Denial

Dilyniant strode from the castle doors and into the courtyard, tying his cloak tight against his shoulders to guard against the cold night air. The keep was fluttering with soldiers running to and fro as orders passed to them in rapid succession. The furious king stepped with wild abandon towards the center of the courtyard where his Kingsguard stood, trying to make sense of the chaos. The soldiers reporting to him scattered as Dilyniant approached, and the Custodi himself turned and dropped to a knee, dirtying his weathered armor with the dust of the courtyard.

“Sire,” he said with a lowered head.

“Tell me why I awoke to the sight of my son and his wife crawling into a carriage with my daughter,” Dilyniant said as he leered down at the ever-loyal Kingsguard. Eyes kept on the ground, the man responded quickly.

“Sire, Prince Fulcher incapacitated the men guarding his room. It seems he and Schon took Princess Stella from her room. They stole Lord Nerrel’s personal stagecoach likely with the aid of my fellow Custodi, Princeguard Vardia, who has yet to respond to the castle’s emergency summon,” the man reported, eyes kept to the ground.

“The brat did what?” Dilyniant demanded. He continued as he began to pace back and forth, the dirt he kicked up continuing to dirty his Custodi’s armor. “Send riders to follow them at once. And send a missive to the Huntmaster to send his scouts out to search between here and the Easterlands.”

“Your will be done, Sire,” the Custodi acknowledged as he stood.

“And throw the two guards into the sea. We’ve no need for those who fail so spect-” Dilyniant began, but his words were interrupted by rapid approaching footsteps as Lord Nerrel waddled over, wearing nothing more than sleeping pants and wooden shoes.

“What is the meaning of this, Dilyniant? My coach is gone! And my prized horses, bah! Not to mention your daughter! You have no other heirs to keep my support in this war of yours you know!” Nerrel yelled, spittle flying from his lips and landing on Dilyniant’s cloak. The fat lord continued, babbling about political favor and alliances. The King simply could not take any more of the man’s complaints.

He reached for his Custodi, grabbing the hilt of one of his katanas and drawing it with unfettered anger. He had just enough time to witness Nerrel’s fear as he slashed at the blubber of his neck. Crimson seeped down the Lord’s form as he fell to his knees, clawing at the air around the wound before he finally fell still. Dilyniant handed the blade back to his Kingsguard apathetically.

“I so disdain your choice of weapons. One edge is so much harder to remember to cut with,” he explained. The Custodi took the blade carefully, removing a cloth from his armor and cleaning the metal thoroughly. Before either could speak, a soldier ran up clutching broken glass and shattered iron.

“Sire!” the guard wheezed out with a sloppy salute. “We found this at the beast pens! It seems to be some kind of non-magical explosion!”

Dilyniant peered over the jar remnants in the soldier’s hands. He picked up a piece of glass and brought it close, smelling it.

“Sulfur?” he muttered to himself. He saw half of an icon on the shard, a brewing bottle. He grinned and looked at the soldier.

“Seems my son is not without his uses. Go to the alchemists shop just north of the beast pens and find out what this mixture is. Perhaps we can use it in the coming conflicts,” the King ordered. The soldier saluted and hurried off with the rest of the shards, running into the darkened town.

“And Nerrel’s heir, Sire?” the Custodi asked, calling the King’s attention back to him.

“Inform him that Fulcher slew his father and stole his future bride. He’ll be with us as we hunt down my renegade son and do what’s necessary,” Dilyniant spun on his heel and marched back into the keep, pocketing the broken shard.


—--


Fulcher craned his head out of the carriage window as the sky began to brighten. Dawn was approaching, and they had been riding all night.

“Vardia!” he called out. As the carriage bounced and hopped along the uneven road, the helmed visage of Vardia peaked around the corner and back at the prince.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

“We need a destination. Are there any friendly lords that would be willing to house us?” Fulcher called over the clattering of horse hooves. Vardia nodded, causing his visor to clank shut. Lifting it slowly, he called back to the window.

“Aye sir! If we travel south for another day we should come upon the keep of Lord Corvidrop! Rumor has it that he built up his new keep to withstand a betrayal from your father!” Vardia responded.

Fulcher nodded and waved for him to continue, sitting back inside the carriage. Stella was dozing with Arrow laying along the seat next to her, his head on her lap. Schon watched Fulcher carefully with tired eyes.

“Where to?” she asked, candelabra still clutched in her hands.

“Corvidrop,” Fulcher answered. Schon did not respond beyond nodding her head, turning her gaze back out the window at the ever-brightening sky.