The Dragon Maiden - 3. Chapter 3

Prince James whistled to himself as he made his way into the castle courtyard. A soft-brown horse trotted at his side. Prince James kept one hand on its reins and the other gripping a wet burlap sack. The closer he came to the palace, the more audible the sound of forced revelry became. Prince James' steps slowed and slowed until he was finally still. His expression was one often found on men facing the hangman's noose.

"Maybe I can drown in the moat. What do you think, Bella?" The horse snorted. Prince James sighed and resumed his forward march with great and obvious reluctance.

"Let's find you a stable," the Prince muttered, "and me some wine." Preferably a barrel. He'd need at least that much to make it through the night.

A sudden commotion tore Prince James from his morbid sulking. Voices echoed against stone, growing nearer right along with the metallic clang of drawn swords. Prince James dropped both Bella's reins and his soggy burden and drew the shortblade that hung at his waist. Two sharp whistles had Bella retreating behind her master. The mare's hooves beat uneasily at the ground.

The armed party broke out into the open. Narrowed blue eyes swept over the assembled knights before widening with recognition. Familiar faces stared back at him from beneath helmets painted in atrocious blue.

"Why, Gustav, what is the matter?"

The large, sweaty man at the group's front let out a booming, "My Lord!" Some more jingling and grunting followed as the knights sheathed their weapons and waddled closer. Prince James watched them struggle against gravity at each step and thought it might be prudent to invest in better armor for the Royal Guard. There were certain things that simply did not get better with age. Iron was certainly one of them.

Gustav halted an appropriate distance away from his Liege and took several deep, labored breaths. "The castle is under attack, my Lord!"

Prince James looked around the empty courtyard. "Is it, now."

"Well," Sir Kristoff amended, "Maybe not on a large scale."

"How many intruders?" Prince James asked. The knights looked at each other, then at the ground. Prince James bit down a sigh. "Are there any victims?" he tried again.

Sir Gustav brightened, pleased to have an answer. "One confirmed, Sire!" Sir Dimmons elbowed him meaningfully. The resulting clang was far from subtle. Prince James narrowed his eyes.

"Who?"

Sir Gustav cleared his throat. The other knights suddenly found the landscape fascinating.

"I order you to speak," the Prince demanded.

"Erm-" Sir Gustav gurgled,

"That is-" Sir Kristoff stalled,

"Maybe Your Highness should-" Sir Dimmons stammered at the ground.

A sharp, repeated tak-tak-tak joined the frazzled muttering. The irritation swelling in Prince James' head melted away under a sudden burst of anxious fear. The prince threw a wild-eyed stare toward the castle. The knights quieted.

"James."

Prince James swallowed and held very, very still.

Queen Beatrice's heels stabbed the ground, the pitiful whine of the marble floor steadily rising in pitch. The knights quickly shuffled away, allowing the Prince a clear view of his mother advancing on him. The Queen was flanked by her own guards. Her frilly dress and feathered curls bounced with each step. Her eyes blazed.

"Where have you been?" Prince James opened his mouth. Queen Beatrice flicked her hand, nails glinting. "Quiet." Prince James' teeth clacked together. "You will be quiet, and you will do exactly as you are told. There is still hope of salvaging this forsaken situation."

The Queen whirled around and stalked back toward the castle. Her guards fell in step behind her. The knights shuffled forward, armor clanking. Prince James turned yearning eyes toward Bella and considered abdicating the crown on the spot.

"JAMES!"

The victim of this mysterious attack, Prince James thought grimly, was one lucky bastard.

Prince Simon did not so much as wake as shake aware. His room was cold and his bed was hard and something vicious roared in his head. Perhaps it was the dragon that had taken his sister. Prince Simon blearily compared the pros and cons of being carried away by a giant, winged lizard. There was the whole getting eaten alive thing but really, was that so much worse than what the rest of his life was shaping out to be?

"Just make it fast," the Prince muttered to the shadow looming over him.

"Boy, you've got issues."

It took a moment for the deep, sarcastic voice to register. Several more passed as the Prince's rather bruised head tried to connect it to a face.

Brown eyes snapped open.

"Good evening," Saran-the-assassin smiled. "Had a good nap?"

Prince Simon lurched upward, hands straining for his captor's neck. Only his arms would not obey him and then the ground was rushing at him awfully fast. Prince Simon managed to angle his body so his side rather than face bore the brunt of gravity's wrath. He still ended up with dirt in his mouth.

Saran chuckled. "Need a hand?"

"Untie me," Prince Simon spat.

"Yeah, that's not how kidnapping works, kid."

"I am a prince, you lowlife basta-oof."

Saran ground his heel deeper into the prince's back, right above where the prince's hands lay bound. Prince Simon clamped his teeth over a pained sob. A small whimper still escaped him, torn free as his tender stomach was forced against the hard ground.

"Ready to be civil?" Saran asked evenly. Prince Simon nodded, throat tight with shame. Saran stepped aside. Prince Simon rolled on his back, awkwardly maneuvering to a sitting position. He did not dare attempt to stand. Even if Saran allowed it, the Prince's own legs might fail him. Still, to be sitting at the feet of this man like a dog-

Prince Simon's hands clenched, nails biting into his palms.

"Where are we?"

"Far, far away."

Brown eyes flicked up to the assassin's grinning face before turning back to examining their surroundings. There was not much to see: stone everywhere, glowing gold with the light of a small fire. Shadows hung heavy beyond the circle of warmth. Wind wailed in the distance, the sound muffled. The air they breathed was heavy and tasted stale. Prince Simon concluded that they were in a cave, and a rather deep one at that. His kidnapper had taken them north. To the mountains.

Prince Simon glanced at Saran. The man knelt by the fire, examining the pair of rabbits roasting above the greedy flames. His eyes glinted. Once Saran noticed the Prince's attention, so did his teeth.

"Hungry, Simon?"

Prince Simon pressed his lips over an angry demand to be called by his title. His crown meant nothing to this man. "Yes." Simon he was, and so he would be until this nightmare ended. A man like any other.

"Good. Now, I'm going to free your hands. You make life hard for me, I make breathing difficult for you. Get me?" Simon nodded. Saran's grin stretched.

"Turn around."

Simon hesitated briefly before obeying. Footsteps echoed behind him, purposefully loud. Simon's shoulders stiffened. The vulnerability of his position rankled, left him equal parts afraid and angry.

"Terrible, isn't it?" Saran muttered, too close. "Being at someone else's mercy."

Simon bowed his head. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Hold still." Steel slid against Simon's sore wrists. The angle was awkward and the rope thick. Saran worked patiently, angling the dagger away from Simon's skin. He stepped away as soon as the rope loosened enough for Simon to pull his hands free. Simon cradled them in his lap. Thick, purple bruises twisted around his wrists. It hurt worse with the rope gone. A careful prod at his sore temple had flecks of dried blood dusting Simon's fingertips. Simon wondered if the wound was bad enough to leave a scar. The thought of bearing a physical reminder of this nightmare for his entire life had Simon's stomach lurching sickly.

"Here."

Saran's voice came from much closer than Simon had expected. Simon flinched away. The sudden movement pulled at his bruised stomach. The resulting wince had Saran frowning. The assassin's brows came together briefly.

"Dinner."

Simon nodded. The rabbit had already been skinned and decapitated. It did not make picking its corpse that much easier to stomach, but Simon was hungry. He knew he should be grateful that he was getting anything to eat at all. "Thank you," he forced out.

Saran took a seat across the fire, a good distance away but still well within reach. He watched Simon eat for a while. Simon tried not to be too flustered over the attention.

A derisive snort had Simon's hackles raising. "What?" he grumbled.

"You eat so...prissy."

Simon pinched another bit of flesh from the rabbit and brought it to his mouth. Saran followed the motion with his eyes. Simon swallowed. The air had grown stuffy, too-warm. "How do you eat, then?"

Saran bit a chunk out of his own rabbit, teeth flashing, jaw unhinging over the animal's corpse. Simon stared, food forgotten. That was so- so-

Saran chewed his mouthful, eyes on Simon. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Barbaric!" Simon grumbled. Saran laughed, mouth full, lips glistening with grease. Simon looked away, focusing on his own dinner.

"Eat up, princeling. Long day tomorrow."

Simon ate, pushing thoughts of oncoming hardships away. He had to keep going. He would survive. His sister was already lost; the damn mountain was not taking him, too.

There were hearts stitched in the tablecloth.

Prince James traced the nearest one, seeking distraction from the mismatched orchestra of voices vying for attention all around him. The heart was like all the rest - small, lopsided, and blue. Gold stitches outlined it. The silk yarn warmed under Prince James' fingers until it felt strangely like skin.

"Ridiculous," King Alfred puffed.

Prince James snatched his hand away. He glanced at a nearby clock; ten minutes on the dot since the last time his father had spoken. Prince James bet it would be ten more until King Alfred graced those present with another word of wisdom. The King had grown rather fond of rituals in recent years. He had also gained a propensity for monologues on a select group of topics, which had in turn led the castle staff to acquire an admirable level of stealth. There was, unfortunately, a learning curve. Early slips in vigilance had left Prince James with a wealth of knowledge about wine-making and berry-picking he had absolutely no idea what to do with.

"Thank you, Alfred." Queen Beatrice smiled tightly at her husband. King Alfred hastily buried his nose in his goblet.

Prince James sat straighter in his chair and attempted to focus on the proceedings. The frantic excitement that had sent guests scrambling for carriages and guards jumping at shadows had waned. A quiet, vicious, helpless anger gradually took its place. Prince James had the dubious pleasure of witnessing Queen Victoria interrogate her staff. A good number lost their jobs, including a pouch-bellied man by the name of Edward. Prince James had nodded with approval as the sobbing mess of a man was dragged out of the room. No manservant worth his salt would choose drunken revelry over attending to his Liege.

A hurried investigation revealed several alarming facts. First, Mira's security was so lacking it was practically in the negative. Most of the guards Prince James had seen walking the halls upon entering the castle were outsiders hired for the occasion. The lot of them did not even know how Prince Simon looked, let alone when or how he had been removed from the premises.

The sorry state of Prince Simon's rooms confirmed that the young prince had indeed been abducted. Rather violently too, judging by the slashed bedding and scratched walls. Prince James had felt the first stirrings of unease at the sight. He had been operating under the assumption that his fiancé had done a runner and Queen Victoria was trying to save face. If the boy was in fact in danger...

Prince James watched Queen Victoria tap her nails over a map of Mira. Guilt gnawed at his insides. Prince Simon would not have been alone in his rooms had his betrothed been present at the ball. The unknown assailant would have certainly found Prince James a tougher opponent than the slight, scrawny thing portraits had revealed Prince Simon to be.

"What could they possibly want?" King John wondered for the seventh time in half as many hours. Even the attendants were ignoring him at this point.

The question tugged at something in Prince James' mind. There was no ransom note. No demands for money - no threats or vows of revenge. Prince James swallowed heavily. What could they possibly want, indeed.

"We need to gather a search party immediately."

The words rang loud in the tense silence. All eyes in the room turned to Prince James.

"My Lord," one of the hired knights offered hesitantly, "No demands have been made. We have no clear direction, Sire, and not enough men to cover all possible routes the criminal could have taken."

"We don't even know what the bastard looks like," Sir Geoffrey growled.

Heat climbed Prince James' stubbled cheeks.

"About that. I might have seen someone suspicious as I..." the blush burned brighter, "....prepared to meet my betrothed."

Queen Beatrice buried her face in her hands, smothering a heartfelt curse. Prince James valiantly tried to hold Queen Victoria's eyes.

"Do you believe my son's life is in danger, Prince James?"

Prince James nodded once. Queen Victoria regarded him through narrowed eyes, gauging. "You will lead the search party," she said. It was not a question - something Queen Beatrice seemed ready to protest, judging by the tight curl of her lips.

"Yes," Prince James said, ignoring his mother's hissed, James! "It is my duty."

Queen Victoria held him pinned with her gaze for a moment longer before shifting her attention to a nearby attendant. "Have a painter brought in. Prince James, if you will oblige us with a description of the man you saw." Prince James nodded. "A sketch will be produced and a reward posted. That should restrict their movements. You will ride out tomorrow," she said to Prince James.

"My Lord-" Sir Geoffrey protested.

"It is too dangerous!" Queen Beatrice cried out.

Prince James thought of the tales of brave knights he had read well past the age fairy tales were acceptable literature, thought of the gray drag of days spent in a citadel of stone with the occasional bat as his only adversary. He thought of the bloodstain on Prince Simon's floor.

"Yes," he said. A quiet, anxious excitement bloomed in his chest.

Adventure. At last.

And all it took was getting engaged to a man. Who would have thought.