A Prince's Duty (The Royal Houses of Sea and Snow Book 1)

by Jude Marquez

  His arms were chained tightly above his head and he only had the vaguest memory of having been pulled from his bed and shoved in the cell.

  "Come, where is the mighty Bladebringer to make us all tremble in fear?" A voice hissed in his ear and his head was jerked back.

  Eamon opened his eyes. He was hurt, he was sure of it, but with the poppy still in his blood, he wasn't feeling a great deal of it.

  But he recognized the man in front of him.

  Otelin Dalson stood in front of Eamon. His hair was shorn short, dark strands falling over his face and his thin lips were pulled thinner by a bitter smile. There was a scar from right side of his forehead down to the left side of his chin that Eamon had put there. He was better known as the Servant Slayer, the man who killed servants in castles to take their place and assassinate the lords and ladies.

  For a hefty price, of course.

  Eamon knew him to be the younger brother of the man he thought he loved once. Being traitor to their own country was a blood trait that they shared. Eamon wondered if there was a price that Otelin had been paid or if this was work he did for free. Eamon was the reason that Otelin’s brother was dead, after all.

  "Unchain me and I will show you," Eamon said and bared his teeth at Otelin and the men beside him. It sickened him, but he recognized more than one face. Newer troops, he realized. He had to wonder how long this siege had been planned.

  "Abdicate your crown and we'll let you go," Otelin said.

  "I have no crown. I am merely a prince," Eamon attempted to sound casual but it felt like a lie on his tongue. He knew that if Otelin was demanding his abdication that meant only one thing.

  "Oh no, dear friend. Had you not heard? You are king. As of a few hours ago, when the last of your father's blood drained from his body and he died with a curse on his lips, you became king," Otelin said and withdrew a jeweled dagger from his hip. Eamon realized it belonged to Lissandra and he trembled with a rage he wasn't familiar with.

  Otelin flipped the dagger in the air and in three steps, he had slammed the dagger into Eamon's right shoulder.

  Eamon roared but Otelin looked unconcerned. He flicked at the handle with one long fingernail and Eamon felt it in his bones.

  "Abdicate," Otelin said.

  "Kill me," Eamon said through clenched teeth.

  "Do you think I won't?" Otelin said.

  "I know you will. And when the people hear that the usurper chained their beloved prince to a wall and tortured him? You think they will simply accept you?" Eamon laughed and he could hear the edge of hysteria in his own voice. "And my siblings. What of them?"

  "I don't answer your questions," Otelin hissed.

  "One of them has run, haven't they? It doesn't matter which. The crown falls to them and the country will rally behind them. The islands will rise with them. Our allies will fight for them," Eamon gritted his teeth when Otelin jerked the knife from his shoulder but didn't yell again as he felt the blood pour from his wound. "Kill me," he ordered.

  Otelin studied him. "And your beloved? The King of the Grayhaven empire? Because believe me, Your Highness, we took care of his parents long before your mother stopped begging for her life or the lives her children," he paced in front of Eamon. "He has no brothers or sisters. We kill him-" Otelin shrugged and spread his hands. "What then?"

  "Then you are a bigger idiot than your brother," Eamon hissed.

  He expected the blow but didn't see it coming. Nor did he see any of the others that followed it. When Otelin finally stepped back, Eamon laughed at him. "Shall I tell you why? Because if you kill him, the Grayhaven empire falls to bickering lords and ladies and they will sooner kill you in your sleep than accept you as king. So kill him too. Kill me," Eamon turned and spat. "I care not."

  Otelin studied him and took a step back and the torches flickered. "Bring him."

  They took Eamon down from the chains that held him against the wall and looped one around his neck like he was a dog. Eamon tried not to limp but it was a scarce thing.

  They climbed up stairs that he had not gone down since he was a child and his father had shown him the dungeons where men went to die. As they entered another landing, there were shouts and something else. It sounded like a fight of greater and greater escalation and then-

  When they rounded the corner and turned down another hall that was lit by torches, Eamon saw a sight that made his heart leap into his chest.

  Lady Issat was holding off four knights with a sword and a dagger. Behind her, Avelina was struggling to keep Alik on his feet. His shirt was red now, instead of the pristine white it had been earlier.

  Alik did not move, did not attempt to help Avelina. His body hung limply in her struggling grasp. At their feet and on Avelina's chest and belly was enough blood to make Eamon's head swim. No man could survive that much blood loss.

  Behind them, a door was open to the night.

  Issat must have come in through the door, picked the lock and gotten to Alik and Avelina before the knights caught on.

  Or maybe not when Eamon noted the three bodies on the floor.

  There was no way that Avelina could carry Alik out the passage and into the night with Issat fighting off the others.

  These thoughts ran through Eamon’s head and he calculated what they had left. Not much, barely anything at all.

  Really, all they had was Avelina and Issat to protect her. But if she lived, her claim to the throne could not be challenged. It was hers, fair and true. Their people loved her, she was smart, and she was fair. There would be civil war if the usurper tried to keep her from the throne that belonged to her.

  A Queen in the making, as their mother was fond of saying.

  "Leave him!" Eamon shouted. He received a swift backhand to his jaw. His consciousness wasn't a sure thing, not anymore. "Avelina, run!" He cried out and realized there were tears on his cheeks. He wasn't even aware he was crying.

  Her eyes met his and Issat's posture loosened. She understood. If the other three were lost, if Alik was dead, it was all left to Avelina. She would be the one to rally their countries and lead them against the traitors.

  The decision was made.

  "Tears for your beloved?" Otelin asked. "My brother would be jealous."

  Eamon ignored him and kept his eyes on his little sister, memorized every part of her. He couldn’t look at Alik at her feet. He wouldn’t. He had to remember that hope for their country and their people lived still.

  "Kill them," Otelin ordered.

  It happened so quickly that Eamon was sure he had lost consciousness during it. Avelina was screaming, Issat was dumping Alik's body from her arms and pushing her backward even as she fought off the others.

  Then there were snarls.

  Avelina looked behind her where the wolves were stepping over bodies and she looked to Eamon. There was a desperation there, a sadness but also a steely determination he had seen in Lissandra’s eyes once or twice.

  “Brother,” she mouthed. He nodded. She would do as he asked. She would run and live and return to her home.

  All was not lost. Avelina would live and she would bring hell down on all the people that had taken everything from her.

  The wolves knew Avelina, they would never harm her. Eamon was less sure of Issat but if she made no move to harm the royal family, if she kept her head down, they would pass her by.

  Kane entered somewhere in the middle of the wolves and stood over Alik's still body. Kane pressed his nose to the back of Alik’s neck and let out a long, mournful howl. It filled the passageway and the knights that held Eamon shifted nervously. The growls and snarls filled the hall and Avelina, wisely so, wrapped her arms around Issat's middle, making it clear to the wolves that Issat was a friend, not to be harmed.

  The wolves passed the two by and with one final look at Alik and then Eamon, they backed out of the open door, the only thing that could be seen for a brief moment was the bright blue of Avelina's skirt.

  Otelin shoved Eamon and the m
en holding his chains back a step or two and slammed the door shut between the hall and dungeon cells, effectively trapping his own men in a small chamber with half a dozen angry wolves.

  "Let's go," Otelin said and turned when the men started screaming.

  They continued their journey until they arrived in the front hall. Eamon's servants, his most loyal knights were there, the healer, the scribes that taught him to write, they were all there, stripped down to their small clothes. They were gathered in a large group, in the middle of the foyer, with chains and ropes tying them to one other.

  Otelin pushed Eamon to his knees in front of the gathered group. Willhelm flinched at the move and automatically made to move to Eamon until he was jerked back cruelly.

  "The other heirs have fled like the coddled cowards we all knew them to be. Princess Lissandra wasn't in the castle, Princess Avelina fled before my very eyes. Prince Edmond's body hangs from the tree just outside-"

  Eamon felt the words like a physical blow, like nothing else he had felt, not even the pronouncement of his own parents death. Children were meant to outlive their parents. Eamon was never meant to outlive Edmond. Not in this life.

  "And your Prince, your guardian, your Bladebringer," Otelin spat, "Is on his knees before me."

  "Chained. Injured, beaten while he lay unconscious, no doubt. That is the only way you could dream of beating him. With chains and five other armed men," Willhelm said.

  "Hush, man," Eamon ordered but the fire in Willhelm's eyes could not be held back.

  "What is your name?" Otelin demanded.

  Willhelm remained silent but met Otelin's eyes as he stepped up close to Willhelm.

  "Come, between comrades. What is your name?" Otelin was practically breathing in Willhelm's face at this point.

  “I am the one who slit your brother's throat and watched him bleed out in the dirt, like the useless, dishonorable rat he was,” Willhelm said and smiled.

  A moment later that damned jeweled dagger was buried in Willhelm's throat up to the hilt and Otelin jerked it out and caught Willhelm as he fell and stabbed him, over and over again. There were screams and the other knights struggled with their bonds but Otelin was relentless and the chains and ropes were tied too tightly.

  Otelin stood and he was soaked in Willhelm's blood. When he pushed his hair out of his face he smeared the blood across his forehead.

  "Tie them up," he said to one of them behind Eamon. The man tied each person to the next until they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, each one tied to the next.

  There was the sound of liquid splashing on the walls and the floor and Eamon didn't have to look to see the walls and floors being doused in lamp oil.

  The servants and knights watched and some of them sobbed, some begged for their lives and still others cursed Otelin and his men.

  When everything was sufficiently soaked, Otelin jerked Eamon to his feet, pulled him to the doors. Eamon jerked back and then there were the men again, beating him until his vision blurred and he was being dragged forward forcibly as he fought still, as the men dragged and kicked him, as he screamed for his people and his men.

  And then they were at the doors and Eamon met Nicolin's eyes one last time, the man who had been as close to him as his own brother. He had clearly fought that night as well.

  Nicolin didn't scream or beg or even cry. His eyes were clear and hard when he met Eamon's and he didn't look away as he shouted above the others, "It was my honor, King Eamon!"

  King.

  Then the doors were closing and Otelin took a torch from a nearby knight and tossed it inside. The flames came alive immediately and the screams followed, even after the doors were braced shut.

  Eamon curled up on the ground, unable to bear it.

  "On your feet," Otelin whispered in his ear.

  Eamon didn't move, didn't speak.

  Then he was jerked upwards again and he was forced forward, towards the tree he and Edmond used to climb as children, where they would look for their father's ships on the horizon, where once Eamon fell from and twisted his ankle and Edmond cried because he thought it was his doing.

  Edmond’s body swung there, silhouetted in the moonlight, silent, still, gray.

  Eamon didn't have time to judge his reaction, time for his mind to catch up with the visceral reaction of his body. He turned and vomited, the men holding him dancing away.

  "A brother for a brother, wouldn't you say?" Otelin said and kicked him squarely in the back towards the cliff and the ocean beyond. An old man was standing there, shaking, a scroll in his hands. Otelin pushed him to his knees at the feet of the old man, a scribe from a nearby village, and he went without protest.

  "Abdicate," Otelin said and nodded to the old man. The man unrolled the scroll with shaky, thin fingers and spread it out. He gave him a quill dipped in ink. "Abdicate and I'll make it quick."

  Eamon stared blankly at the document. He looked at the old man who was just as terrified as any that Eamon had seen that night. He could see that the man had nothing to do with this, that he was forced here by means that Eamon could only guess at.

  "I'm going to kill you," Eamon said quietly and looked up at the men that were gathered round him. "Each and every one of you are going to die."

  Someone laughed and another man managed a well-placed kick to his side, sending Eamon sprawling to the ground and then there was silence.

  A silence so thick, it was like the noise had been snuffed out like a candle. When Eamon looked up to see why they were so quiet, he saw that there was an arrow buried in the chest of one of the men and as he watched, another implanted itself in the throat of a different man. The old man took a step away and then another. The soldiers were too preoccupied to stop him when he scurried off into the night.

  Eamon couldn't help but envy his forethought.

  The person with the bow and arrow was hidden by the shadows of the nearby forest and when the men figured out the direction that they were coming from, they put Eamon in front of them and Otelin hid behind the rest.

  "Are you so sure of yourself that you won't hit the Prince?" Otelin shouted.

  Another arrow felled another man, and there were only two left holding the chains that bound Eamon to them and another with his sword drawn, looking to the trees. Eamon couldn’t help but be impressed by the marksmanship.

  Three and Otelin.

  "You made him king!" A voice shouted from the forest and the man on Eamon's right with the sword dropped with an arrow to his chest.

  Both men were hiding behind Eamon now, the chains digging painfully into Eamon's throat. Spots appeared in his vision and he wondered if he was hallucinating when he saw Alik stepped out of the treeline, a sword in hand, looking like a demon called from the deep.

  Where he was usually pristine and wrapped up tight in his clothing, now he was smeared with soot and so red with blood, it took Eamon a moment to recognize him.

  "One prince is dead, the kings and queens are slain in their rooms, and the royal heirs are either dead or run off. Tell me, what is the point of one more death?" Otelin called out. "We have use for a man like you in our ranks!"

  He did not recognize Alik as he was.

  Then the wolves appeared one after the other, just behind Alik. Eamon noted that the wolves were also smeared in blood, their muzzles still dripping, their teeth painted red when they bared them.

  "I would prefer death over serving you," Alik called out and Eamon had to give Alik credit for not missing a beat and correcting Otelin that more than one prince survived.

  A king, a king as you are, an orphan as you are now, a voice whispered in his head. It sounded like his mother and the tears that gathered in his eyes were not from the hurt that was coursing through his body.

  A horn sounded from far off, then another.

  "Make your decision quickly, soldier!" Otelin called out. "This is your last chance because that is the sound of my men coming to witness the slaying of a king."

  Alik muttered som
ething too soft for Eamon to hear over the rushing in his ears and he had to blink several times to realize that the four wolves accompanying Alik and Alik himself were rushing their group.

  The wolves circled and snapped and Alik paused long enough to jerk an arrow from one man's chest and aimed it.

  Eamon fell to his knees. Spots were dancing in his vision and there was a high pitched ringing in his ears that he was sure no one else heard.

  Alik shot the man who held the chains and the wolves descended on Otelin and Eamon knew what it sounded like to be surrounded by the hellhounds of the Vlann shores.

  Flesh tore and Otelin screamed and then Alik was pulling the chains from Eamon's neck and chest and had to pause to find the keys in one of the men's pockets.

  By the time Eamon was rid of the chains, there was little left of Otelin's body. The four wolves paced them and there was only the occasional low growl.

  "You're alive," Eamon said to Alik. He grasped Alik’s shoulders and swayed on his feet. "I thought- I thought they had killed you in the dungeons."

  Alik opened his mouth to reply but they noticed the torches streaming towards them. "Another time, we shall speak of it. Right now, tell me there is a way out of here."

  Eamon looked to the cliff.

  "A way that is not that," Alik hissed.

  "No," Eamon said and shook his head. He swayed on his feet. Alik wrapped an arm around his waist and Eamon gritted his teeth against the flare of pain in his side.

  "Will you survive the fall?" Alik asked. Eamon wanted to laugh. Alik was the one soaked in blood. But the concern in his eyes was so great that Eamon choked it back.

  Eamon looked to the cliff again and then back to the approaching torches. "I don't know. But I know that I won't survive them," he said and nodded at the torches.

  "Will I survive the fall?" Alik asked as they approached the edge. Eamon remembered such a short time ago when they stood here and kissed for the first time.

  It was another lifetime, that kiss.

  "Are you injured?" Eamon asked.