War of the Princes 03: Monarch

by A. R. Ivanovich

  The prince's bodyguard, who Headly insisted was the prince himself, strode forward. The ranks of Hussars parted, allowing him a generous berth as he joined us in the room. “Put down the weapon. I will not say it again.”

  “Don't do it, Dragoon,” Hussar Prie said, swaying on her feet. “The minute you do, they'll kill all of us.”

  Rune adjusted his grip on the gun, his finger moving from the trigger for only a fraction of an instant. He blinked hard and his angular jaw tightened. When I looked at those blue eyes, they were cold and distant, and trained on Headly with intense focus. He would not be distracted.

  “Very well,” said the giant that had posed as Prince Varion. “Kill him.”

  Rune's eyes flicked up as the Hussars hefted their weapons. His body tensed, and he squeezed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder, ready to fire.

  A Hussar dove to the floor to retrieve the spear I'd forced him to drop. Another three lunged forward toward Rune, weapons held in attack positions. Headly screamed as Rune jammed the barrel of the flintlock rifle into the back of his neck.

  As my temper rose, my body flashed with pulses of stronger lightning, my head swam, the burst lights flickered back to life, and thunder bellowed above us.

  Still, Kyle's voice managed to carry through the chaos. “To gerten ins to die slewen. Everything for the forgiven.”

  The first series of his words didn’t make any sense. It was like he was making something up on the spot. The second series were actual words, at least, but I still had no idea what he was talking about.

  The bodyguard's metal helm jerked backward with a sudden twitch. He stooped jarringly, and landed heavily on one knee. All of the Hussars stopped their charge to watch him. Even Rune and Headly looked up to stare. The bodyguard's shoulders rolled, his huge armored biceps pulled away from his sides, and his chest split in two.

  I gasped and recoiled, but much as I tried, I couldn't look away from the gruesome sight. It was like his body was cracking in half. He didn't scream. There was no blood. Amber light poured from the fissure as the bodyguard opened vertically down the middle. Dozens of pieces of human-shaped machinery pulled back on joints and hinges. Sprockets rotated against one another, belts and chains cycled. The bodyguard's entire form was a shell, exposing a vacant cavity large enough to encapsulate an entire person.

  Many of the Hussars cried out in shock as their prince exposed the inner workings of a machine.

  “A thousand bloody hells,” Headly swore under his breath.

  “You're a...” Kyle stammered.

  Even the helm itself split apart, glowing in its emptiness. “You created me to protect you, Prince Varion.”

  Like the rest of us, Rune's mouth dropped open in shock.

  Kyle's face went slack. Cautiously, he inched forward, holding a hand out to the mechanically exploded bodyguard. Golden light coated Kyle as he reached up to the construct with one hand. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the bodyguard's voice echoed out of the shell. “Sentience relinquished.” After that, he didn't move.

  All eyes fastened to his every move, Kyle was oblivious to the rest of us. He looked like a sleepwalker, locked in a dreaming trance, as he grabbed onto an inner handle and climbed into the vacant seat. Stepping carefully in, he placed a leg within each bent armored leg, and rested an arm in the cushioned padding of each armored arm. Though his limbs were shorter than the giant's, they seemed suited for the position. Kyle's hands closed around metal grips within the two encasing limbs, the open armor hissed with steam, and each mechanism, plate and clasp rotated shut.

  Kyle squirmed as he was locked into place within the giant armor. He raised his chin, looking panicked as the helm slid closed over his head. The machine shut around him with a resounding click, and all went deafeningly silent.

  Smoothly, the armored Prince stood on his feet, moving no differently than any human would. He did not look or sound like a robotic creation. But he had been just that, and now Kyle controlled him.

  “Hussars, put your weapons down and do not ever attack these people again,” he said, commanding the attention of all in the room. His voice was as deep and heavy as it had ever been. “Obey this order and your alignment with this traitor will be forgiven.”

  Headly struggled still. “You cannot threaten my men. They are loyal to me– the true monarch in this kingdom– not an empty vessel with clever words! Not a treacherous boy with false claims of Princehood!”

  As he spoke, more soldiers poured through the opening, training their weapons on us. Their faces tightened as they took in the state of the room, the position of their leader, the presence of Prince Varion, and me, glittering in blinding static. In they came, until the open spaces in the room were choked from wall to wall with tense bodies.

  “I'm neither of those things. I am Varion Argent and you have made me your enemy.”

  Chapter 45: Golden Light

  The challenge hung in the air. Would the soldiers believe that Kyle really was Prince Varion? He'd done what General Deasun said he could. He'd spoken the words that were the key to the kingdom and exposed the image of Prince Varion as a machine. Even knowing what I did, I didn't want to believe it.

  My skin buzzed with hot energy and though I wasn't moving, my heart took on a rabbit's pace. Thirsty for direction, my Spark wrapped around me, and I had to focus on not letting it strike out in all directions. I took a steadying breath.

  Outside, I could hear the gasps and murmurings of a gathering crowd entering the scarred ballroom and wondering at the damage that had been done to it. By the sound of it, General Deasun had come through with his promise to give us an audience.

  “Your Highness,” Hussar Prie said first. Though bruises padded her face and blood crusted her clothes, she lowered herself to kneel with reverence.

  Hers was not the only gesture of respect. One by one, the shaken Hussars, infantry, and riflemen took to a knee, bowing low. When the last weapon was lowered, Rune gave Headly a push, releasing him.

  Headly's eyes were wide and his mouth was contorted in a grimace. He turned about, casting from one face to another like a man who'd found himself naked in front of a crowd of his peers. When no one soldier rose, and none met his gaze, the shoulders of his velveteen doublet sank. The edges of his mouth quivered, his hands came together, and he turned back to face Kyle.

  “Your highness,” he said in a sweet and sour tone. “This was a misunderstanding. I mistook you for an impostor. I was under a great deal of pressure in your absence, surely you can understand that.”

  “You should be executed for what you've done.” The crowd of kneeling soldiers parted for General Deasun. Many of them looked ashamed in his presence. One of Deasun's arms was bloody, but he walked without showing any sign of discomfort. His pair of swords tinked together at his hip, and his ropy white braids hung heavily over his shoulder. Deasun's expression was grim and unyielding.

  “Deadheart, my old friend,” Headly simpered.

  “Do not call me either of those things,” Deasun snapped over him. “I have tolerated that name long enough. No sum of bribery, no collection of threats are enough to blind our people to the face of our true leader. The North belongs to Varion Argent and none other. You have failed, Headly, it's over.”

  “I could fix it! I could fix all of it. What have any of you done? What do you know about responsibility? It was there, in my hands! Do you know what it’s like to taste true power? Any of you would have done the same! All of you would have taken the chance to rule if it was given to you! It won't stop here! You'll be hunted all your life by your friends, if not your enemies! Do you think I'll be the only one, Varion?”

  Kyle, wearing the prince's mighty armor, looked down at the Lord of Caraway. “What makes you think you were the only one?”

  That silenced Headly.

  Deasun stepped forward. “Highness, what would you like us to do with him?”

  Even without seeing him, I knew that Kyle must have been thinking careful
ly. “He should be arrested and stripped of his title.”

  Headly threw himself at Varion's armor, but was caught by a group of the nearest soldiers. “You can't. You can't! I'm a Lord! I carry the blood of the first survivors in my veins!”

  “We're all survivors of something,” Kyle said, with Varion's deep voice. “Take him away.”

  “If I had the Ability, I would strike you down, Varion! Do you hear me? I will ruin you as you've ruined me!” Headly screamed as he was dragged away.

  “Should we schedule an execution, sir?” Deasun asked as though it was a commonplace occurrence.

  “No.” Even with the illusion of Varion's voice, I could hear that he was aghast.

  “What will his sentence be?”

  “I don't know.” Kyle caught himself before he could make himself sound any weaker. “I need time to think of the appropriate punishment.”

  “Very well,” Deasun said, bowing his head.

  I watched the scene like I was attending a play. There was nothing for me to say or do. Kyle had accepted the role presented to him and I was nothing more than a bystander. I wanted to ask him if he believed it... if he'd known that phrase or if it was whispered to him when we'd arrived in Caraway. Even Varion’s own mechanical bodyguard had called him the true prince.

  A wave of dizziness nearly took me off my feet, but I remained standing. Looking down at my hands, I saw that the Spark had vanished. When had that happened? I blinked and looked across the ruined room at all of the kneeling soldiers and Kyle, all covered up in gigantic armor. Only myself, Rune, and Deasun were standing. Was that wrong? Should we have bowed? Rune stood near Kyle, clutching his side and looking pale. Dylan was crumpled against the smashed wall and showed no signs of life.

  When Kyle didn't say anything more, General Deasun took command. “Rise, soldiers. Raise your chins in pride. You are loyal Northerners. Do not blame yourselves for the events of today– I will not. You were following the orders of a misguided superior and you will not be condemned for that. Not so very long ago, I was guilty of the very same action. The prince's face has not been shown in many years to protect his identity from the enemy, and now that very precaution was used against us. The traitor has been caught and will be sentenced to justice.”

  Like pieces of a single entity, the soldiers rose to stand at attention.

  Moving as naturally within his armor as he would with his own body, Kyle stooped to one knee, and his lower torso panels rotated open, gouting steam. His slender form exposed, he climbed nimbly out of the robotic suit and stood again on his own two feet. Turning, he took a moment to marvel at the robotic construction.

  “He's so young,” one of the soldiers whispered.

  “Immortal,” someone else said.

  “I've seen renderings of the royal family, but I'd thought the princes had become something larger.”

  Kyle ignored the hushed murmurings and rolled up his sleeves. “Bring me the wounded.”

  Dylan remained where he'd fallen. Bits of broken wall dusted his clothes and hair. I looked to Rune who stood crooked, holding his bleeding side. He nodded to me, and I assumed it meant that I should help Dylan first. I hurried to the young lord's side, and Rune was right behind me. As we stooped over Dylan, I gave him an angry look.

  “I'm okay,” he assured me.

  He didn't look okay. I could see the pinch of pain in his face and the shallow way his chest moved when he breathed, but Dylan was far worse. There was a deep gash on the crown of his skull, and it was black with drying blood. I put my hand on Dylan's shoulder, ready to roll him over, but Rune stopped me.

  I hadn't even considered that he might be dead until Rune placed two fingers against his neck. A twisted kind of hurt spiraled through my chest. He hadn't been a good friend, I wasn't even sure that he was a good person, but he was Dylan Axton, the one and only, and I didn't want him to die.

  “He's alive, but we shouldn't move him. He has broken bones.”

  That was all I needed to hear. I was up and on my feet in seconds, ignoring the buzzing dizziness in my head.

  Deasun was still speaking to Kyle. “What of the citizens below? Should you not first address them?”

  Already, guards had taken post in a circle around them. I tried to move past the human barricade, but they held me back.

  “Do not interrupt,” one of them said, holding a spear out.

  A hand pressed gently on my shoulder. It was Hussar Prie. “Just give them a moment. Your friend will live if our prince heals him.”

  I wasn't satisfied, but there was nothing else I could do without causing a scene.

  Prie unstopped a copper bottle and took a long swig.

  “Are you drinking?”

  The thick scent of liqueur trailed from her breath and she smiled with cracked lips. “I know, I should have offered sooner. Care for a swig?”

  I looked at her like she'd gone utterly mental. She only shrugged and took another gulp.

  Kyle pointed out beyond the balcony. “A single ballroom is too small a venue for this event. I want all of Caraway gathered in the courtyard for the celebration in three day's time. Do not mention the reason for the occasion. If the space is still too small, invite the soldiers and their families to stand at the balcony rails of the keep.”

  General Deasun looked confused. “What celebration?”

  “Your ceremony as Lord of Caraway,” Kyle smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You can thank Headly for giving me the idea.”

  What is he doing?

  Deasun's eyes looked like they might bulge from their sockets. “I cannot be a Lord. I do not have the noble birth.”

  “And Headly's successors?”

  “The man was a rake and no father. He has no legitimate heirs.”

  “All the more reason for you to take his place.”

  “There are other noble families.”

  “Do you honestly believe that I'm your prince?”

  “Without a doubt, your Highness.”

  Kyle's lip tugged upward. He'd won the argument and he knew it. “Then I have the power to name you Lord. Deasun is now a noble family.”

  The general leaned in with a rasping whisper. “Highness, I do not want to be Lord.”

  Kyle's smile was too sage for an eighteen-year-old. “And that's exactly why you should be.”

  Deasun clasped his hands behind him, looking resigned. “As you will, your highness. I will do this. One cannot argue with the most stubborn man in the known world and hope to win.” He bowed stiffly, and returned to his soldiers. “Find the wounded and bring them here. Quickly.”

  With his orders delivered, Deasun went to the balcony edge that I had so recently been flung from, positioned his body so that his wounded arm would go unseen, and addressed the gathered crowd.

  “Citizens of Caraway, I apologize for the state of the Evergreen Ballroom in which you stand. We recently suffered an electrical surge that caused the damage that you see here. In light of this issue, Prince Varion has declared his announcement to be postponed for a short time. You are all cordially invited to Caraway Keep's courtyard in three days. Specifications will be printed in the city paper. Have a pleasant day, and as always, remain vigilant.”

  Deasun's words wafted past me, unheard. The soldiers let me into their protective circle. Kyle looked at me like he felt guilty about something. What was he thinking by playing along with Deasun's claims? Did he believe what they were saying about him? There were so many things that I wanted to ask him, but only two words left my lips. “It's Dylan.”

  Chapter 46: Change, For Better or Worse

  Icy rain fell in sheets over the steepled rooftops of Caraway. The touch of the air was colder than a mountain lake. They called it ‘winter,’ like it was an old foe who returned every year to do battle with them. Even in the keep, citizen and soldier alike wore heavy woolen coats, and scarves of a thousand different shades looped around every neck. While the civilians were drab and rough spun, the Hussars were color.
Swaths of fabric looped over their armor in the brightest of hues, and off-duty soldiers were easily as well dressed as nobles.

  Droplets pattered against the window where I sat with my head propped against the frame. From my lofty perch high among the towers of the keep, I could see much of the city below. Figures leaned against balcony railings. Automobiles plowed through the puddled streets, carriage horses shook off their coats in their rigging, and streams of people bobbed down the byways, covered by dirty parasols and umbrellas. Fog crowded the corners of the glass, summoned by the warmth of the small, iron fireplace in the corner of the room. I used my finger to streak curling shapes across the damp surface, and stared off at Caraway.

  “What are you looking for?” Rune's hands were linked behind his back.

  We were in the medical wing at Dylan's bedside. He'd been healed by Kyle, along with the Hussars we'd fought. The one casualty of the encounter was the Hussar that Dylan had flung off of the balcony. I wasn’t certain I could count the two Empty that had perished, because they had died long ago. Kyle had ordered that all of their remains be buried with honor. As of yet, Dylan had not awakened, and considering how badly he was injured, I wondered if he ever would.

  “You,” I smiled and rose from the windowsill seat to put my arms around him.

  Our hosts had supplied us with fine, fresh clothes, but because we were not soldiers of their kingdom, the garments were mute of any vivid color. I was in beige and cream, a combination that made my hair look like the dark adversary of a sweet day. A long-sleeved shirt beneath a corset coat kept me warm, as did the stockings beneath my draping skirt. I would have preferred pants, but I picked my battles. There was nothing they could say to separate me from my orange scarf. After what they'd seen me do in the ballroom, no one was willing to press the matter. My scarf and boots remained.

  Rune's clothes were black and shades of brown that were nearly as dark. Maybe they dressed him in black to remind them of his nature as a Dragoon, or maybe it was a simple coincidence. Either way, his double-breasted vest, with its many buttons, was incredibly flattering on his physique.