Jeffrey followed the marshal’s gaze to the desk. A large file lay open with multiple pages spilling out. One half-hidden page had a sketch of a younger looking Jeffrey, the remaining pages were covered in handwritten scribbles.
“You’ve fought in every war and major skirmish it would appear, made quite the reputation for yourself. There’s accolades and commendations galore, but then there’s the other side. Your first assignment and you disobeyed a direct order. You made your fellow soldiers turn around and retreat. If you hadn’t avoided an ambush and saved them all with your actions, you would have been turned away.”
Jeffrey remained silent, his gaze fixed on the wall behind the marshal.
“It continues.” The marshal shuffled the papers, the supply seeming endless. “Disobedience seems to run in your blood, and yet every time you seem to have a reason. You’ve saved your company from slaughter multiple times. Why is it you never follow the chain of command to raise your concerns?”
“Sir...” Jeffrey sighed, his eyes closing momentarily. “I have tried. No one listens. It’s faster to simply act.”
“You could have been an officer.”
“I have no interest in it, Sir.” Jeffrey shook his head, the idea of leading people, being responsible for them, it was too much.
“Your interest lies in killing.” The marshal said it as both a question and a statement.
“I like things to be simple.”
The marshal drummed his fingers on the table, watching. “What makes you think things will be simple in the Crownsguard?”
“The Crownsguard?” Jeffrey frowned.
The marshal raised an eyebrow at him. “The elite force you wish to join?”
“Sir, I...” Jeffrey paused. He hadn’t really known what the elite guard was. His commander had given him next to no information.
“Were you told anything at all about where you were going?”
“No, Sir.”
“You didn’t come here voluntarily, did you?”
Jeffrey hesitated, head cocked to the side.
“Be honest.”
Jeffrey’s answer came haltingly. “When the suggestion was made, it was done in a way that I believed there was no other option. I may have been able to decline but I figured there would be consequences of some kind. It seemed simpler to just agree.”
The marshal still drummed his fingers on the table. “So, your previous commander wanted rid of you and sent you here.”
Jeffrey’s instinct told him to agree but he bit his tongue and instead said, “I couldn’t presume to say, Sir.”
“You’ve worked for nobles before, those reports are less encouraging than the rest. Tell me why.”
An ancient memory resurfaced unbidden; being dragged across the ground, pressed against a post, hands tied above his head, the crack of a whip, searing heat as it connected, pain that crushed his mind. Jeffrey swallowed hard. His nails digging into his palms, he focused on the sensation of it to push away the memory, burying it deep. “They listen less than most,” he pressed out, his voice terse.
The marshal stopped drumming, his gaze narrowed. “As a Crownsguard you’re frequently in contact with both nobles and royalty. I’m not confident you will be able to behave as expected. But even if I don’t make you Crownsguard, the only other option I have is a Palaceguard. Your skills would be wasted, and you would still be surrounded by nobles. So, what am I supposed to do with you?”
Memories lingered when Jeffrey spoke, his voice small. “You could send me to the city guard, Sir.”
The marshal let out a breath between a laugh and a scoff. “Like your talents wouldn’t be more wasted there. If we were at war, I would send you to the front. It seems to be where you work best. Well, I have little choice now.” The marshal paused and sat forward, elbows on the table, hands linked, his gaze appraising Jeffrey. “From tomorrow, you’re on guard duty for His Highness the Crown Prince. This is his schedule for the coming days, as well as details on protocols you’ll need to adhere to during His Highness’s presence and within the palace at all times.” He held out a number of pages to Jeffrey. “Read it. Memorise it.”
Jeffrey blinked, his mouth hanging open. The marshal’s eyes narrowed, and Jeffrey closed his mouth, quickly took the papers, and stared at them wide-eyed. Guarding the Prince. Of all the duties in the world, he had to get guard duty for the Prince. He’d be surrounded by nobles, people that could recognise him, would know him from before, would be able to expose him. “Sir, with all respect.” Jeffrey lowered his head. “My record is not the best. But since I’ve arrived here, I’ve followed every order given to me. I’ve done everything asked to the best of my abilities. I don’t believe I’ve done anything to deserve this. If I deserve punishment, it cannot be as serious as this? Have me put in the stocks if you must, but please, Sir, not this.”
The marshal’s eyes wrinkled at the corners, his voice thick with irritation. “Serving the Royal Family in this way is the highest sanction of duty you can get. Not many are afforded the level of trust required for such a responsibility.”
“That’s what the posters say,” Jeffrey said, unable to stop himself. “We both know that guarding the Prince is anything but an honour.”
“You will mind your manners, soldier!” The marshal’s voice boomed with a harshness as fierce as thunder.
“My apologies, Sir.” Jeffrey lowered his head, his voice matter of fact. “But the Prince’s reputation speaks for itself.”
“Does it? And does mine speak for me? Does yours speak for you?” The marshal’s voice rumbled. “I’ve seen the way the other recruits look at you. The fear in the eyes of those that know your reputation. They’ve seen you fight and it confirmed their beliefs. Based on your reputation, you should be kept chained until you can be unleashed onto an enemy. You are a killing machine.”
Jeffrey’s body went rigid, only the tight control he exerted over his flesh, learned over years of training, stopped him from taking a step back, the impact of the words as strong as any punch. Of course, he knew the things being said about him, but to hear them in this way was different.
“Never form an opinion about someone you’ve not met yourself. Reputations can be misleading.” The marshal’s voice slightly gentler now.
Jeffrey looked up and met the marshal’s gaze. The words had jarred him, opened something up inside. A flash of memory; a broken body covered in blood. His voice small, he said, “I am a killing machine, Sir. I would deserve to be chained.”
The marshal held his gaze as the silence stretched on. Jeffrey looked away first, his head lowered again.
“I’ve seen you with the recruits. You’ve helped them, gave advise and support. You’re kind to those younger or weaker than yourself. You’re protective of your own. It says so in your record too.” Jeffrey remained silent. “Maybe it’s your way of making up for your darker side, your way of keeping a balance. Whatever the reason, you’re much more than your reputation would have people believe.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Jeffrey half whispered, thoughts and memories tumbling in his mind.
“Don’t.” His voice became hard again. “You’re going to become the Prince’s guard. You will keep your opinions to yourself and follow the orders you’ve been given.”
Under the marshal’s unrelenting gaze, Jeffrey crumbled. “Sir, I’m not good at holding my tongue. I say things I shouldn’t, things that other’s take the wrong way. It’s worse around nobles. I beg you—”
“You will do as told. You will learn to hold your tongue if that’s what it takes. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Prince found his own way to teach you if you can’t manage on your own.”
Jeffrey sighed and hung his head. He’d faced much worse situations, ambushed, outnumbered, outmanoeuvred, he’d never been scared before, not in a great many years. Being guard to a Prince should not count as a difficult assignment, not by any stretch of the imagination. He’d changed too, he no longer looked like the foolish boy he had once been. T
he uniform might also serve as disguise. And really, what were the odds that anyone would recognise him after ten years and in this place where no one would ever expect to see him.
“If you do well, we’ll have another chat in time and see what we can do then.”
“What if...” Jeffrey cut himself off. Not to do well in guarding the heir to the crown did not seem to be an option, even to him.
“The only thing on your mind must be the Prince’s safety. One day, he shall be your King, he must. The alternative is civil war at best. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Sir.” Jeffrey relented, accepting his task. “My duty is to the Crown and the Empire.”
The Marshall nodded. “Keep your mouth shut with him and keep him safe. Spend tonight learning the protocols. Tomorrow, an hour before your shift you will report to me. I’ll see you sworn in and fitted with a new uniform as well as better gear. That’s all.”
Jeffrey saluted by bringing his right fist to his chest and inclining his head, “Yes, Sir.” He left the room.
***
At the appointed hour, Jeffrey arrived outside the Prince’s quarters for his first shift. He’d seen the marshal moments earlier, sworn his Crownsguard oath, and received his new uniform: cobalt-blue tunic, dark-brown leather chestguard, greaves and bracers, a short cape hanging off his shoulders. The dark olive-green cape showed both the crossed swords and crown of the Crownsguard as well as the Sigil of House Faustus; a circular shape containing the tree of life, its roots as large as its crown. Green, the Prince’s colour, marked Jeffrey as the Prince’s personal guard.
Standing beside the door, leading to the Prince’s private rooms, was a young redhead, the tattoos visible on one pale arm marking him as a Northern Clansman. He wore the same uniform as Jeffrey. “You must be Kieron? I’m Jeffrey, Dino’s replacement.”
“What’s the keyword?” Kieron replied, his voice gruff. He had one coppery eyebrow raised as his blue eyes wandered the length of Jeffrey’s body.
“Scorany.” Jeffrey used the word he’d been given to identify himself as sanctioned guard.
“He’s going to eat you alive, little princess.” Kieron crossed his arms in front of his chest, lips formed in a smirk.
Jeffrey let his green eyes wander over Kieron’s body, mimicking Kieron’s own actions. He’d spent many years fighting side by side with Northern Clansmen, as well as fighting against them at times. In their culture hierarchies were crucial and established within the first seconds of an encounter. Once established, the hierarchies could determine all aspects of a relationship. “You should watch your words, Trian,” he said and stepped up to Kieron, their faces inches apart. Northmen had their own words for someone superior in skill and more powerful and other words for those who were inferior.
Kieron’s eyes opened wide, he sneered. “You think that impresses me? You’re nothing, princess.” He made to push Jeffrey but before he could, Jeffrey grabbed Kieron’s throat and shoved him back against the wall.
“Tell me again what I am.”
Kieron struggled against Jeffrey, strained and writhed under Jeffrey’s hold but could not get free. Jeffrey stood still, his body pressed against Kieron’s, his legs keeping Kieron’s apart. His hold on Kieron’s throat tight but not so strong the redhead couldn’t breathe. At long last Kieron went slack. “I’m sorry, Tiras.”
“You will remember this, Trian.”
“Yes, Tiras.”
“Tell me what happened to Dino,” Jeffrey demanded.
“He fell asleep on the job. The Prince nearly slit his throat for it, with Dino’s own sword too.” Kieron’s eyes were shining as he spoke, his voice gleeful. “In three days, he’ll be flogged, half the court will come to watch.”
“Has this happened before?” Jeffrey asked, trying to gather information that would help him in this assignment.
“No, Dino was just inept. But...” Kieron trailed off, his head lowered.
“Go on.”
“There’ve been others who’ve been punished harsher than necessary. Public floggings on the Prince’s orders aren’t uncommon. He can be cruel.”
“You shouldn’t speak so of your Prince,” Jeffrey tightened his hold of Kieron’s throat temporarily. He disliked gossip, but he needed to know what awaited him.
“I’m sorry, Tiras. You asked, I answered.”
“His guard changes frequently I heard. Why?”
“I cannot answer that without speaking of the Prince in a way you won’t like.”
“Speak freely, this once.”
“The Prince is feared. No one volunteers. People are ordered to serve, some are simply not able. Some do a bad job in an attempt to get out of it. Usually, they don’t fare well, like Dino. They... angering the Prince can be dangerous. I’m sorry, Tiras... I can’t say more.”
“You’re relieved from duty. Go now.”
The moment Jeffrey released his hold, Kieron scrambled away, scurrying down the corridor.
Left on his own, Jeffrey knew it would likely be some time until the Prince would arise, giving him time to think. Inside the barracks, when no officers were around, the soldiers spoke freely of the nobles they served. The trainees were in a separate barracks to the sworn guards, Crownsguards and Palaceguards also kept separate. But there were enough interactions for gossip to spread, whether directly or through the servants, with their eyes and ears everywhere.
Many tales were told of the cruelties the Prince could subject on soldiers and servants alike. While Jeffrey knew better than to listen to gossip, he also knew it always held some truths.
Both the marshal’s and Kieron’s words played on Jeffrey’s mind; Kieron’s mention that angering the Prince could be dangerous, the marshal’s worry of civil war. Having to serve the Prince as guard counted among the worst things Jeffrey could imagine having to do, possibly the worst. Yet, here he was with no way out. Doing a bad job did not appear to be an option, nor did requesting reassignment. It didn’t leave much else. Jeffrey would have to find a way to make do and follow his orders. At least for now.
He schooled himself in patience, taking in the rough stone walls of the hallway, covered by heavy tapestries, the colour deep and vibrant with gold interlaced throughout. Green carpet covered the stone floors, at intervals, the royal sigil had been sewn in with gold thread. The windows were arched, the top consisting of stained glass depicting scenes of the empire’s history, the wars before Adriano had formed Sycania as it was now.
The Prince’s private apartments were in the royal wing, a newer section of the palace, at around two hundred years old. The oldest part being some eight hundred years old. Many King’s since Adriano had added to the palace, building new sections, renovating the old ones. The oldest parts were also the grandest. Each wall and ceiling covered in carvings of the Goddesses, myths, or legends, their detail wondrous and startling, captivating every passing eye with its beauty.
The ostentatiousness of the decorations made Jeffrey wish for the cleaner palaces of the south though. Many of them from more ancient times, before Adriano, where the walls were marble, the decorations consisting of busts and statues placed in clean archways located at spaced out intervals in main hallways only. Sometimes the ceilings were decorated with paintings, but the walls and floor were bare, the windows consisting of colonnades or arches, open to the elements because of the gentler weather in the south. He had not been in a southern palace in many years.
Some of Jeffrey’s early assignments included patrolling city walls, with nothing to do but stare out at the horizon, so he was well practised in standing still with little or no action. While tedious, he found ways to empty his mind while still being alert and aware of his surroundings which made it much more manageable.
His state of heightened awareness meant he heard the footsteps before they were really audible. While he didn’t expect it to be an unwanted visitor, he still prepared himself silently for any possibility. Standing still as stone, he appeared no different than a few mo
ments earlier, aside from his hand now resting on his sword hilt. Inwardly, he got ready to pounce.
As the steps neared, he noted how faint they were, which ruled out a number of people from soldiers to nobles. It wasn’t until the person walked around the nearest corner that Jeffrey recognised the palace servants. Their slippers were designed to be near noiseless on the palace floors, thereby reducing potential disturbances that may inconvenience the Royal Family. Jeffrey relaxed and suppressed his inner laugh. He would hardly have to deal with assassins on his first day on the job.
“A new face again,” the servant said as he approached. “First day?”
“Yes, I’m Jeffrey. Do you have a keyword?” Jeffrey took in the servant’s appearance, his clothes were simple, but he wore an overcoat with the Prince’s crest on it. He’d been given enough details on the Prince’s staff to recognise him as the Prince’s personal server, Hendrick.
“I have. Scoranis. Hendrick is my name. I have the pleasure of serving His Highness breakfast every morning.”
Jeffrey nodded in acceptance of the keyword. A different word for guards and servants and other groups. “Not an enviable task I imagine. Is he difficult to wake?”
Hendrick’s eyes sparkled, a split appearing between his lips revealing teeth as he laughed. “Thankfully, I don’t actually have to wake him. I go in, leave the tray by the bed and open the curtains, then I duck out. I have it down to less than a minute in his room on the good days. Sometimes he’s awake already... I find agreeing with whatever he says tends to help. If you make it through the first week, you’ll be fine. Good luck,” Hendrick winked at him and opened the door more quietly than Jeffrey would have thought possible.
When Hendrick came back outside, he threw Jeffrey a wary glance, “His Highness has requested your presence.”
Jeffrey sighed, and braced himself for what lay ahead. Entering through the door, he found himself in a reception room, intricately carved and ornamented tables standing along the walls, a large, decorative tree with gold leaves stood near the window, a physical representation of the family crest, armchairs and couches surrounded a low table. An enormous set of double doors dominated each wall. When Hendrick indicated the left with a sympathetic expression, Jeffrey nodded in thanks. He moved to enter the room but halted in the open doorway, frozen by the sight that greeted him.
Ties of Destiny (Curse of the Crown Book 1) Page 2
