The Bastard Prince

by Megan Derr

  The hard life showed in the deep lines of the King's face, and the shadows of his eyes were far too deep for a man only recently turned forty-eight. His hair, like everyone in the royal family, had once been a fine, bright gold. Time had turned most of it silver, only the faintest bits of gold still in his hair and close-cropped beard.

  Reyes knew the King had been happy once, for a very brief period of time. He would give anything to see the King happy again, after all that the King had done for him, all that he continued to do. If these brief snatches were all he could manage, he would continue to manage them, and always strive for better.

  "I suppose I had best get to the garden," Rhoten said with a sigh. "If I am still there after the three quarter mark bells, come find me."

  "Of course. Sun and moon favor you."

  "Thank you, I shall need it."

  Then he was gone, and Reyes was alone in his office. Pouring himself more coffee, and slicing a piece of the accompanying spice cake, he ate and drank while he finished going through the post. When he had finished he told himself his disappointment at a lack of communication from the north was only because he wanted to have done with the matter. It was upsetting the King, and he despised that. He was not disappointed because the palace always seemed different when Kinnaird was absent.

  It was certainly more quiet when he was gone, even if Kinnaird being in the palace meant he was not out breaking limbs doing foolish things. Reyes made a face, and sternly went over all the reasons any sort of relationship was a bad idea. Intimacy was intimacy, and intimacy meant complications. Being the only secretary to the King was all the complication he could manage; he did not want to think of what would become of his life should he add 'Duke's lover' the pile.

  Shaking his head, he finished his coffee and cake, then carried the pile of correspondence to the desk. He locked it away in a drawer, to file properly later, then drummed his fingers on the desk as he thought.

  He needed to go down to the kitchens to ensure they would deliver the King's meal to his room in two mark bells, then he needed to go to his own room to change into evening attire before he went to rescue Rhoten from the garden. Better take his portfolio along, because he would not have time to fetch it should he need it later.

  Nodding, satisfied with the course plotted, he picked up his portfolio—

  And dropped it with a startled cry as his office door banged open and crashed against the wall. "Master O'Bannon! There's trouble in the court. The King requires your presence at once."

  Snatching up his portfolio, Reyes bolted from the room and through the myriad hallways of the mazelike palace until he reached court—the grand receiving room where most people met and milled about and held general audience with the King.

  Pushing people out of his way, ignoring their looks and exclamations, he finally reached the King's side. "Majesty?"

  "Reyes, this man is an imposter. Take down everything he says, and see that it is disproven."

  "Yes, Majesty," Reyes replied, and flipped open his portfolio, pulling out a pencil from the case of them he kept in his jacket. He looked quizzically at the man in question—and felt a sudden, sickening lurch in his stomach. It couldn't be.

  But the man had the curly golden hair, the slightly crooked nose, the stature—he looked very much like the King.

  "You are, sir?" Reyes asked briskly, setting aside his shock and focusing on what needed to be done.

  The man smiled, and something about it irritated Reyes, though he could not say precisely why. "My name is Gandy Aquebor, and thirty years ago my mother had a very brief affair with his Majesty. The King is my father."

  "That is a lie," Reyes said flatly. "The King has no sons, and if you were his son, you would not have waited thirty years to come forward. You look like him, I will grant you that, sir, but hair is easy enough to change with dye or magic. I hope you have better proof than that."

  Gandy bared his teeth in another irritating smile. "Would I dare to make such a claim, if I could not back it up?"

  "Yes," Reyes replied, as around him lords and ladies began to murmur or shout their agreement. One of the King's advisors finally stepped forward, and Reyes stepped back to take notes.

  "Then state your proof, sir," the advisor said.

  "Thirty years ago, when he was only eighteen, the King spent an evening with my mother."

  Next to Reyes, the King made a soft, horrified noise of disbelief. Reyes glanced at him, and realized with a nasty shock it was true—the King had spent the night with some woman thirty years ago. That would have been three years before he took the throne and was married. It made sense.

  "So why have you waited so long?"

  Gandy laughed. "After she discovered her state, my mother left the country. For years, she did not tell me the truth of my parentage. But some things are hard to hide, especially when you hear things about the great King of Elamas."

  "Yes, indeed," the advisor said coldly. "If you are the King's son, you will have the royal magic. Prove that to us, and this discussion is obviously over."

  "Alas, my lord, Majesty, I cannot. My mother has kept me on suppressants my entire life. For years, I thought it was because we lived in a country that is strongly against magic, and outlaws it. But when she told me the truth, I realized it was because I could have hurt people otherwise. Alas, I have been on them my entire life."

  Which meant, Reyes knew, that it would take months for his ability to use any magic to return. That was more than a little convenient.

  "He does have magic," said another advisor, eyes vague as he sensed Gandy's magic. "But, as he says, it is heavily muted." He shook his head, and his vision sharpened. "I would say it will be a good six months or so before he can prove or disprove his lineage by way of magic. What else can you tell us, sir? You have us curious, and that is not the same thing as content. The King was always faithful to the Queen, and out of the country or not, thirty years is a very long time to keep such a secret. We cannot simply accept you as the crown prince, not without much better proof."

  "As I said, he met my mother thirty years ago, when he was eighteen and she nineteen. It was during a hunting trip to the far south, as a guest of the Marquis of Hikks. He met her in the village, in a small tavern called the Frozen River."

  The King stirred, "That is very true, I met her there, and we spent the night. But it was not possible for her to have born a child."

  "Because she was barren? Imagine her surprise," Gandy replied. "It was quite the shock, and she left quickly to avoid the humiliation."

  Murmurs floated around the court, as people promptly forgot all their own indiscretions in favor of judging the King. Reyes could pick out at least four people who had born bastards, just with a quick glance around the room. Their country's population was low, and in the more rural areas especially, bearing children was difficult, where magic could not be relied upon as easily as it could in the larger towns and cities. That being the case, bastards were overlooked more often than they otherwise might have been, and the chance to put a real crown prince on the throne…

  Apparently it did not matter that the Princess's betrothed was a very good man, and thought well of by the King and court. The Duke Keene was by far a better choice than any bastard. But some people would say Gandy was better, simply because he was royal blood.

  But Reyes did not like Gandy; something about him seemed wrong. That aside, the King was clearly upset, and no good son would simply march into the middle of court and make such an announcement. Such a thing should be handled with discretion and class, not performed like some festival spectacle.

  It would, in fact, have been much better if he had said nothing at all. Being King took a great deal more than simply being of royal blood, bastard or no. How dare the man think that just because a young prince had a one-night affair with a tavern wench, that he was entitled to the throne.

  At least, Reyes thought, he was not pretending to affection or something equally ridiculous. His greedy nature
could not have been more apparent.

  "My mother had dark hair and blue eyes—I have her eyes, rather than yours, Majesty, which is a shame, I think," Gandy went on. "She often told me she envied your hair, which you wore long back then, and that night had tied back in a blue silk ribbon. You left it behind. She still had it when I buried her last year."

  "I see," the King replied, face implacable. He abruptly stood up. "I think that is enough for now. See that he is given a room. I am far from satisfied you are who you claim, but until the matter is firmly settled in my mind, you may remain by my good grace. Reyes, come with me."

  "Yes, Majesty," Reyes murmured, and followed him from the room. They walked in silence through the halls, ignoring the people they passed, until at last they reached the King's chambers. Reyes' own rooms were a bit further down the hall. A luxury, to have quarters on the King's Hall, but a necessity in his case. Often when the King was woken in the night to tend to emergencies, Reyes' presence was also required.

  The King sighed as he walked through the sitting room and into his bedchamber, where he vanished into the dressing room while Reyes took his usual seat at a table by the window. It overlooked the King's Gardens, which Rhoten had ordered crafted into an intricate maze built from stone and ice. Moonlight glistened on it now, adding a sleep, dreamlike quality.

  "Do you think he could be your son?" Reyes finally asked.

  "No," the King said. "That woman was barren because she had once miscarried, and it ruined any further chance of her having children. I was hardly the first man she had taken to her bed. The devil will be proving it, and we cannot prove it definitively for at least six months."

  Reyes scowled.

  "Sun and moon," the King said tiredly, coming out of his dressing room fighting with his neck cloth. "I do not think it will even matter, in the end, if my advisors and all the rest decide he would suit well enough."

  "The Basden line has always ruled," Reyes said. "They would not accept a pretender, surely. Not over the Duke; you have said yourself he will be a fine King."

  "But he is no Crown Prince, and the Duke cannot overcome that, no matter how good a man and leader he is," the King said. "Girls are favored throughout the kingdom, because they can bear children and there are too many men. Aggravating that when it comes to the royal family, only a male will suffice." He sighed again. "Send letters, Reyes, and compose them yourself while I go to contend with everyone over the general dinner that will now have to be arranged. Reschedule the drinks and private dinner with the ambassadors. Send letters to my daughter, Duke Keene, and Kinnaird. I want them all recalled immediately."

  Reyes nodded. "Yes, Majesty."

  "Kinnaird especially. He will unravel this disaster better and faster than anyone else. See that Keene's is sent by special messenger, and someone you trust to inform him of matters without being a nasty gossip about it. Emphasize that my vote is still with him, and I will not be persuaded by this pretender. His presence would help with that."

  "Of course, Majesty," Reyes said, already drafting the letters, mind shifting over his list of messengers, and finally settling on one. "I will have Kinnaird back by morning. Anything in particular I should tell the Princess?"

  "That she had best return home, and be a good Princess, or there is a good chance she will never be Queen," Rhoten replied. "That should set her heels afire."

  Reyes smiled briefly, "Yes, Majesty. Sun and moon favor you over dinner."

  "Thank you, Reyes. Send round word to me when the letters have been dispatched."

  "It shall be done within the hour."

  Then the King was gone. Reyes stared after him for a moment, then bent to his letters. When he had finished the drafts, he closed his portfolio and returned to his office. Lighting the lamps, he first tugged on the black bell pull twice, summoning two messengers, then went to his desk and sat down to rewrite the letters in pen on good paper. The letters to Keene and the Princess he signed with the King's name and seal, stamping the sealing wax with the King's personal symbol.

  Someone knocked on the door just as he finished, and he called for the knocker to enter. "Sey," he greeted, nodding to the severe looking, black haired man who stood before him, a frequent messenger of his. "Take this to the Duke of Keene. Explain to him all that transpired this evening, answer as best you are able any questions he may ask. Emphasize to him that he has the King's full support. Do as he bids. Keep this to yourself, and speak to no one else of the matter."

  "Yes, Master O'Bannon," Sey replied, accepting the letter and tucking it into his jacket.

  Reyes returned to his desk and pulled out a small, square slip of paper, scrawling his name on the bottom. "Get what money you require from the treasury, then go."

  Sey nodded, and left.

  Reyes turned to the second man, fair of hair and with a heavily freckled face, but just as somber as the first man. "Take this letter to the princess," he said, and signed a second slip. "You know how to deal with her, Lorine."

  "Yes, Master O'Bannon," Lorine said with a smile. He departed.

  Returning to his desk, Reyes composed one last letter, and sealed it as he had the others. Then he rose and left the office, making his way quickly to the palace tower where the birds were kept. "Give me a hawk," he told the Master Falconer. "It needs to go to the Northern Treasury."

  "Yes, sir," the man replied, and immediately went to fetch a beautiful white and gray bird. Reyes handed him the letter, and waited impatiently as the man affixed it to the bird.

  Finally, finally it was off, and he watched it until it was well out of sight. Hurry home, Kinnaird, he thought. As crazy as the man made him, he would fix this mess in a way that no one else could.

  Four

  A pounding on the door woke him. Kinnaird swore softly as the remnants of a very pleasant dream slipped away. Sitting up in bed, he called for the knocker to enter. A soldier entered, dressed in the special armor worn by those on gate duty, who might at any time be forced to go out into the dangerous weather. He spilled into the room with frantic urgency and approached the bed with a sealed letter extended, holding his lamp close so Kinnaird could see it.

  Kinnaird saw all at once that the letter bore the King's seal. Those, combined with the guard's urgent manner… no one was sending him good news.

  "Sent by royal hawk, your Grace," the soldier said, lighting a lamp when Kinnaird indicated he should. "We have sent word to the Steward, but we brought the letter straight to your Grace."

  "Thank you," Kinnaird said, dismissing him. Alone, he briefly examined the sealed letter, looking for anything that might give away a ruse, some other foul play, but all seemed well. The hand which had written his name was definitely Reyes'. He also saw Reyes had written just his name, rather than more properly using his title. That was definitely not like Reyes.

  Breaking the seal, he quickly read through the letter. The words made him stare in shock, and despite having reflexively memorized the contents as he read them, Kinnaird read the letter again.

  Then he tossed the letter aside and clambered out of bed, headed straight for his clothes. Pulling them on, lacing and buttoning hastily, he yanked on his boots and stamped into them.

  Another knock came at the door as he was reaching for his cloak.

  "Your Grace," Tamark greeted as he stepped inside. "I was told there was an urgent letter."

  Kinnaird nodded. "Yes. I've no time to explain. The letter is there on the bed; no eyes but yours may read it. Destroy it when you are done. I do not know when, or if, I shall return here." He slid a ring from his finger and pressed it into Tamark's hand. "Continue to pursue my inquiries. Come to me at Basden should you learn anything I must know. If you cannot reach me, then insist upon speaking with Reyes O'Bannon. He is the King's secretary."

  Tamark nodded, and slid the ring onto the middle finger of his left hand, barely glancing at Kinnaird's falcon and sword seal upon it. "Sun and moon grace you, and the King."

  "And you," Kinnaird replied, then
swung his heavy cloak over his shoulders, settling it comfortably. Such things were a pain to transform with him, but he could do it. Nodding in farewell, he strode from the room—but rather than head straight out of the keep, he instead strode to and up one of the keep towers.

  Reaching the top, he dismissed the guards stationed there, telling them to return in a few minutes time. Alone, he smiled faintly as he climbed atop the crenellation. Growing up, he had watched enviously for years and years as his father did this very thing, making it look so simple and easy. A cousin had once tried it, against strict orders they not attempt it until granted permission. He'd nearly died, and had come so close to it, he had been too afraid to fly for years.

  Eventually, Kinnaird's father had taught him how to do it, while his cousin sat afraid. It could be tricky, changing in such a way, but it was infinitely easier than shifting while grounded. His father had been extremely proud at how quickly Kinnaird had grasped it, had grasped anything to do with their special brand of magic. How quickly he'd grasped many things. But Kinnaird had always loved their flying lessons best. It was the one place he could be with his father, where only a very small handful of people could follow.

  He heard someone come up just as he braced himself, and half-turned to see Tamark. "Was there something else you needed?"

  "Only wanted to see you off, your Grace," Tamark replied. His mouth quirked, and he continued, "As a friend, and out of simple greedy curiosity."

  Kinnaird laughed, appreciating the honesty. "Well, I warn you, it has been known to turn stomachs. Not, I suppose, that you'll see much with the way I am going to do it."

  Tamark said nothing, merely returned the smile and nodded.

  Turning back toward the landscape, Kinnaird admired briefly the snow, the ice, the jagged edge of mountains and the distant gray of the ocean. Not a conventional sort of beauty, but he would always love it and call it home. Drawing a breath, he threw himself from the tower, breaking the bonds of held back magic as he fell. That was always how it felt—like he was finally letting something loose.