Eva applauded with enthusiasm. "I cannot wait to see Father."
"Yes . . . me too." I smiled at her. Deep down, however, I was petrified by fear, and given the choice I would have rather faced a horde of brigands than her father.
Enough,
I told myself.
The king has no reason to dislike me. Just don't give him one and everything will go well
.
* * *
I stared at the tall, fortified walls surrounding the castle.
Why won't they open the gate? Don't they understand me? It cannot be my accent. My Sorvinkian is almost perfect.
"OPEN!" I shouted one more time. "I am Prince Amir of Telfar. I accompany Princess Eva, the king's daughter. OPEN THE GATE!"
The gate remained closed. I turned my gray mare around and rode back to our caravan. I had reached its first carriage when I heard orders being yelled behind the wall. I looked back at the castle and saw armed men lining up behind the fortification and,
oh dear,
bows being drawn. I felt my stomach drop. I couldn't believe it; they were going to shoot at us. Before I could order Eva's Farrellian guards to take cover, a volley of arrows flew in their directions, piercing their chests and necks.
As the guards fell dying on the ground, the carriage door flew open and Milo appeared in its frame. "My lord, what's happening?"
"The king's castle has been taken by enemies; I see no other reason for this attack. Stay inside with Eva. Keep her safe. You hear me, Milo."
"Yes, my lord," he said, and shut the carriage door.
Pulling my sword, I pushed my horse toward the front of our caravan. Before I could get there, the castle's gate opened with the loud clicking sound of well-oiled chains, and a small army of soldiers rushed out. Within moments, the entire caravan was surrounded.
"Drop your weapon," called one of the soldiers.
"NO!"
To my surprise, the soldier seemed unsure of what to do. "Obey."
I shook my head.
"Make way," a voice ordered from the back of the troop.
The row of soldiers circling me parted and four knights riding black warhorses approached. Clad in shining armor and black leather, they looked impressive. All four were tall and solidly built, like most Sorvinkians, but the knight riding in front was particularly imposing. He was a good head taller than everyone else.
Ordering the other knights to stay behind, he brought his horse a short distance from mine and stared at me through the slit in his gilded helm. He had vibrant blue eyes, I noted. "In the name of the King, relinquish your weapon," he boomed, his deep voice amplified by his helm.
I stared at the imperial crest embossed on his armor, divided in three sections it depicted a rose beside a black eagle over a bear. Then I looked at the soldiers. They wore the blue uniform of the Sorvinkian army, and they too carried the imperial banner. I was confused. "In the name of which king?"
"King Erik the Fair. Ruler of Sorvinka."
"I don't believe you. King Erik would never allow my men to be slaughtered in such a way. This is the action of a vulgar bandit."
"You tell me so," he said while pulling off his helm. Gray-streaked blond hair fell about his shoulders. I looked at the strong line of his square jaw, at his straight nose, and his blue eyes. There wasn't a doubt in my mind, this was King Erik. I recognized his rugged looks from paintings I had seen of him. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Prince Amir, your arrogance is quite shocking to me," said the king. "Not satisfied to surround my daughter with Farrellians—Sorvinka's most deadly enemies—and bring them to my doorstep, you have the impudence to call me a vulgar bandit. Kings have been vexed at far less."
I felt my face blanching. "Farrellian enemies? I don't understand."
"Don't you dare blame your actions on ignorance. The fact that Farrell and Sorvinka are at war is well known. News of it had been sent to my sister, Princess Livia, months ago."
"Princess Livia knew of this! But . . . she . . . "
The king's eyes narrowed. "Prince Amir, do not try blaming my sister for this either," he hissed through clenched teeth.
I looked at the dead eunuch guards. Princess Livia had handpicked them for their looks, had had special uniforms made for them so their nationality would be unmistakable.
Princess Livia had gotten her revenge after all,
I thought. I could see no way out of this precarious position . . . except one. I bowed my head. "My most sincere apologies, Your Majesty. The fault is entirely mine."
Apparently appeased by my apologies, the king nodded. He gestured for the knight on his right to approach. The knight moved beside the king while removing his helm. In a clunk of metal hitting metal, the king slapped his gloved hand on the knight's armored shoulder. "This is my nephew, Lars Anderson, Duke of Kasaniov. I'm sure my daughter mentioned him to you."
I bowed my head at Lars. I had certainly heard of him, Eva's cousin—
twice removed;
she always insisted on that detail, as though this made him less of a relative—and the presumed heir to the throne. Fair of skin and of hair, Lars was a robust young man of my age. His eyes were pale blue, his chin pointy, and he had a slightly upturned nose. Despite the constant grimace of disgust twisting his face, as if something stinky was stuck under that upturned nose of his, he wasn't ugly. For some reason, I had expected him to be.
Loud shouts coming from the back of the caravan made me turn. To my utter consternation, I saw that the king's soldiers had invaded the last carriage where our three wounded eunuch guards were housed. When the soldiers began pulling the wounded guards out, I knew that if I didn't intervene they would be killed. As I attempted to help them, Lars drove his warhorse in front of my mare, blocking my path.
"Stay put, young prince," warned the king.
Feeling powerless and outraged, I could only watch as two of our guards perished at the hands of the soldiers. But when I saw Ely being thrown to the ground, I couldn't stay quiet anymore. "Your Majesty," I pleaded, "he's Eva's most loyal guard. He served her well. Please, Your Majesty, this man poses no threat to you."
Unmoved by my plea, the king nodded to the soldiers surrounding Ely, and, at once, they pierced the wounded guard's body with their lances. When it was all over, and Ely had expelled his last breath, the king turned toward me and said, "Now this man
truly
poses no threat to me."
Biting my tongue, I squeezed my eyes shut. Poor Ely, he didn't deserve this fate. At that instant, my thoughts turned to Milo, who was still inside the carriage with Eva. He too was doomed . . . then again, maybe not. I turned to the king. "Will you permit me to fetch your daughter?"
The king nodded.
Within moments, I was off my horse and entering the carriage. I was met by Milo's blade and nearly got my throat slit. "Careful!" I said.
"Oh, my prince, you are safe," he breathed in relief, lowering his blade from my neck.
"Sheathe your sword, Milo." I ordered.
"What?" Milo looked at me as if he thought I had lost my mind.
"Amir, explain yourself," Eva said. "Tell me what's happening."
"There is no time." Then turning to Milo, I blurted, "If you want to live, you will do everything I say, starting by sheathing that blade and unloading my luggage. As for you, Eva, your father awaits you outside."
For a woman encumbered by three layers of petticoats, Eva dashed outside with amazing speed. Milo shot me a sideways look. Right then I knew he wouldn't obey my orders. As a eunuch guard, Milo's loyalty was to Eva, not to me, and it would remain so until he saw her safely under the king's protection. Before I could stop him he was out behind her.
"Oh lord!" I said, and followed in their steps. Sure enough, once outside I found Milo with his back against the carriage and three lance tips pointed to his neck.
"Father!" Eva exclaimed. "What are these manners?"
"Eva, go inside," the king said.
"No! Not until I know what is happening here."
The captain of the soldiers approached Eva and whispered something in her ear. Her face turned as pale as snow, and if not for the firm grip the captain had on her waist, I believe she would have collapsed on the ground.
"Bring her inside, quickly," ordered the king.
Suddenly docile, Eva let herself be carried away without protest.
Having lost my only ally, I turned to the king. "Majesty, that one is my valet. Please, tell your men to lower their lances. He's harmless. Look at him, he's not Farrellian."
Lars dismounted from his horse, marched straight to Milo, and inspected him from head to toe. "I don't know. He looks half-Farrellian to me. That's enough to merit death."
With a hand on the grip of my sword, I stepped forth.
Milo swiftly raised his hand to stop me; his eyes I noted were filled by a mixture of fear and determination. "No, my lord, do not risk yourself for me," he said in his light airy voice.
Upon hearing Milo's voice, Lars's head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a feral smile. And without further notice, he leaned forth and abruptly plunged his hand into Milo's crotch. "Aagh!" Lars exclaimed, leaping back in disgust. "I knew it! This one's a gelding. How revolting!"
I looked at the king. His face displayed no emotion, yet I thought I saw a hint of disapproval in his eyes. "I thought eunuchs were only used for guarding the harem, and to serve women," the king said.
"No," I immediately rectified. "White eunuchs serve the Sultan . . . and princes as . . . as personal valets. None are better."
"And what tasks are these personal valets supposed to perform."
"Hmm . . . hmm. They attend to one's grooming needs, baths, daily washing. They help one dress."
Lars let out a loud cackling laugh, while the other men present were more discreet and just chuckled behind their hands.
The king however remained dead serious. After a brief glance at Milo, he turned his attention to me. "Prince Amir, in Sorvinka, men dress themselves. But as you seem incapable of accomplishing this task by yourself, I will permit you to keep your servant. Because you are a guest in my castle, I am obliged to respect your customs, no matter how strange they may appear to us."
"Your Majesty is too kind," I said, bowing quickly to hide the redness of my cheeks.
"Don't thank me yet, I'm not done. One thing must be clear, Prince Amir. Maybe in Telfar a prince can have his servants fight his battles for him, but in Sorvinka servants aren't allowed to carry swords. And as long as you are a guest in my castle, you will live by my rules. Here you'll have to fend for yourself, young prince."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
With obvious pleasure, Lars swiftly disarmed Milo. Then he slammed the sword on his armored knee several times, in an attempt to break it, I presumed. His efforts were useless—the sword was made of Telfarian steel, hence of too good a quality to be broken this way. Frustrated by his failure to destroy Milo's weapon, Lars shoved the sword into the hands of the nearest soldier.
The king shook his head, then turned his horse around and rode toward the castle. Once he reached the gate, he pivoted in his saddle and shouted, "Oh yes, I forgot. Welcome to Sorvinka, Prince Amir."
I looked at Milo, who was rubbing the sore spots on his neck where the lance tips had dug into his flesh. I looked at the corpses surrounding the caravan, then finally at the stern, hostile face of the king. In my opinion, this was the coldest welcome I had ever received in all my life.
The castle was a black stone monstrosity—quite frankly I'd seen prison towers that were more inviting. As if this ominous sight wasn't unnerving enough, I had just learned that my friend, Ambassador Molsky, was on a diplomatic mission in another country.
Wonderful!
I sighed. Not only did I expect to see him, I thought I would be under his guidance once I arrived. Besides the language, I knew very little about the Sorvinkians' ways. Maybe I should have spent less time refining my accent and more time studying their customs. Well, it was too late now.
With Milo glued to my side like a thistle, I crossed the castle's courtyard. I was shocked by the quantity of soldiers posted there. They all looked alert and on edge, as if fearing a sudden attack. I discovered the same nervous atmosphere inside the castle. Here too, there were guards posted everywhere. These men, however, looked exhausted; the redness of their eyes and constant yawning clearly indicated that they had not slept in a while.
"My lord," Milo whispered in my ear, "something is amiss here. Perhaps entering this castle was a mistake. The reception they gave us was certainly most unpleasant and—"
"Hush," I said, and turned my attention to the guard guiding us, a tall, pock-faced youth with sleepy eyes. "The king mentioned a conflict between Sorvinka and the land of Farrell."
"For sure, we're at war with those dogs."
"I noticed that the garrison in the courtyard seemed ready for action. Is the Farrellian army marching on this castle?"
The guard spat on the ground. "Those cowards! They don't have the guts to fight men. Those lowly bastards can only kidnap little girls."
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean by that."
"You don't know! The king's youngest daughter, Princess Aurora. The sweetest little thing. She was kidnapped three nights ago. Our poor king is beside himself." Lowering his voice, the guard added, "Word is, Farrellians did it."
"Really? There are no other suspects besides the Farrellians?" Blaming the enemy of the kingdom seemed a tad too convenient to me.
"Well . . . " said the guard as he readjusted the helm on his head—dented on the right side it kept slipping to the left—"a lot of stories are going around. Some say it's the old gods' wrath, their revenge against our king for banning their worship and destroying their temples. Others think that brigands did it. No good scum—the lot of them."
I couldn't agree more, with that part anyway, and nodded vehemently. Sorvinka was certainly not short of brigands, I could attest to that. However, kidnapping a princess, that was too bold a move, even for the worst of them. "What is your opinion on the matter? Who do you think is guilty of this crime?"