A story about a prince and his pretty consort presumptive.
Crown Prince Raffe, as the only son of High King Alizade and sole heir to the High Throne of the Ruemri Empire, is bound to fulfill one important duty for the crown. Even if that duty involv...
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THE DEAD autumn air hung in the air as Raffe pulled Soren's limp body close to his chest. There were rivulets of blood dripping from his nose and Raffe could tell that he had exerted himself from clearing the poisoned smoke earlier. The faie's breathing was ragged and heavy, his head was lolling to the side, but the prince could tell he was conscious.
Raffe couldn't ascertain the count of casualties versus survivors, but he was certain that Soren's swift warning and actions had saved countless lives.
Commander Salav was fuming with anger, Raffe could tell.
His stiff stance as he scanned the surroundings for more eminent threats gave him away. He was not the only one, though. Raffe also sensed the palpable rage radiating from his cousins, witnessing their soldiers fall victim to a despicable poison—the most contemptible weapon imaginable. This incident had shattered their normally composed leadership, leaving them vulnerable and oblivious to the imminent danger. Without the presence of the lone faie in their group, that could have been any one of them—struggling against the poison, suffocating, dying. Raffe understood this all too well because it mirrored his own emotions—anger intertwined with humiliation, helplessness, and despair.
Suddenly, without a hint of any warning, Raif swiftly let loose two arrows consecutively.
"They're here," he said, gesturing toward the direction where his arrows had struck. Two men collapsed to the ground with a resounding thud. One had an arrow lodged in his throat, while the other suffered from an arrow piercing his heart. Raffe swiftly drew Tar from its sheath, mirroring the action of his companions who readied their swords. They stood prepared as several men materialized out of nowhere, brandishing their swords and clearly intent on violence. Their initial plan had failed, and now they seemed poised to resolve the situation with a direct assault.
Raffe couldn't have been more grateful. He exchanged quick glances with his cousins, sharing a single desire among them—a thirst, a bloodlust—for revenge, for dishonoring their men by killing them with poison and denying them the power to fight back, for underestimating the Ruemri's Imperial Army. Their eyes shared the same glint of condemnation and retribution. Now they had targets around them. Their anger won't go to waste.
"How many should we capture alive?" Jadel asked
"Three should do," Raffe answered.
"And I get to do the questioning this time," Rihan chimed in, grasping hard at the pommel of his sword.
But Risam was quick to argue, "You did that last time," she turned to the two Ironmaiden soldiers gagging with poison behind her and gave a sharp, icy glare to his cousin. "They're mine this time," she snarled through gritted teeth.
Rihan pursed his lips.
Jadel smirked.
Raif grunted.
No one can really argue with Risam when she's got that lethal look in her hazel eyes.
High Commander Salav simply shook his head, unfazed by their banter. He was familiar with these exchanges before battle, having been his students once, including Raffe, who now stood as seasoned soldiers alongside him. Sometimes, Raffe could almost feel the paternal pride in the Commander's gaze when he looked at them.
A shrill cry pierced the forest, marking the onslaught as the renegades charged forward. Their swords gleamed menacingly as they closed in, poised to strike at the nearest target. Raffe stood his ground, keeping Soren close to him, encircled by El Casin guards and Hemlock soldiers, forming a protective barrier around them.
Let them come to me, he thought.
His cousins and their units responded to the rebels' cries with a resounding roar, a declaration that victory was inevitable. The tranquility of the Gasi Eil forest was long gone, replaced by the echoing chaos of clanging swords, grunting of wounded men, and cries of the victors.
Amid the chaos, Raffe stood tall and vigilant, wielding his sword with precision, his left hand firmly securing the weakened faie against him. It was a challenging task, yet manageable. Well, that was until Soren started squirming in his arms.
"Stay still," he murmured in the faie's ears, barely evading the sword that nearly cut his ear.
Rihan was quick to help him stabbed the man and sent him to the ground. "You're welcome," he gave Raffe that cheeky grin of his and disappeared to fight another one. Raffe rolled his eyes.
"Stop wriggling, nitwit. You're making this difficult," he muttered to Soren as he wedged Tar to the throat of a nearby foe.
"Don't want..." Soren whispered, chest heaving, sweat damping his face and clothes, and clawing at Raffe's hand. "Be... a burden. Must...must..."
The prince was struck by a sobering realization; he was the one who had branded Soren as a burden when the faie wanted to accompany the army. Now, the reality of Soren being the one who saved them from a perilous fate engulfed him entirely. A wave of shame washed over him—regret for his words, remorse for his actions, and the unfounded assumptions he had made earlier. He felt a sudden surge of self-disappointment, wishing he could turn back time and admonish himself for his misguided notions. If he could only return to that time and smack his own head upside down, he would do it.
Raffe gripped the faie's waist a little harder, most likely leaving a bruise, and leaned to whisper in his ear, "You're not, Soren."
But the faie kept squirming. "No... Must not...burden..."
"You're not," Raffe sternly repeated. "Now, stay still. This would be over soon."
"But—"
Raffe lightly bit his ear. "Just shut up for a moment and let me save your life," he whispered, thankful that Soren finally complied.
But his eyes soon grew wide and stunned by what he did.
He was ruled, yet again, by action before his mind could process what he was about to do. He bit the inside of his mouth lightly as he struck another Pantheon-damned rebel in the gut.
Damn these sudden, crazy, wild, impulses. Damn it.
