Indiscretion

by Jordan Silver

  Indiscretion

  By Jordan Silver

  Copyright©2016 Jordan Silver

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  ***

  The clashing of steel rang out across the vast countryside as the dawn broke, and men fell from their sleep to find themselves in the midst of battle. The grey skies looked ready to belch with rain at any moment as the birds had yet to leave their nests.

  Young prince Julian searched out his sire in the midst of the melee, even as his men at arms sought to protect him. He knew that it was his sire’s orders that he be guarded at all cost at such a time as this, but the young man could not leave his sire’s side.

  The men rallied themselves to defend their king and his prince, cutting down everything in their path. Showing why they had earned the reputation as the greatest army in all Europe.

  They hadn’t been expecting an attack this far inland, since the threat, had been thought contained closer to the sea town of Portsmouth. It was there they were headed to quell the latest rebellion, yet somehow here they were days away from that port.

  There was no time to think of the obvious treachery that had found them surrounded by the enemy on their way from one palace to another for safety’s sake. His sire had sought to get his heir along with his other offspring to safety, at the refusal of his eldest son.

  The younger prince Frederick, and his sister princess Lillian had been taken on a different route under orders of the king. But his eldest son had stood his ground, choosing instead to stay where he could defend his aging father.

  He was first in line for the succession, but he would not put that great privilege above the care of his own dear sire. And so there had been a great big row between the two strong-headed men into the wee hours of the morn. With Prince Julian prevailing the victor.

  Now he fought his way through the throng of men with no real care for his own person. His only thought to get to his sire’s side, to defend even unto death. His sword rang out as it met the steel of his foes but he kept his eyes trained on the place ahead where he could see his sire in the thick of battle, doing what he liked best.

  The smell of blood was heavy on the wind, the labored breathing of the steeds blowing cold through their nostrils, their thundering hooves stirring up the earth beneath their feet. All around was the chaos and madness of war. Death could come at any moment; it was in the air. Today would decide the fate of a kingdom.

  Julian Aguilon, first son of Henri the VI fought his way to the place where his father fought valiantly, surrounded by his men. He looked neither left nor right, but steadily cut down the enemy as he came upon them, his mind set on one goal.

  As he drew nearer, chopping and slashing as he went, he saw his father cut down. The sight was so incongruous to his young senses that for a moment time stood still. He could hear plainly the awakening of the birds as they twittered in the trees, almost as loud as the beating of his own heart in his ears.

  He could feel the warmth of the rising sun as it touched his cheek, but none of it registered, as he sat transfixed by the sight of his strong, full of life, majestic king falling to his knees.

  “Father.” His cry was one of torment and rage as he slipped from his horse and ran into certain danger to reach his sire. It was left to the men at his back to preserve his life as he forgot all danger to himself in his haste to get to the king’s side.

  Dropping to his knees as the battle raged on around him, he took his father’s hand as he fought to remember the duties of a prince. All his teachings went the way of fodder. All he was then was the son of a great man, a man in whom death now shone in his eyes.

  As if from a distance it all came back to him, his sire’s own words. He must not show weakness in tears, must not fidget about as he wished to, or howl to the skies for help. He must bear the carriage of one befitting a king. Yet he could not withhold the tears that now blinded his eyes and the sorrow from his heart.

  The wound was a grievous one; even he could see that, as it had torn the gut open and the dark blood of the liver flowed onto the grass beneath. Death blood. A cold shiver ran through his being as he accepted that he was in the presence of imminent death.

  Not only that, but this was the one being on earth that he loved and trusted above all else. He stood to lose much this day with the passing of his sire. Much more than he stood to gain. Not even for the kingdom that was sure to fall into his hands would he have wished this.

  He looked into the fading light of his father’s eyes even as he longed for vengeance. Longed to seek out the very one who had struck the blow and fell them with his own sword. “Father, no….” His voice was that of the young boy he’d once been. A child, who held an innocent love for a father who was all that was greatness in his eyes.

  With the last of his remaining strength, the old king reached up and clasped his son’s nape, dragging his face down to his. “You must carry on son, we’ve come this far we cannot turn back.”

  “Your grandfather, assoil his soul, fought and won this land for our people. We have held it in good stead for over fifty years. Now it will fall to you to carry on what we’ve started. To make proud the great name of Aguilon.”

  Even as he knew the words to be true, young Julian fought against them; the kingdom came at too high a price. “I will not have it. You must live father. I do not want the bloody kingdom if it means you are no more.” His words held such conviction it gave the older man his last smile.

  His boy was much like him he knew, and so did not worry that their monarchy shall survive for many years to come. His only wish was that he had left things a little more settled for the boy. He hadn’t had enough time.

  “Yes my son, if you do not, our people shall be slaughtered and the rest cast out. They will die without a home and our great dynasty will perish. Do not let it end on this battlefield.” He left off clasping the boy’s nape and grabbed his hand with his exerting all the force he could muster so the boy would heed him.

  “You must forge on; they think you weak and beaten, as your king has been fallen this day. They will not expect you to carry on. The men are tired and hungry, they will fight all the more, all the harder to fill their bellies.”

  The old king labored for his next breath, his grip on his heir’s hand easing as he fought to get all that he needed out before he took his last breath.

  He had so hoped to pass his son a kingdom at peace, but the buggering Whitleys had been a thorn in the sides of the monarchy for the past ten years now.

  An upstart family of reputable bloodlines, they saw themselves as better suited to rule than the barbaric Aguilons who were a warring people. Who had fought their way across sea and land for generations, before seizing the sovereign rule of the greatest nation on earth.

  The Whitleys had curried favor with most of the royal houses of Europe, that gaggle of blue-blooded nabobs, who looked down their noses at anything that hadn’t been born of them. The Aguilons may not have been born to royal blood, but they were kings nonetheless, down to their very souls. And they had proved it, hadn’t they, time and again.

  “When you have gained your throne you must destroy Wessex.” He coughed and the blood spewed onto his doublet.

  “Wessex? But he’s my godfa
ther, your closest friend and ally.” Julian was flummoxed.

  “His ambition makes him your greatest enemy. He would see his son in your place as a puppet king to the ruling Whitleys in the Northern lands and the French.”

  “Remember, he has no loyalty to you my boy. Whatever friendship and caring he had were towards me. You must think like a king now my boy, not as man or friend.”

  King Henri said this because, just as the fathers, the sons had been ever close since the nursery. Nicholas and Julian were just about inseparable since they were in swaddling, and now at the age of twenty-one, the two shared much together.

  Julian took in all that his father told him that day, his heart growing cold as he realized the burden that was now his to carry. He held onto his sire’s hand for as long as it took, not wishing that the man who had given him so much should die alone.

  “All will be as you have said father. Go in peace.” His hand tightened on his sire’s as the other man’s hold weakened. In his mind he saw so much. So many days spent in the saddle as his sire taught him to ride before he fair knew how to walk.

  He heard the older man’s voice, his laughter as he told him some tale. The king had stayed by his side when he fell ill as a child, relegating the duties of a king to be a father to the son he loved so well.

  He swallowed back the tears and begged for strength, the strength to exact vengeance as well as to carry on his family’s legacy, the strength to do his sire and his people proud.

  As his father slipped away from him he once again heard the clashing of steel that had somehow been dimmed while he shared his last words with the man he favored above all else.

  It was not their custom to desert the battlefield if their king was felled, not as long as the heir was in their midst. They would fight to the death to protect him he knew, and so he must put aside his grief and lead his men.

  Seeing what had transpired, the young as yet uncrowned king’s friends and confidants had rushed to his side in the battle. He turned then to seek out the man who had brought about this destruction. The one who sought to steal a crown, and a kingdom, the thorn in his family’s side.

  “Julian...” He did not turn at the sound of his friend’s voice, his interest only for the man who sat his horse atop the distant hill looking down at the carnage.

  His blood was hot in his veins and again he took no thought for himself as he made his way to his steed and gained its back in a single leap. Voices rose behind him as his sire’s loyal soldiers gave orders to protect the new king.

  He never took his eyes from his prey as he drew his bow and arrow and notched it. Spurring his great steed on with the press of his knees, he galloped through the melee as his men covered him on all sides.

  He knew he would have but one shot at this so he had to make it count. There was no thought in his head that he might fail, there was no room for that; he couldn’t afford it.

  When he was in position, men fighting to get to him now that the king was dead, his men doing their best to keep him safe, he stood in his stirrups, steadied the well-trained horse beneath him and took aim.

  His adversary did not see him until it was too late. The arrow sung through the air and made its mark through the eye of the opposing head of the Whitley clan, who had come to steal a kingdom not of his making. Julian watched until he fell from his steed, dead before he reached the ground.

  The kill did nothing to ease the pain in his heart. He turned swiftly, sword drawn and slashed his way through all and any of the enemy who were close enough.

  If he could he would ride all the way to the Whitley holdings and burn it to the ground with every last man, woman and child inside. Seeing their leader fallen from his horse, his enemy’s men scattered like the proverbial sheep and took flight.

  “After them, leave none alive.” The new king rode into battle with his men’s cries of war behind him. He felt the strength of his father’s life. All that he had learned at the older man’s knee, all that he had seen his family endure, now gave him strength.

  Something was born in him in the hours following. On the battlefield what innocence of youth he had left died and in its place was left a cold determined king.

  Each time his sword arm grew tired all that was needed for him to go on was the sight of his sire’s blood seeping into the grass, his life leaving his eyes. How easy had it been to snuff out the life of one so great. He learned another valuable lesson that day. Life was a fickle bitch.

  Chapter 2

  ***

  The battle was fierce but handily won in the end. Young Julian looked on as his men looted what was left of the enemy. They were starved and cold, having spent these last months fighting to keep control of their land, their home.

  “We go home.” One enemy had been vanquished, and now he goes to secure his throne. “Find my brother and sister and bring them to me.” He turned his steed around and headed back to the place where he had laid his dead father.

  After procuring his father’s body the young king led the procession, his mind and heart full of the task he now faced. He kept his silence as his friends flanked him lost in their own sorrow. His sire had been a hard task master yes, but he had ever been fair and his subjects that held a true love and admiration for the ruler who had always looked out for their best interest first above his own, would feel the loss almost as much as he.

  Julian wondered not for the first time what kind of king he would be. Would he be the man his sire had been, or would he follow the wrong counsel into darkness? He had some ideas about that, and the fact that those closest to his king had been the ones to betray him only solidified his resolve. He will keep his own counsel and not let others rule his kingdom through him.

  There was bound to be a struggle, those who sought to line their own coffers through having the king’s ear will not be pleased. He didn’t give a fig about that. He will learn from his sire’s mistakes and not repeat them.

  They rode on through the night, most of the men somber at the loss of the king who had done so much for his people. But some, especially the younger ones, were already looking forward to a new way of things. That is the way with things after all.

  The older men spoke softly of their fallen king and his many exploits. The son felt his heart ease with the memories, at the way the men showed such reverence to his sire. He had truly been loved. Will he gain their love and respect on his own merit, or will he fall short in their eyes?

  The burden of the throne was heavy on his shoulders as his mind tried to set order to the tasks ahead. He had only a few minutes of raw fear at what laid ahead. His only wish was, not to disappoint his sire. Not to fall short of all that the older man had expected of him.

  The talk turned from the old king to his heir and what would be needed to see that his transition from prince to ruler went well. Everyone knew the young prince had been well liked for all that he sported and flitted away his days in joyful pursuits.

  It was also known that he was a learned scholar, a rare thing for a monarch of the time; as well as being very adept, on the battlefield. The only place his mettle had not yet been tested was in matters of state.

  But they foresaw no issue with his acceptance by the people. It was well that the boy had always had favor with his father’s subjects. That he had shown himself worthy and capable.

  Many had the thought that alas it was a good thing that the younger brother would not be called upon to take the throne. That the son had not perished with the father this day, or the kingdom would be in an uproar for many days to come. But those words were not uttered aloud.

  It wasn’t that prince Frederick wasn’t well liked. But the boy was a pale, weak version of his more valiant brother. He’d ever been sickly and given to bouts of melancholy and there was always talk about the very glaring differences between the two.

  Julian’s thoughts were running along much the same lines. Not that he disparaged his brother in the same way. He loved his sibling, as an older brother should. But
a king should have an heir and Frederick was next in line if something should befall him. The thought was less than inspiring and the new burden grew that much heavier.

  ***

  Upon their arrival at Glendairy Palace, the young king’s first order of business was to gather his family around him in the kings’ inner chambers. “Where are my brother and sister? Have they arrived safely?”

  “Yes your majesty.” Majesty, he had once jokingly said that it would be his title of preference once he ascended the throne. Others had teasingly called him that from time to time. How long ago had that been now?

  The door opened behind him and he turned to see his travel weary brother and sister rush into the room. “What has happened Julian where’s father?” Prince Frederick, two years his brother’s junior did not bear the majestic carriage of his older sibling.

  Neither had he been blessed with the beauty of form that his brother had. Instead taking after their mother, who had been a plain woman but who had known the love and admiration of her husband.

  The differences between the two were never more evident than now as the king looked upon the fearful stance of his brother. The young prince looked more of a huntsman than the son of a king, as he much preferred the hunt and frolicking with his hounds than much else.

  Julian faced him now with the knowledge that he would share his sorrow. But where he was strong enough and sound of mind, he wasn’t sure how his younger sibling would handle the news.

  There was no way to soften the blow so he said the words out loud for the first time. “Father is dead.” He caught his little sister against him when she fell into a near swoon. His heart hurt for the young girl who had been his sire’s cherished last child with the wife of his youth. She had been the last gift from his wife who had lost the battle for her life in childbirth.

  His brother looked on in obvious bewilderment as if the words had not yet registered, as if they were too much for him to take in. Julian held out his hand to his brother, clasping him to his side with one arm as he held his sister against his chest with the other. “It will be well.” He kissed his brother’s cheek before releasing him again.