The Fallen King

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

“You look ridiculous,” Aramis scoffed.

Melchiades gasped in offense. “I will have you know that this is the current style in the court of your father.” Aramis’s attendant, and best friend, was constantly changing his wardrobe to mimic the nobles. “You look like a bird, Mel. Take that thing off.”

Melchiades wore a medium-sized black hat with massive green plumed feathers that rose up from the back of the hat like some sort of sprouting plant. Mel shook his head indignantly and sputtered, which made him look even more like a giant peacock. Aramis burst into laughter and pointed to the door that led out of his personal quarters.

“I can’t take you seriously. Now go and do something about your hat. I will meet you in the courtyard when I am ready.” Mel sighed but did as he was ordered. When Mel had shut the door behind him, Aramis stripped his clothes off and tossed them onto the floor. The maidservants would gather them in the morning. They were muddy and smelled of sweat, the byproduct of his earlier escapades.

He stepped in front of the ornately decorated mirror that hung upon the wall next to his closet door and examined his reflection. His brown hair had lightened considerably in the last few weeks. His time outside with the soldiers must have had something to do with that. Stray hairs were beginning to grow along his jawline and chin. I need to shave, he thought.

He flexed his left arm, and then his right. They certainly looked larger. His abs didn’t show, but he knew they would take longer to appear. A light yellow and green splotch the size of a fist mottled the skin below his right shoulder, just above his n****e. He gingerly touched it and winced at the pain. He had fallen from a horse and landed chest-first onto a rock.

It was a minor injury, but it was still sore. He hadn’t bothered the court physicians with it, though his mother would be furious if she found out. He was the only son of the king, and she doted on him. He stepped into the closet and frowned. Mel had chosen something equally hideous for him to wear. “I don’t think so,” he muttered. Aramis grabbed a plain blue tunic and a pair of black pants. He liked simplicity, something that couldn’t be said of Mel.

Melchiades was the son of a noble whose estate was on the edge of Oakvalor’s eastern border. Some small house of nobility that he wasn’t familiar with. He had arrived two years previous with instruction to serve the king in any way deemed appropriate. His father had plenty of servants, and so ordered Mel to attend his son.

Aramis had hated him at first. His ridiculous clothing, his odd accent, and his ardent faith in a god Aramis had never heard of. Over time, however, he began to respect the man. He was just as skilled, perhaps more so, than his father’s finest soldiers and had a keen intelligence for matters of state. He didn’t care for Mel’s faith, but he admired his loyalty. Mel never skipped his private prayer time.

He slipped his freshly polished boots on and checked the mirror again. Nodding in satisfaction, he walked over to the window. His room was at the top of the keep and afforded him a magnificent view. Dusk was quickly approaching, and the lights of the city were beginning to burst forth into life. There was a ball tonight to celebrate his father’s thirtieth year of reign, as well as Aramis’s eighteenth year since birth.

Sadness welled up inside him as he thought about the day that should be joyous. His beautiful sister would not be present. The traitorous younger prince of Talvaard had murdered her, along with his own brother, before the two kingdoms could be sealed with peace by her marriage to the new king of Talvaard. His eyes filled with tears. He reached up and quickly wiped them away.

The sounds of the city below faintly reached his ears, pulling his mind away from the dark thoughts. He could barely make out the men returning from the mines. The smell of cooking fires and the meals they boasted made his mouth water. It reminded him of the roasted deer that was waiting at the ball.

He turned from the window and quickly left his room. Aramis didn’t care much for the political nonsense that usually overshadowed his father’s parties. The nobles were like a bunch of spoiled toddlers, whining and sniveling when they didn’t get their way. And if there was one thing Aramis couldn’t stomach, it was whining.

The hallway was a long corridor that stretched from the Royal Wing―where his father’s chambers were―to the massive winding staircase known as the Circle that led down to the throne room. Aramis made his way toward the Circle. The walls of the hall were lavishly decorated, with giant richly colored tapestries and murals by famed artists throughout the land.

He passed a few guards who were stationed in the hall to keep curious guests from exploring the restricted areas of the castle. They stiffened at his approach and saluted as he passed. “Prince Aramis,” they greeted formally.

Aramis nodded absently, thinking about the food that awaited him. He descended the Circle with measured steps, careful not to trip on the bright red runners that carpeted each stair. Despite the many servants who had toppled down the Circle, his father refused to have them removed.

He reached the bottom of the Circle and was greeted by Mel. “What are you wearing?” he demanded. “I picked out the best design for you to wear, and you come out wearing that!” Mel shook his head, which caused the feathers to sway back and forth.

Aramis smiled. “You know I don’t like your taste in clothing if that’s what you call it.”

Mel feigned a look of anger and turned around as Aramis passed, escorting him out of the keep and into the courtyard. The sky had darkened considerably. A line of fire bowls glowed brightly, leading the way across the stone courtyard to the auxiliary building where his father always held his parties.

“It’s going to be a smashing evening,” Mel remarked enthusiastically. Aramis grunted in response. Mel gave him a sideways glance. “Did you invite Hanna to accompany you tonight?”

“Of course not,” Aramis replied.

“Why not? I thought she rather enjoyed the royal parties?”

“Exactly. I don’t want her to expect my invitations. I’m not sure where things between us are going, anyway.”

“Your father likes her,” Mel said with a grin.

“My father likes any pretty girl with money who shows an interest in his son. He has a legacy to think about.”

“So, you wouldn’t be terribly upset if she just happened to come of her own accord?” Mel asked, turning his gaze away from Aramis suspiciously.

“You didn’t!”

“I would never,” Mel breathed, aghast.

“Blast you, Mel. She won’t leave me alone for weeks after tonight. Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Mel laughed. “Please announce the prince,” he instructed a servant who stood beside one of the fire bowls. The young man bowed and ran ahead of them. “Did you have to do that as well?”

“It’s protocol,” Mel answered.

“Now everyone will know I’ve arrived.”

“That’s the general idea.”

Aramis sighed. “I hate the nobles.”

“Hate is a strong word, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I dislike the nobles. I won’t put up with their petty complaints when I am king.”

Mel didn’t bother responding. Two large wooden doors were pushed open by several guards as they approached. Mel took the lead and entered first. A loud cheer rang out as Aramis entered. A wave of heat immediately hit him. With so many bodies in one place and no windows for ventilation, the heat was stifling.

Aramis spent the next hour talking to the many aristocrats who served in his father’s court. It was completely un-enjoyable, but he suffered through it for the sake of his father’s reputation. He couldn’t care less what they thought about himself.

When he had finished exchanging pleasantries with the nobles, he made his way to the bar and began to partake of the various wines and liquors, mixing them with abandon. Aramis was vaguely aware of his father retiring from the party, not unusual for him. He might be healthy for his age, but he was no longer a young man.

Mel was participating in some new popular dance with several people, all wearing similar ridiculous looking hats. He would never understand ‘fashion’.

“There you are,” Hanna’s familiar voice sounded beside him. He downed another cup of whatever he was drinking and turned to face her.

She was beautiful. Her long hair was a light blonde color and reached past the middle of her back. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, the bluest he had ever seen. That was one of the things that initially attracted him to her.

“Hannah,” he said, smiling dumbly. Something in the back of his mind told him to keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t listen. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

No, I wasn’t.

She gave him an enormous smile. His heart began to beat quickly. Inhibitions were all but gone, it seemed. She leaned in close to him and whispered, “I have a gift for you in honor of your life celebration.”

“If it includes you, I can’t wait to have it.”

Why did I say that?

She blushed and shook her head. She held up a small wooden box. He hadn’t even noticed she had anything in her hand. He accepted it from her and fumbled clumsily with it before opening the thing. Inside was a silver pendant inscribed with his family’s crest: an oak tree with three branches. They represented the ideals his family strived for. Courage, honor, and justice.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “It’s beautiful. Like you.” He allowed her to clasp it around his neck, then he ran the fingers of his right hand through her hair. Her smell was more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever tasted.

“My Prince,” Mel interrupted. “It’s time to retire for the evening.”

Aramis sighed. Mel was a blessing to him, as well as a curse. “You’re interrupting Hanna,” Aramis informed him. He turned his attention to his friend and winked. “You should retire without me,” he whispered. Or at least he thought he whispered. Everyone nearby could hear him.

“It’s quite all right,” Hanna interjected. “I’ll see you later.” Aramis wasn’t sure if she was stating a fact or asking a question. She curtsied and took her leave. “You’re a killjoy sometimes, you know that?”

Mel grinned in reply. “I’m protecting you from yourself. Someone has to when you fill yourself with this stuff. Did you eat anything?”

Aramis shook his head. He had forgotten about food with all the nobles buzzing around him. Mel disappeared through the crowd of people and returned a few minutes later with a plate full of venison. “Eat this and then you can retire from the festivities.”

Aramis grabbed a piece of the meat and stuffed it into his mouth. “The night has hardly begun. Why would I retire now?” he asked.

“I knew you would forget,” Mel said. “You told your father you would go on the hunt with him tomorrow. And the night is later than you realize. It’s after midnight.”

Aramis cursed under his breath. “I did forget. Blast it, Mel! I hate going on those boring hunts. Sitting around for hours, listening to old men recount exaggerated tales of their ‘glory days’. I prefer a real opponent. One who thinks and reacts. Not an animal that walks into a trap.”

“I can imagine,” Mel replied. Aramis cleared the plate and drank another cup of wine. “I think I will retire now.”

Mel escorted him through the throng of people and to the doors they entered through earlier. Just as before, several guards pushed the doors open and saluted the prince. Mel thanked them for their service and led Aramis along the lighted path back to the keep.

“Should I assist you to your chambers?” he asked. Aramis waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not needy like my father,” he answered. “I’ll see you in the morning. And for mercy’s sake, wear something practical tomorrow.”

Mel bowed low in response.

Aramis left him behind as he entered the keep and ascended the Circle. The guards he’d passed earlier were no longer present. His father had probably released them earlier. He meandered along the hallway, humming an old song his mother used to sing to him.

Reaching his room, he paused and briefly considered going back down to the party. Perhaps Hanna would still be there …

He decided not to. It would be hard enough to get up already. Aramis entered his room. He kicked off his boots, neither landing near the other. He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it to the floor.

Something glinted in the mirror as he passed it. He stopped to look and realized it was the pendant around his neck. He had already forgotten Hanna had given it to him. He admired it in the mirror. She was a clever one. Now he had to give her a gift, which would be seen as a move of official courting.

“I have no idea what I should get her,” he muttered. He walked over to his window and opened it, letting the cool breeze in. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was burning up.

He spied his father’s window. Light shone from the room and he could see his father’s servants fawning over him and preparing him for bed. If he could hardly stand Mel doing it for him now, what would it be like when he became king?

Aramis pushed the thoughts from his mind. His father was healthy and strong, unlikely to pass the crown down anytime soon. And that didn’t bother Aramis one bit.

He was about to turn and climb into bed when he noticed something unusual from the corner of his eye. Leaning forward, he squinted and tried to see better. It looked like a shadow. It hovered in one spot for a moment, then shifted upward. It was almost like a pattern. Hover, shift.

“What is that?” he whispered to himself. As though fate had timed it perfectly, the moon illuminated the shadow for just a moment. It was a man. Yet why would a man be scaling the side of the …

Assassin!

Aramis turned and dashed across his room. As fear swept through him, he began to sober up. He threw the door open and dashed past a few startled servants. He sprinted through the hallway, his heavy footsteps muffled by the thick rugs that lined the floor. He glanced down every side passage, looking for guards. He didn’t see any.

“Guards!” he shouted, “Guards! To the King’s chambers!” He had no idea if anyone heard him. He ran faster, his legs burning from the effort. Two massive wooden doors separated the Royal Wing from the rest of the keep. Normally there were two guards positioned here, but he saw no one. What was going on? The doors were heavy, but he threw himself bodily into one, sending lances of pain through his bruised chest.

The door swung open slowly, just enough for him to squeeze through. And then he was running through the Royal Wing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Was it possible the assassin had made it into his father’s room yet? He didn’t know. A lone soldier stood guard beside his father’s door. Aramis almost slammed into him before stopping his momentum.

“Where … are the … others?” Aramis demanded, sucking precious air into his lungs.

“My lord?”

“Get … reinforcements! Hurry!”

The guard seemed confused. Aramis grabbed the soldier’s sword and shoved him out of the way. “Do as I command! Get reinforcements!”

The guard bowed hastily and ran off down the corridor. Aramis kicked the door twice before it opened, splintering the wood and breaking the latch mechanism. He strode into the room to find his father―and the servants―staring at him in surprise.

“What is the meaning of this, Aramis?” the king demanded.

“Father! Step away from the window!”

“Have you gone mad, boy? What are you doing?”

Aramis rushed to the window and looked down. He didn’t see anything or anyone. He pulled the window closed and locked it. “Father, I saw a man climbing the wall. He was clothed in black. It was an assassin, I’m sure of it. Did anyone come in through the window?” he asked the servants. They were looking at him as if he were crazy, but they all shook their heads.

Perhaps he had made it in time.

“A man climbing the … impossible! Aramis, what’s going on? Are you drunk? Where are your cloth―?” Aramis cut him off mid-sentence. “I’m telling you, I saw someone from my window climbing the keep. Where are your guards?”

“What are you talking about? They are outside.”

“There was only one soldier out there.” Aramis’s mind was racing. “I think you are in danger. We should go.”

“In danger of who? We are not at war.”

Aramis went to the door and peered down the hallway. Where are they?

“I beg to differ,” an unfamiliar voice said. Aramis spun about and saw a strange man among the servants. His father kept only female attendants. The man brandished a dagger. “Kings always have enemies.”

“Drop it,” Aramis warned. He held the sword up before him and slowly advanced toward the man. The servants squealed in terror and scrambled to get out of the way.

“Why would I do that?” the man replied. “That just wouldn’t be fair.” The assassin rushed the king. Aramis threw himself into a roll and came up onto his feet in front of his father, deflecting the man’s dagger with his sword. He launched a series of furious thrusts at the man, all of which the assassin managed to avoid. He could hear a commotion in the hallway and was relieved to know the guards were coming.

“You’ve failed,” Aramis said triumphantly. “The guards will be here in a moment and you will be hanged at once.”

The assassin flashed a smile at him. “That may be.” Then the man rushed him. Aramis swung the sword as fast as he could, but he couldn’t match the assassin’s speed. He received several nicks along his left arm. The servants fled out into the hall, screaming as they ran.

Just a few more moments.

The assassin attempted to slide past his left, but Aramis stopped the man with an awkward swing of his sword. Seeming to anticipate the move, the assassin halted his momentum and pivoted, using Aramis’s body as leverage to propel himself past the prince’s right.

Aramis turned too late to catch the man, and the man lunged at the king with the dagger, trying to land a killing blow. His father was no novice to battle, however. He ducked down and grabbed the assassin’s wrist, twisting it and jabbing the man’s elbow with his palm. The dagger clanged harmlessly to the floor.

“Who sent you?” the king inquired angrily.

The assassin smiled again. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Your Majesty?” The man used the title sarcastically. Aramis could hear the rattle of the soldiers’ armor.

Any moment.

He held the sword out and pressed the tip of the blade against the man’s side. “If you move, I’ll gut you,” he promised. “Answer my father’s question. Who sent you?”

“It should be obvious,” the man responded, “You know him.”

The assassin deftly slipped his hand out of the king’s grasp and slapped the flat of the sword blade hard, jerking the hilt out of Aramis’s hand. In a fluid movement more graceful than anything Aramis had ever seen, the assassin grabbed the sword and drove it into the king’s chest. Blood spurt forth and the king cried out in agony.

Aramis’s eyes widened in horror and he lunged for the assassin. The man stepped out of his reach and landed a solid blow to his jaw. Aramis staggered back from the force and tried to maintain his balance. The assassin retrieved the dagger from the floor.

“Now your hell begins,” the man said. The assassin pointed to Aramis’s left arm and muttered something in a strange language. An intense burning flared through his arm. And then the assassin’s cape fell to the floor and the man was gone.

Aramis didn’t believe his eyes. Did the man disappear? He rushed to his father’s side and grabbed the hilt of the blade. “Don’t die, father. We’ll get you to the healers. I promise!”

A contingent of guards entered the room. “He’s killed the king,” one of them shouted, “Seize him!” Confusion swept over Aramis like a cold ocean wave.

I didn’t kill him! His mouth wouldn’t work.

The soldier who he’d ordered to get help walked up to him and shook his head. “You killed him with my sword?” The soldier kicked him in the face. He collapsed onto the floor and there was only darkness.

“One decision does not define a man. Though it certainly changes him.”

—Prince Aramis