“No,” he whispered. “No.”
Then, strong hands were grabbing Relam, lifting him to a sitting position. He heard Clemon’s voice, and Eckle’s, but their words were meaningless. They hauled him to his feet, trying to drag him out of the audience hall. Relam did not resist them. He didn’t have the strength, even if he wanted to. As they approached the door, Relam looked back and saw his father watching him go. He could have sworn the king mouthed the word, ‘son’. Then, his father turned and collapsed against the dais, head bowed. The crown went skittering away, ringing on the stone floor.
Between them Clemon and Eckle managed to drag Relam to the royal suite, propping him up in his chair, telling him to lean forward so the blood would not fill his lungs or stomach, shouting for healers, sending guards running through the palace on all levels. Then, soothing hands took over and Relam yielded to their tender ministrations. He felt a terrible, searing pain from his nose at one point, and there were voices muttering throughout. None of it made any sense, and the prince passed out moments later.
When he woke, Relam found himself slumped forward in the same chair, tied to it with a pair of thick bands. There was something thick and fuzzy covering his nose and part of his face, restricting his breathing and his sight in a few places. There were blood flecks on the floor in front of him, and on his clothes and the chair as well. He tried to look around, but his head had been immobilized as well somehow.
“Hello?” he called uncertainly. His mouth felt thick and awkward, and talking didn’t come as easily as it should.
“Is anyone there?”
A door opened swiftly behind him and several people entered. The first was a healer, judging from the brown tunic and the satchel he carried. The second was Clemon, hovering anxiously behind the healer. Others were there as well, guards, judging by their armor. One leaned in close, peering at Relam, then backed away at a word from the healer.
“What happened to you, sir?” Wil asked curiously. “That’s the worst break I’ve seen in a while.”
“Training accident,” the healer said, glancing at Relam. “He was sparring with a friend and it got a little out of control.”
“Ouch,” Johann said, peering at Relam too. “You may want to pick weaker friends in the future, sir.”
“Back away, let me speak to him,” the healer muttered, shooing the inquisitive guards back to their positions by the wall. “How do you feel, your highness?”
“Like I’ve been pounded flat and left out to dry in Mizzran at noon,” Relam muttered. “What’s going on? Why am I tied up like this?”
“To restrict movement, and keep your lungs from filling with blood,” the healer replied. “Your nose is broken badly. I’ve reset it and you should be fine before long. In a day or two the pain will go down but it will still be swollen. Once it stops bleeding the worst of the danger is over. You’ve got a couple of good scratches below your left eye too. A little higher and we would have had real trouble.”
“I would hardly call this fake trouble,” Relam muttered. “Any other damage?”
“Remarkably no,” the healer said. “You just need to rest, take it easy.”
“That’s what I was supposed to be doing when I got hurt,” Relam muttered, glancing at Clemon. The chatelain’s face was impassive, betraying nothing, but he gave Relam a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
The healer leaned closer and inspected Relam’s bandages, peering at his damaged nose. “I think the bleeding has stopped, but we’ll be a little overcautious with this,” he announced. “Can’t be too careful, your highness. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Thanks,” Relam said. “Can I speak to Lord Clemon? Alone?”
“Of course,” the healer agreed, withdrawing.
Relam looked up at his guards. “You too,” he said. “I’ll be fine for a few moments.”
“Yes, sir,” Eric said. “Come on,” he added, ushering the others out.
Relam waited until the door latched behind him and Clemon had moved to stand in front of him. “Do you mind sitting?” Relam asked. “All I can see of you from this angle is your legs and chest.”
Clemon sat cross legged on the floor, arranging his robes fastidiously. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” Relam agreed.
“Nobody knows this is your father’s doing,” Clemon began. “Except myself and Eckle, that is.”
“Good,” Relam muttered.
“To everyone else, it was just a training accident.”
“And what of my father?”
Clemon hesitated. “You got through to him,” he said finally. “We’ll see what happens next. He was in the audience hall, weeping, when I sought him out after finding you a healer. I took the crown and your swords and hid them away for now. His majesty is in his room now.”
“Thank you,” Relam said gratefully. “Do you think that he will be all right?”
“Time will tell,” Clemon replied. “The good news is, you suffered no lasting harm.”
“Yes.”
They lapsed into silence, each thinking back on the emotional confrontation. Relam still couldn’t believe it had happened. It seemed like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. But if it had snapped his father out of his black mood, then it would all be worth it, no matter how rough the coming days might be.
“I should be going,” Clemon said finally, getting to his feet again. “There is business to attend to, and you need rest.”
“Yeah,” Relam muttered. “Take care, Clemon.”
“Good day, your highness.”
The king’s chatelain let himself out and Relam slumped against his restraints with a sigh. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his position was extremely uncomfortable and sleep would not come. One miserable, pain-filled hour later, the healer returned, poking at Relam’s wounds and eliciting grunts
