Anger

That’s it then. I’ll take Stella away from here. There’s got to be other places, better places to grow up. After she’s safe, I can think about dealing with Dilyniant, Fulcher thought.

He peered at the door leading out of his chambers. The two soldiers that had pulled him from the great hall now stood guard outside, murmuring between themselves. Fulcher snuck closer to the door and pressed his ear against it.

“All I’m saying is that he’s always been a brat,” the first guard said.

“Maybe, but it has to be deeper than what we’re seeing,” the second replied. “He’s never cared about others like this before.”

“That’s true. Remember what he did to that messenger on his seventeenth birthday?” the first asked with a shudder.

“How could I forget? The Sire had to order new carpets,” the second answered.

Fulcher pulled back from the door with a frown, looking around the room. The room was surprisingly bare save for a couple of animal heads along the walls, poor tools in an escape. He shifted to the window and peered down at the crashing waves. Even if he had a rope to crawl out with, he had no idea how he’d survive the crashing water against the cliffside.

He turned to the door again and took a deep breath in. Swinging his arms around in circles, he began forming a plan.

Alright, I’ve got this. Those two guys are in full suits of armor, so they’re slow. If I can knock the first down quick enough, I may have enough time to jump on the second and bring him down. If we’re on the floor, I can knock him out, he thought. He began stretching each hand above his head towards the opposite shoulder, one at a time over and over.

Then, I’ll find Stella and we’ll sneak out of the keep. We’ll take a carriage or something. We’ll flee and find somewhere safe for Stella to grow up, he thought. He began rotating his torso to the left and right, stretching the muscles in his back. Warmth flooded his chest at the idea of freeing Stella from the forced marriage she was about to be signed into with Nerrel’s son. Placing his hands on his waist, he began rotating his hips in circles.

It’s strange how fond I am of her. It’s like she’s my own sister. I want to protect her like my own sister. Maybe it’s Fulcher’s body remembering what he loved, he thought.

Finishing his warm-up stretches with moving his head around, he took another deep breath and moved to the door. Gently he grabbed the handle, opening the door just a crack to test if he was able to. The door groaned as he shifted it open, and the voices in the hall grew clearer.

“You hear that?” the first guard asked.

“Prince is probably throwing stuff around again. You know how he is when he doesn’t get his way,” the second replied, yawning after.

Fulcher whipped the door open, bursting out into the hallway. The guards were leaning against the wall, each with a sword sheathed on their hip. One had even taken off his helmet and had it resting against his foot.

That one. Fulcher huffed as he charged the pair.

“Prince–” the helmeted one started to speak as he got off the wall. Fulcher barreled into him, shoulder checking the man against the wall. His armored form hit the stonework as he fell to a knee, dazed. The second man only had enough time to reach down to grab his helmet before Fulcher was on him. He grappled the guard and brought him to the ground, the soldier grunting as he fell with Fulcher on top of him.

Fulcher was fast to hold the guard’s left arm with his own, grabbing the elbow in his hand. He shifted his knee up, pinning the guard’s right arm with his leg in a staple technique. Fulcher’s left hand raised high, curling into a fist.

“Sorry guy, nothing personal,” he muttered as he punched the guard in the face. He struck him multiple times, each hit strategic in its power and position. All he needed to do was incapacitate this guy and he could try again on the second. As the guard’s face bloodied, his struggling slowed to a halt. The guard groaned and tried to roll over, clearly no longer able to fight.

Fulcher quickly lifted off the guard and turned, starting to rise when he was met with the tip of a sword aimed at his neck. The guard he had pushed past had recovered quickly, and had even drawn his weapon.

“That’s enough,” the guard barked. He steadied himself, keeping the blade aimed at Fulcher’s neck. “Now be a good little princeling and slink back into your room.”

Fulcher was not sure what to do. This was his chance, his moment to flee without much of anyone following him. But with this guard up already, he was trapped by the blade’s point.

Damn, they’re faster than I thought in armor. I can’t… do anything. He has a weapon, and I don’t, Fulcher thought, so lost in the moment that he had not noticed the creaking of another door opening.

In a blur of rage-filled pink fabrics, the hallway echoed with a loud CLANG! The guard shuddered in place before collapsing onto the ground, knocked out. Fulcher looked up to see Schon standing above the guard’s body with a heavy candelabra held in both hands.

“Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, “If you’re escaping from this wretched place, I am coming with whether you like it or not!”