that he was still alive? If she hadn¡¯t been with the king, then he would have died of that wound. For once, she had protected her brother¡¯s life. However, it also made her more convinced than ever of the necessity of the king¡¯s protection against the forces of the world. Love was only a bonus. As long as she was with him, then no one she cared about would die. Her brother, her future children, herself, they would all be safe as long as Arkansas was there for them.


    On the way out, they met Tomaire, He was older and thinner than she had thought possible, with him still walking around with relative ease. He greeted Arkansas respectfully.


    ¡°I leave him in your care,¡± Arkansas said, barely slowing down.


    They took to the carriage. Once they were along, she proceeded to thank him with a loving kiss. He guided her head down to his pants though, and she followed his guiding, eager to please.


    Meanwhile, Arthan was resting soundlessly while the room filled with healers and priests, marvelling at the wound. Everybody was talking and yelling, some were shouting for demons while others were thanking the heavens and the Almighty for the healing. Gallivan pushed his way through the crowd, using his larger frame and weight to his advantage.


    He reached Arthan, looking at the wound with a frown. ¡°It¡¯s not possible¡­¡± He muttered to himself in disbelief. How had the king pulled this off? He was in theory supposed to be the chosen one by the Almighty to lead the nation, but still¡­ This was nothing short of a miracle. The last times the true god had directly intervened was in the legends and myths that the holy scriptures described.


    He scanned Arthan¡¯s features thoroughly, to be certain that it was him. His friend was sleeping, however, and probably hadn¡¯t caught what the king had done. Only he and his betrothed would know. His sentiment of relief and happiness were restrained by his reason, trying to understand this turn of events. And usually, when something inexplicable happened, it was linked to sorcery. But this was a good deed, wasn¡¯t it? To save someone from death? Unless a terrible price had been paid, like in some of those bedtime stories.


    Anyhow, Hadrian would want to know of this, he thought to himself and left promptly to inform him.

 Chapter 8

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 Chapter 9

    He was escorted the king¡¯s quarters by four stern-looking royal guards, armed to their teeth in armour as pompous as it was effective. He had expected them to follow him at all times, but they all left him at the entrance, and he entered the dimly lit room alone, the personal salon of the king.


    Behind a small table covered in various delicacies, Arkansas sat leisurely. He was occupied with inspecting his fingernails right until Arthan closed the door behind him. Then he glanced up and gave him a broad but evidently fake smile.


    ¡°Sit down. You made me wait.¡± The king said in a tone which¡¯s irritation was barely hidden behind the fake joviality.


    ¡°Blame your guards,¡± Arthan said in a slip of the tongue, as he sat in the comfortable armchair opposed to the king. ¡°Your Majesty.¡± He quickly added. For a moment he had forgotten, given the latest discoveries. Arkansas the usurper, he thought darkly. Would Hadrian punish or reward him if he killed the king right here? He could draw the dagger hidden in the boot and plunge it into his throat. He knew, however, that Hadrian wouldn¡¯t approve of such dishonourable means.


    ¡°Are we alone?¡± Arthan instead asked calmly. He looked tranquil as he sat there, comfortably leaned back in his large and soft armchair. Was he underestimating Arthan? The knight concluded that Arkansas didn¡¯t know about the looming rebellion, or he would have been more cautious.


    ¡°Does that bother you? Did you think my queen was going to be here?¡± Arkansas asked mockingly.


    Arthan suppressed his displeasure at the choice of words. Stella was not his queen yet. He seriously reconsidered gutting the king if only to remove that smug expression. He resolved to say the least possible, to not reveal himself in any way. ¡°No, I did not expect her presence.¡±


    Arkansas nodded, and grabbed a grape from a bowl on the table. The silence between them didn¡¯t seem to bother him. The king tilted his head, almost looking perplexed. ¡°I had expected questions from you. Are you not curious as to why I invited you here? It¡¯s not often that a knight like yourself get invited to a private meeting with the sovereign.¡±


    ¡°It is not my place to question a king, but I imagine it has something to do with my healed wound,¡± Arthan said, retaining his calmness and refusing to bite. It almost seemed like the king was trying to incite him into overstepping his boundaries.


    Arkansas smiled again, but this time it seemed strangely seemed genuine. Or simply a more well-executed fake smile than the last. The expression didn¡¯t seem all that natural to Arthan. ¡°I like your attitude. I was right to choose you.¡± The king then said, nodding to himself while savouring another grape.


    Arthan kept the silence, though he was beginning to grow anxious. The king seemed to have an agenda with him. Arkansas nodded again, almost imperceptibly, looking to be appreciative of his manners.


    He leaned forward and smirked. ¡°From now on, you¡¯re the head of my army. The royal army.¡±


    Arthan¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What?¡± He was completely taken by surprise.


    ¡°You¡¯re my betrothed¡¯s brother and a man on whose loyalty I, therefore, can trust. You are no more a lowly knight since you are now related to me.¡± He explained, looking very self-satisfied and happy with himself. ¡°And you must be somehow capable since Hadrian included you in his little group of¡­ silvered knights, was it?¡±


    ¡°I cannot accept this honour¡­ prince Hadrian is more deserving.¡± He blurted out in complete honesty and without ulterior thoughts. Hadrian was unofficially in charge of the armies of the kingdom, mostly because of the king¡¯s disinterest and the fact that the old king had made him grow up as a commander of the armies. He thus captained both the army at Levanore, the knights of the kingdom and the masses of levees that could be raised in the event of war, as well as the many nobles, own retinues and armies. In sum, he was in charge of the whole Azurian military except the royal guards, who were directly under the king.


    Arkansas gave him a meaningful look. ¡°I do not trust the prince. But you, however, would do anything for your sister. You would never betray me, as that would result in her betrayal too, and probably the death of both of us. You would trade your life for hers, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    Arthan was grabbing the armrests so tightly his knuckles were white and his hands shaking. The king was wrong. A betrayal from his part wouldn¡¯t necessarily lead to his sister¡¯s death. Hadrian was honourable. Hadrian would not kill her, or not as long as she wasn¡¯t a danger to him or the kingdom. If he supported him wholly, the prince would assuredly reward him with her life.


    ¡°She is such a sweet girl. Yesterday, she was telling me how she couldn¡¯t even live in a world without me.¡± He tilted his head, appearing pensive. ¡°I tend to agree. If I were to die¡­ then she would too.¡± He said and winked.


    The threat! Arthan shot up, the chair tipping over behind him. Boiling with outrage, Arthan was inches away from attacking the king and strangling him to death with his bare hands. The king didn¡¯t appear perturbed, he looked on smugly, seemingly satisfied with himself.


    ¡°I will grant you a day to think it over.¡± He said and waved dismissively.


    Arthan narrowly contained himself, giving the king a pitch-black glare. His dutifulness eventually forced him to turn on his heel and march out, his fists still shaking in anger.


    Instead of returning home immediately, he took a walk in the palace gardens to cool off. He eventually found a spot in the garden, a place with a view of the city at the foot of the palace. There was the isle with its impressive mansions and walls, the large structures of stone home to both artisans, banks, the richest merchants and the most powerful nobles. Beyond the isle, on both banks of the river, the endless arrays of buildings extending far into the horizon, where the fields eventually took over.


    He had often come here, mostly on the eve of a tournament or a fight. The view was calming, a soft breeze brushing through his hair and clothes. The air was mild and temperate, neither too cold or warm at this altitude. The sun suddenly came out from behind the clouds. He folded his hands behind his back and closed his eyes, bathing in its warmth.


    He remembered his father on his deathbed, his sickly and fogged eyes, and his last coherent words. His father had asked him to take care of his sister, though even without that, he would have shielded her. In the end, Stella was his responsibility.


    It wasn¡¯t really a choice, but rather a question he was facing. The most important thing was, of course, Stella¡¯s safety. Selfish desires for pride and honour came second. Loyalty to family above all. And he only had Stella left. What path would lead to her safety? Should he join Hadrian¡¯s rebellion and hope that his faction would be lenient to the king¡¯s lover? His betrothed? That they could execute the king before he could lay a finger on her, hoping that Arkansas didn¡¯t have some curse on her, or simply put a plan in motion to kill her as soon as he betrayed.


    And would the king really kill her if it came to that? Arthan was inclined to believe so. He had seen no love in these cold eyes of Arkansas, he wasn¡¯t sure if the man was even capable of it. But then why had he chosen Stella as his queen? She was beautiful and talented, but surely there were other noblewomen similarly gifted.


    The king could have made a contract with an assassin to kill her if Arthan betrayed him. Or, she might simply be killed in the heat of the action, as she tried to protect Arkansas because of her foolish infatuation.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    What was the alternative though? Become Arkansas¡¯ military fist, betraying his brothers in arms? The punishment for treason was death. Would he be capable of leading his brothers to their death, even for his sister¡¯s sake?


    He suddenly felt a hand softly brush his shoulder.


    ¡°Arthan, I figured you would be brooding here.¡±


    He turned around, finding his sister giving him a cautious smile. She knew his mood to be bad if she found him up here alone without any impending tournaments.


    ¡°You come here whenever you¡¯re uncertain or anxious. Is there something you would like to share?¡±


    ¡°Arkansas sent you, didn¡¯t he¡­¡± He let out without turning towards her.


    She nodded gently. ¡°He told me about the offer he made you. He trusts you a lot, to ask you to take care of the court¡¯s safety. Of our safety.¡±


    He shook his head frustratingly. ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°I understand more than you think. You¡¯re torn by your loyalty to prince Hadrian and your duty to the king. You think you¡¯re insulting the prince by taking the position you think he deserves.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡± He said, pulling away, reluctant to admit that she was closer to his dilemma than he would have liked.


    She frowned, taking a deep breath to begin her tirade to convince him. He wondered if the words would be her own or if they would the ones the king had told her to say to him. ¡°I told you that Arkansas could protect both of us, but I was wrong. The king is not a warrior or a fighter like you are. But his mind is magnificent in its creativity and imagination. Have you heard of the Academy of Arts? It is something he is building to educate and teach young artists! He has also founded the School of Music and that of Literature, though these are still only projects. Yesterday, he told me of this new idea of his, the Academy of Architecture. He is buying palaces and manors all through the city to complete these projects.¡± She explained, a wonderous smile slowly forming on her lips as she talked of him. ¡°He will make Parth the cultural heart of the world.¡±


    ¡°Stella, he is a sorcerer.¡± Arthan suddenly said, her ramblings about the king¡¯s achievements fuelling his anger. All the man had done was fund useless schools using the kingdom¡¯s resources. Resources that didn¡¯t belong to him, he wasn¡¯t the rightful king. He was a traitor to the crown, a murderer. ¡°He is manipulating you, Stella. you have no idea what he is capable of.¡± He had wanted to shock her, but she didn¡¯t seem surprised.


    ¡°I figured you would think so because of his powers.¡± She shook her head. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be so quick to judge.¡±


    He threw out his arms, losing his cool. ¡°He is a usurper! He murdered the old king!¡±


    She recoiled. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. Why are you being so spiteful?¡± She said, beginning to get worked up too.


    ¡°Arkansas is a monster who murdered the old king to take his place and deny Hadrian¡¯s his right. How can you love a man like that?¡± On a roll, he didn¡¯t give her the chance to speak. ¡°Tomaire confirmed it, a witch revealed it too, told me that he was the greatest of them all. All the facts point to this! He is manipulating you to get to me! Why can¡¯t you see that he is DANGEROUS!¡± In his blinding anger and fervent desire to convince her, he didn¡¯t quite notice that he wasn¡¯t sounding entirely coherent anymore.


    He saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes but regretted nothing. Some things, she needed to hear. ¡°You have never approved of me, or my lovers! Just for once, you could be supportive!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been looking out for you.¡± He retorted coldly, staring at her disapprovingly. ¡°Someone has to when you fail to control your lust time and time again.¡±


    ¡°Lust?¡± She repeated incredulously, reeling. ¡°Is that what you think of me? A whore?¡±


    He realised he had gone too far, his anger fading and a pang of towering guilt emerging instead. He couldn¡¯t quite press the apology out of this throat though, the anger wouldn¡¯t let him.


    ¡°No. This time I will not back down to you.¡± Her hands rose protectively to her belly. ¡°I am pregnant with his child. He too will soon be family to you. And you will treat him accordingly.¡± She hissed to him.


    He froze, glancing down at her belly as if he could verify her claims with his eyes ¡°You haven¡¯t even been with him for a month. How¡­¡±


    ¡°Believe me.¡± She sighed, softening up. ¡°We need your protection. Arkansas can give you the means, but he can¡¯t do it himself. Please, will you defend us? As you always have?¡± She pleaded, unconsciously caressing her stomach.


    ¡°¡­ Of course.¡± He forced out in a small voice. Hadrian would kill her. Even he, in all his righteousness and honourability, couldn¡¯t let Arkansas¡¯ child live, and not the mother of it either. He would kill it for the future of the kingdom, to stop another civil war from occurring.


    Stella managed a weak smile, the harshness of his words still hanging in the air. She muttered a goodbye and left him to himself.


    He leaned in over the balustrade, letting his head hang low. No matter how he looked at the future, he could not fathom one that ended happily for all, nor even the majority. People would have to die, and he was the one to choose who.


    He left the gardens, walking aimlessly and letting his legs carry him wherever they might go. Thus he found himself before the Temple of the Almighty. It was a large structure which had been incorporated into the palace, taking the form of three towers and a large roof supported by humongous pillars.


    He had turned to the last option he had, the only one who could supposedly give him impartial advice. The priest of God. He slowly walked in between two pillars and through the impressive gate. Inside the spacious halls of the temple, large statues had been built, symbolising the various forms the Almighty had taken upon descending to earth. He found the high priest praying on his knees before a statue showing a tall and thin old man in shaggy robes, with a large wooden staff in his hands and only one eye.


    He waited for the high priest to finish his prayer. The old man took his time, his hands folded before his chest and his eyes closed. He opened them after what seemed like an hour, slowly getting to his feet. He turned around and took a moment to appraise his guest.


    ¡°Sir Arthan.¡± He greeted with a nod. ¡°What brings you here?¡±


    ¡°Father, I¡­ believe I need counsel,¡± Arthan muttered, unsure of what he was doing here. Far from a religious man, he hadn¡¯t been at the temple since he had been made a silvered knight by Hadrian.


    The bald priest nodded and turned around. ¡°Counsel, yes, that is what I am here for. Follow me, son.¡±


    The priest led him to a chamber behind the statue of the one-eyed man. The room contained only modest and simply built table and chairs, but it was of the highest quality. The chairs weren¡¯t facing each other but were turned towards the door instead. They both took seats.


    ¡°So, tell me of your plight.¡±


    Arthan had been thinking of how he should phrase it. ¡°I find myself in a position where I have to choose¡­ And no matter the choice, some will die. I am lost¡­¡± He muttered, looking into the serene eyes of the old man as if they could provide answers.


    The priest nodded slowly while stroking his beard. ¡°It is not your place to choose who should die, nor who should live. Therefore, you should follow His teachings, and the burden will be lifted from your shoulders.¡±


    Arthan almost snorted. He had been a fool to expect any else than preaching from a priest¡­ In all matters, loyalty to the Almighty came first. That was what they preached, and through that, obedience to them and the king, who gave them their power. ¡°What if one has to choose between family and duty?¡± He asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. He would always place one over the other.


    ¡°Your duty to your king comes first, but your duty to your family is also essential.¡± The priest responded evasively, looking very wise.


    Arthan sighed and stood up. Just as he reached the door, the priest stopped him though.


    ¡°I see that you are unable to find solace in the teachings of the Lord¡¯s writings. Perhaps if you were more specific, I could give you the answers you seek.¡± He added, seemingly with genuine care for him. There were compassion and eagerness in his eyes. He now finally saw why the man was a priest.


    Arthan slowly shook his head. ¡°I cannot tell you. Those are not my secrets to spill.¡±


    The priest nodded solemnly. ¡°Very well. Nevertheless, it would make an old man glad if you would listen to the last preaching of his.¡±


    The knight acquiesced after a slight hesitation.


    ¡°People are by heart selfish creatures. That is what makes it so beautiful when we overcome our nature to in showing kindness to others. Still, we all have the right to selfishly desire our own happiness, as long as it does not infringe on others¡¯. That is my advice; take the path leading to the most happiness in the world, but do not forget yourself. Sometimes, the evillest of men are the ones with the deepest suffering.¡±


    Arthan smiled sadly. ¡°You advise me to put myself first? That is the only thing I cannot do. But your words sound true, I can see your wisdom. I hope it will serve the people well.¡±


    As he walked back, he realised that the priest¡¯s insistence on happiness had worn off on him, opening up a whole new perspective. Who had the most right to happiness? On one side, there were men who had taken up arms, who had killed. They knew their fate from the moment they picked up the sword, and they had accepted it. On the other side, there was an innocent girl who had simply been duped by a sorcerer, and there was her unborn child. There was no hesitation anymore, he would not risk Stella¡¯s life for his brothers-in-arms¡¯. They knew their fate; warriors were destined to die by the sword. He hoped they would make the same decision in his place, that they would prioritize innocents over killers.


    But perhaps it would not come to a fight? Perhaps he could convince Hadrian tostop his plans of rebellion. He quickly disregarded the thought. It was nothing more than wish-thinking.


    He would mourn their deaths and endure the guilt, accept it as his punishment for what he had to do. He was a killer too, undeserving of happiness like innocents were. He could only endure and protect.