Sebast hung between Delan and Knet, panting heavily, struggling against their restraining hands. His dark curls were drenched with sweat, nearly plastered flat, but his tan, compact frame was full of rigid intensity as he attempted to continue the one-sided fight. Relam looked around surreptitiously, but none of the other travelers on the River Road seemed to have noticed the brief skirmish.
“Let it go,” Delan urged. “Remember who he is.”
“Yeah,” Sebast growled. “Always have to protect the prince.” He straightened and stepped back, shaking the others off. “By your leave, your highness.” He made a small, mocking bow then stalked off towards the Furnier River, along which many of the nobles had their manors. Delan, Knet, and Jatt glanced warily at Relam, then followed. Cevet hung back though, looking at Relam curiously.
“Go on, go with them,” Relam said, gesturing towards the retreating lordlings.
Cevet looked away. “You could have him arrested, you know. Or have your father punish him.”
“That would only create more problems,” Relam replied, wincing as his ear throbbed again. “Lord Garenes is powerful, and moving against his son for something as petty as a squabble between cadets will create all kinds of fallout. Besides, I fight my own battles.”
“Against five to one odds?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“How about four to two?”
Relam looked up, surprised. Cevet was the smallest of the cadets, not very strong, but reasonably smart. Not a powerful ally exactly, but something. Unless he was joking. But the expression on Cevet’s thin face told Relam the other boy was totally serious.
“You may not want to throw in with me,” Relam warned. “Sebast will be after you too then.”
“Fine,” Cevet said, shrugging. “If you don’t want me, I’ll just be moving on.”
And before the prince could call him back, he was gone, walking quickly across the road and disappearing into an alley that led towards the Furnier River.
Relam straightened, grimacing, and began the short journey back to the palace. His head throbbed with each pace and his balance was a little off, but other than that he hadn’t suffered too badly from Sebast’s outburst. He rubbed at his neck, troubled by the sudden eruption of violence from the lordling.
One day, Relam knew, he would have to work with the young Garenes heir all the time. Sebast would be a major lord, and therefore a chief advisor to the crown. A man of considerable power.
Relam swore under his breath, wishing that he was not destined to be king, doomed to moving in the circles of stuck-up nobles and self-important brats for his entire life. There were few people at court he could tolerate, and fewer that he liked.
What the young prince really wanted was to be away from all of that. He craved adventure, not the sheltered and pampered life of a noble. As a boy, he dreamed of fighting pirates on the southern seas and hunting fantastic beasts in the northern ranges and the wild forests around the Furnier Sea. As the years passed though, Relam realized these dreams were at odds with the life of royalty. Royalty meant official gatherings and council meetings and negotiations. The most adventurous thing Relam had ever done was weapons practice, and every young noble did that.
Relam looked up as he entered the royal plaza, a tremendous, open, paved area that fronted the palace. Here, people met to discuss business or share news, and sometimes even just to swap stories. Elsewhere in the city, such a space would spontaneously become a market on most days, crowded with merchants selling all manner of goods. But the royal plaza was different. Here, guards stood at the entrance to each of the seven roads that branched off like spokes, and a full platoon manned the palace steps. The safety of the royal family came first, and having a confused, exotic gathering like a market was a major security risk.
Relam jogged up the steps of the palace, nodding to the guards he recognized. They inclined their heads gravely in reply, then immediately went back to scanning the plaza for threats. Not that there was likely to be any. The Sthan Kingdom ruled the entire world, and only the most foolish of criminals would dare attempt to cause trouble in the capital of Etares. Much less at the palace itself.
The young prince slipped in through a side entrance on the north end of the porch, a servants’ entrance really. He preferred this to entering through the grand portal that centered the front of the palace and led to the stunning entrance hall. This was partly because he was sweaty and frustrated and needed a long bath, but mostly because Relam knew he was unlikely to encounter any members of the court in the servant corridors.
Sure enough, Relam encountered no one but palace staff as he made his way to the wing where the royal family lived. The servants knew him by sight, and bowed and smiled as he passed. Relam nodded politely in reply, but did not stop. He needed to get back to his room quickly, preferably without being noticed by any meddlesome individuals. A few of the servants were casting curious glances at his battered appearance. Relam ducked his head and turned slightly away, turning the final corner and emerging onto the hallway that the royal apartments were on.
As he did, he ran right into someone moving quickly down the hall. Relam stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance. When he had recovered, he looked up, wondering who he had run into.
His heart sank as he recognized the tall, painfully thin figure of the most meddlesome of nobles, the king’s chatelain, Marc Clemon. Clemon was the king’s main advisor, and had an annoying habit of turning up at the most inopportune times.
“Your highness,” the
