Severance (The Sovereign Book 1)

by Michael Pritsos

  Donovan felt a smirk coming to his face but halted it instantly. The Gaian diplomat had no wish to see the squalling children no matter what month they had been brought from the mainland. That notion did not seem out of the ordinary to the prince for his thoughts lingered on the fact that she was a woman and thus naturally wanted to see children no matter how calculating she was in business. Nicolette’s thoughts were well guarded and Frederick was wondering whether or not he should buy a new pair of boots when he got back to Tellus. Triton’s watchmen were uninterested with the whole meeting. The sour faced one was trying to recall the lines of a song he had learned during his drunken outing the night before, and the other was tallying up savings and a current salary he had just been advanced to.

  “They have not been sent away yet,” Daemyn explained. “The children stay here until they are two or three and able to function well enough in an orphanage. Then they are distributed evenly among the islands.”

  “The nursery has two-year-olds as well?” Nicolette asked.

  “Yes,” the prince replied, “the ones that were delivered two years ago.”

  That explains the gargantuan size of that building, Donovan noted.

  “With your leave, I think I shall go check on them now,” Nicolette said.

  “Take your time,” Daemyn said cheerfully. Thank the gods that’s over, the prince thought as he stood from the table. Now to get drunk. Donovan smiled but hid his thoughts behind a math problem he began to solve. It would not do for Frederick to be aware of his intentions. Things would only get more complicated.

  The prince of Thalassa walked from the room with a curt farewell for the Gaians. His guards followed suit, their blood red cloaks flapping behind the prince’s royal crimson one trimmed in gold. Donovan took his leave before Nicolette even had a chance to dismiss Frederick. He wanted to get on with his true business on the small island and had neither the time nor the patience to converse with his traveling companions any longer. He headed back to the trading cog to exchange the green cloak of a Gaian diplomatic guard for the weather stained gray of a man with no allegiance to anyone. It was time to visit the local tavern.

  *

  “One cup of wine,” Donovan ordered. He sat alone at a table near the back of the tavern, his hood removed so as not to arouse suspicion but the shadows hid him well enough. The serving girl went to fetch his wine and he grabbed her wrist. “Water it down.”

  She nodded and hurried away. Donovan leaned back in his chair and observed the Thalassan prince’s interactions with those around him. He was a boisterous young man, detailing stories with flourishes of his hands to emphasize their drama. He had one guard alongside him, the youth who had been in the meeting. Though Daemyn drank quickly and in large quantities, his companion had very little.

  The serving girl returned and placed the cup of watered wine carefully before the footpad. She waited a moment until he slid four coppers along the table then swiped them up and went to deliver them to the barkeep. There were not many people in the tavern, but that was probably a result of being in such a small town. Donovan counted eight patrons, including himself, yet the barkeep was pouring a tankard of ale with a carefree smile on his bearded face. There are probably only five patrons normally, the footpad thought with an internal chuckle.

  He was beginning to wonder if the young watchman was going to be a problem, when suddenly the guard in question moved to the window to check where the sun hung in the sky. It was dusk, and that was apparently the watchman’s time to leave because he thumped the prince lightly on the shoulder and said his farewells. Donovan watched him depart and his heart began to beat loudly within his head as anticipation began to take hold. It was only a matter of time now before Daemyn got bored and left the tavern to retire to his quarters.

  The prince ordered another round for everyone in the tavern and even purchased a meal of boiled eggs and toast from the barkeep. Donovan waited patiently, sipping his second watered wine and looking over at the serving girl. It was plain that she was unwilling to even mutter so much as a word to him. Little did she know, his disdain for her kind went deeper than his sexual needs. She reluctantly walked over to his table to inquire if there was anything else he wanted, to which he tersely brushed her off. He fought back the urge to tell her that she needn’t eye him like a predator. There wasn’t a Thalassan woman in the whole archipelago worth sullying himself over.

  Night came, and with it arrived a new guard that Donovan had not seen in the meeting. He was a young man as well, possibly not even twenty. He came to escort the drunken prince into his room. Daemyn fought about it for a moment but ultimately gave in, laughing despite himself over the mess he had made on his white linen shirt. The guard allowed his prince to put most of his weight on his shoulder and grunted as he helped the drunk to the door. The serving girl ran to open it for them and bid the prince goodbye, saying she hoped she would see him the following evening. He blew her a drunken kiss and stumbled. She turned to close the door once more and found Donovan standing before her. She did not say anything as she held the door open for him as well.

  Donovan wasted no time once he was out on the road. There would be guards making their rounds and walking the streets. Doubtless they would all be unused to any grand amount of trouble on Triton, but he was extra cautious to stay in every shadow as he trailed behind the guard helping Thalassa’s intoxicated prince toward the inn. Donovan found the nooks along the buildings of Triton and hung there for a brief moment before moving on, edging his way closer to the men he followed in order to get close enough that he could hear their thoughts.

  The young guard was thinking of nothing but how amazing sleep sounded, while the prince was pondering on a lover he had made on a boat that he wished to do away with. Apparently he felt bad for the girl and was at a loss for how to let her down easily. I can handle that for you, Donovan thought as he came to the side of the inn and slipped behind the wall into a shadowed alley.

  Daemyn was fuming internally over his stupidity with having slept with the girl in the first place when the guard spoke. “Do you remember your room number or not?”

  “You cannot speak to me in such a way, Victor,” Daemyn said, a little more loudly than he had anticipated. He suddenly burst into a fit of laughter.

  Victor spoke in an agitated voice. “Please, Your Highness, you need your rest.”

  “That’s no way to sweet-talk,” Prince Daemyn scolded in jest. He thought that was hilarious. “My room number is… three. Have you not been to my room before? I sleep in the same room every time I come here.”

  “No, I have not,” Victor explained. “Tonight was the first time we met, Highness. Xander sent me to escort you to your room.”

  “Xander,” the prince parroted with an edge to his voice. Donovan was too far away to hear his thoughts. He had, however, heard what the room number was. As the annoyed guard led the prince to his room, Donovan moved around the building to where the room was located.

  The prince’s room was on the second floor of the two-story building. Donovan moved rapidly to lift himself into the air and float to the window. The air fluttered about his cloak as he concentrated on telekinetically lifting his own body weight. When his feet touched the sill he crept swiftly to the bed and slid underneath the wooden framing holding a feather-stuffed mattress. There he waited.

  * *

  Daemyn came in and flopped down on the bed as exhaustion overcame him. Donovan stared at the wooden boards as they bowed slightly under the weight of the slender prince. He waited for the door to sound again as the guard retreated back down the stairs but instead the guard was trying to pull off Daemyn’s boots. He got one off before the prince kicked him in agitation. Daemyn reeled with laughter and waved off his escort, who left the room in frustration.

  The door shut with a click and Donovan waited as the prince disrobed, first taking off his belt with a holstered flintlock pistol and an elegantly made longsword with a gilded hilt. He threw his tunic and breeche
s on the floor and then jumped back onto the bed. Daemyn questioned himself internally on why he did not take any women into his bedroom that night. He even wondered if he should go retrieve the one off the boat that he had been thinking about earlier. With his mind occupied and the sheets rustling as he tried to search for a comfortable sleeping position, Daemyn did not hear the door’s latch turn as Donovan reached out with his mind to slide the lock into place.

  When the prince’s thoughts began to recede into nothingness and his breath could be heard as drawn out inhalations, Donovan slid from underneath the bed and grabbed the flintlock pistol from the bunched up belt on the floor. He rose to stand next to the prince. For a moment, Donovan thought he might relish seeing Daemyn’s face as he lost his life, but then thought better of it. It must look like a suicide, the footpad told himself once again.

  Donovan muffled the prince’s mouth with his left hand and wrapped his arm around the captive as he woke, startled. Daemyn looked confused for a moment but then furious as he vaguely registered his captor’s face in the dark. He tried to shout but the footpad held him tighter and brought the pistol up under the prince’s chin. Daemyn’s attempts to free himself suddenly ceased as he realized his life hung in the balance.

  What does this Gaian bastard want? Daemyn wondered.

  “I can hear you,” Donovan whispered in answer.

  “Well, then what do you want?” Daemyn inquired. His thoughts were frantic and his blue eyes wide. The alcohol was no longer taking so much of an effect on him as he looked into the bloodthirsty face of the Gaian.

  “I want what every true Gaian wants,” Donovan whispered. “I want a world without flaw. A perfect world where every man, woman, and child is free from the limitations you Thalassans possess. The stupidity in the Eastern Provinces must be destroyed as well… but we shall take things a day at a time.”

  “I cannot do that for you,” Daemyn thought back. “Unhand me, now.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot do that for you, Prince,” Donovan said with a smile.

  Daemyn began to struggle once again as he realized the severity of those words. He attempted to bite his captor’s hand but Donovan only smacked him in the temple. His eyes closed for a moment then fluttered back open again and he started to move more hysterically. Donovan used his mind to keep the pistol steady under the prince’s chin and his arms to force Daemyn to sit at the edge of the bed. “I swear if you do not unhand me you will rue this day. I will slaughter you, Nicolette, that other guard, and any other bastard son of a whore who tries to get taxes from my land again. I will be king, you bloody fool. I will be king!” Daemyn screamed in his head and fought for leverage but Donovan had muscle where he did not.

  “No, you won’t,” Donovan said softly.

  There was a click. The hammer of the pistol fell and for the briefest moment in time a ting sounded, followed by a muffled blast as a lead ball fired up through the prince’s chin to erupt from the top of his skull in a mess of brain, blood, and bits of bone. The prince’s body went limp and he slumped onto the floor, his thoughts eradicated. Donovan placed the flintlock in his hand and went to the windowsill. Without looking back, he floated down to the street below. He hugged the shadows on his walk back to Triton’s embassy, and smiled in anticipation for the soft mattress that awaited him.

  Roselyn

  Roselyn sat with her journal in the courtyard and wrote of her day. The whole process seemed futile, however. Why bother writing in a diary when she wouldn’t dare write the actual thoughts and feelings consuming her? It would be purely stupid to put such secrets to parchment, so her writings merely reflected the idle thoughts of a bored princess. I suppose it helps to write down the mundane parts of my life to free up space in my mind for the troubles I face. Roselyn put a hand on her not-yet-swollen belly. She would not be showing for months, but the trial was ever-present in her mind.

  “Princess Roselyn,” a friendly voice called behind her.

  Rising from her seated position and quickly moving her hand, Roselyn plastered a familiarly fake smile to her face. “Hello, Patrick.”

  The nobleman’s brown locks were pulled back neatly behind his head, wisps of hair having come loose on his ride to the castle. Patrick nervously tucked a loose strand of long brown hair behind his ear and made a graceful bow. He was wearing an expensive linen tunic of blinding white, with a green silk doublet, black trousers and fine black boots to compliment the ensemble. Over his shoulders was draped a heavy gold chain inset with tiny emeralds surrounded by pearls.

  “How do you fare this fine day, Highness?” Patrick inquired.

  Roselyn curtsied in reply. “I am quite well, thank you, Your Grace. I trust your day goes well?”

  “Absolutely, Your Highness.”

  “Wonderful.” Roselyn urged herself to put more energy into her smiles if the man was going to believe that she had finally started accepting his attempts at courtship.

  Her conversation with Daemyn on that wretched evening was still fresh in her mind. Her courses had never been late when the turn of the moon came. Never. After a couple days of waiting impatiently she began to feel sickly in the morning as opposed to a typical vim when it came to breaking her fast. It was then that she knew. Daemyn had even tried to argue with her initially that perhaps she was mistaken, but she knew.

  “How could you have been so foolish?” her brother had raged. “Did you not think about what might happen should he…”

  “We always tried to prevent that,” Roselyn protested. “When the time came Xander would just—”

  “Silence!” Daemyn said with a raised hand. Roselyn bowed her head and kept her eyes on the floor. “I do not wish to hear any more. What is done is done. By the gods, sister, you had best learn some sense. This could ruin our family.”

  “I know.”

  “I shall think of something.”

  And so he had. Daemyn had come up with a sound plan. Simple really, and with some pushing towards a speedy marriage, Patrick would fill the boots of the fatherly role soon enough. No one would be the wiser that it was Xander’s seed that sown the fruit within her womb. All would be as it was meant to be. If Patrick had not been such a chivalrous fool she thought she may have been able to seduce him and tell him she was pregnant with his child, that way there would be a sense of urgency between both parties, but he would never ruin her chastity for the sake of a night’s pleasure. Courtship and then marriage was her only option.

  Daemyn’s plan will still work, Roselyn thought, her smile for Patrick widening naturally. “Patrick,” she began, stepping closer with a seductive tilt of her hip. “There was a matter that I wanted to discuss with you…”

  Roselyn extended her arm and Patrick took it willingly, leading her around the bench where she was previously seated and through an arch of flowers in the garden. “I am at your service, Princess.”

  “Please, call me Roselyn,” she replied.

  “If you think me worthy, Highness,” Patrick replied, with a gracious nod.

  “I was wondering if you might recall a question you asked me some time ago…” Roselyn smiled and batted her eyes. Oh, how I hate to dance around my point.

  “Of course.” Patrick grinned for a moment before it turned sour. “I asked for your hand in marriage and you declined. Much to my dismay.”

  Roselyn laughed shallowly as he feigned hurt feelings. “Yes, I did decline. However, I feel that I am just not the sort to give the right answer when pressured so ruthlessly.”

  “You have my apologies, Highness. I did not mean to force the ring on your finger. I wonder if your answer would have been different if there were not an ounce of pressure involved.”

  “I feel it might.”

  Patrick cleared his throat.

  “If you no longer wish to ask for my hand, I suppose I’ll somehow live through the shock of rejection…” Again Roselyn batted her eyes flirtatiously, for a moment enjoying the games. She would never be able to act so foolishly with Xander, he would h
ave seen right through her falseness. How refreshing. I am completely in control. No man shall have the upper hand where my feelings are concerned.

  Patrick stopped walking and took both of her hands in his. “It would be my honor and privilege to have your hand, should you agree to give it this time, Highness.”

  “Let us speak plainly then, Patrick,” Roselyn said, giving his hands a squeeze before he released her own.

  “As you wish, Roselyn.”

  “I will agree if you ask for my hand again. I hope you haven’t rid yourself of that beautiful ring you had before?” Roselyn asked with a wry smile. I just might favor that ring enough to spend my life with this sap. His deep blue eyes looked into her light ones with a very serious edge. She almost laughed at the ease in which Daemyn’s plan was working. The only problem might be to convince him to wed immediately.

  Patrick smiled. “It is one of my horse’s many daily burdens. I wanted to be prepared, should I have the chance to present it to you again. Either that or toss it to some beggar on the side of the road…”

  “You are quite the example of chivalry, aren’t you?” the princess teased.

  Patrick bowed as low as his riding clothes would allow, but the look on his face was more sardonic than anything else.

  They both laughed and Roselyn noticed her own laughter was genuine this time about. She was going to like his sense of humor. “Shall we fetch it?”

  “Pardon me, Your Highness, but why are you so eager? It was only but two months ago that you turned me down flat.”

  “I implore you, please call me by my given name.”

  “My apologies, Roselyn. Now, indulge me. Why have I suddenly fallen into your favor?”

  Roselyn eyed him speculatively. “We have seen one another on occasion since, and I tend to think you visit quite often in the hopes of spending time with me.”

  Patrick smirked. “I only come for the food.”

  “You wound me.” The princess giggled. “In all seriousness, I’ve had much time to think since that day, and I cannot think of a man more suited to my needs. In fact, I would like nothing more than to wed as soon as possible… on the morrow, perhaps.”