The Prince And The Pagan

Chapter 7: Keeping An Eye On The Prince

-Cole-

My father stood over a body, surrounded by a few townspeople who looked both scared and curious about what had happened. He had been alerted to an attack on one of the smaller villages and had brought me along with a few advisors and knights. He was examining one of the casualties with the keen eyes that never missed a detail.

“Pagans, my king,” one of the village elders informed him.

As my father straightened up and turned away from the body. “How can you be sure?” my father asked.

“Why are you asking him that, Father?” I interjected. “They were here to witness it.”

“The pagans don’t attack villages without reason, son,” my father replied, shifting his gaze from me to the elder. “They don’t attack anyone at all. Only those unfortunate souls who stray into their territory and end up as sacrifices meet such a fate. This is not the pagans’ way.”

“How can you be sure?” I echoed his own question back at him. It clearly displeased him, but I didn’t understand why he was so quick to dismiss the possibility of pagan involvement. Lately, there had been numerous attacks.

“What do you suggest, Cole?” he inquired.

“Gather a few knights and hunt down the rest so we can have peace once and for all.”

“So, you suggest murder?” he replied.

“No, peace.”

“Peace by killing innocents?”

“But they are not innocent,” I said. “They have killed and terrorized our people. Shouldn’t we do something?”

“We will, but hunting down people who keep to themselves and make no trouble for us is murder, Cole. Cold-blooded murder. That is not how we rule.”

“But they have caused trouble for us,” I insisted. “Just look around.”

“But we saw nothing with our own eyes. How can we be certain it was the pagans?”

“Shouldn’t we trust our people?”

He took a moment to study me before turning to the elders. “Sir, how did the attackers look?” he questioned.

“They were dressed in rags, my king.”

“And did you see any tattoos on their faces or wrists?” he inquired.

“Well, my king, their faces were... covered,” the elder admitted.

“Were they now?” my father inquired.

The elder nodded, and my father turned to me with a look of satisfaction.

“What? So their faces were covered. So what?” I demanded.

“Know your enemy, son,” he instructed, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Always know your enemy.”

“What does that even mean?” I inquired wearily as he started to walk away.

I followed him, taking my place beside him as we walked back to our horses.

“Well, if you took the time to study the pagans, you’d know they don’t cover their tattoos. It’s a proud symbol of their allegiance. If the pagans had really killed these people, their tattoos would have been visible on their faces or wrists. They wouldn’t have been covered,” he explained.

“So, we’re just going to assume it wasn’t them because no one saw their tattoos?” I asked.

He stopped and turned to me. “Should we just kill them without truly knowing it was them? Cole, we aren’t killers. We’re kings. Kings listen to every side of every story to get a clear picture of who is right and who is wrong. Only then can we make a fair decision. We cannot let our emotions control us or simply take the word of one man. We need to be fair, even to those we think don’t deserve our mercy. We cannot call ourselves good rulers without listening to every side. We are not gods. We are men, like everyone else, and we make mistakes. That’s why we need to strive to be better, to make fewer mistakes because more people depend on us. That means we should not go on a crusade!”

He turned away, almost angrily, and walked over to his horse. I watched him, unsettled. He said we weren’t gods, but didn’t history tell us that our family line was chosen by God? I shook my head slightly and turned my eyes back to the body. It had to be the pagans... right?

-Raven-

I was bored out of my mind! I couldn’t believe I was stuck in this tent while Dimar went off to fetch more herbs. It was excruciatingly dull watching over the half-dead prince. I had nothing to do but wipe a damp cloth over his face, hoping to cool him down a little.

I had been assisting Dimar for days now, but I hadn’t seen much improvement. Dimar said that change came in small doses and that each tiny bit was a blessing, but I found it incredibly frustrating that progress was so slow!

“Any day now, prince,” I muttered.

Suddenly, I heard someone enter the tent. I glanced behind me, expecting it to be Dimar, but it was Micah.

“Micah?” I called, confused. “What are you doing in here?”

He glanced from the injured prince to me, his expression softening with what seemed like guilt.

“I... came to see if the rumors were true. Are you really training to become a healer?”

I sighed in irritation and shook my head. “No, I just came into the tent without permission, and now Dimar is punishing me,” I groaned wearily.

Micah’s response was a soft laugh, which made me smile. But then I remembered I was still upset with him and turned away.

“Well, now that you’ve seen I’m in here, you can go,” I said.

“Listen, Raven,” he began, making me look at him. He scratched his neck, looking unusually uncomfortable and at a loss for words. It was odd. Micah was never nervous. “I... I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“You’re right,” I replied. “You shouldn’t have. Now, the exit is that way.”

I pointed toward the entrance, and he glanced over his shoulder before turning back to me.

“Please, I’m really sorry,” he said.

“Good for you.”

“Come on, Raven...” he urged wearily.

“What did you expect when you came here?” I asked. “That everything would be forgiven with a single apology? You were really mean to me.”

“I know, and that’s all my fault,” he said.

“You’re right...”

“It’s just...”

“Just what?” I inquired, frustrated with his evasion. Couldn’t he be straightforward for once?

“My father... he really wants me to be like him,” Micah finally admitted.

“What?”

“He wants me to take over. He wants me to stop being a hunter and join the council. He wants me to put down my bow and start training.”

“Your dad... already wants you to take over?” I inquired, surprised.

He nodded. Although I knew Micah had no interest in the council, I felt almost betrayed.

“I can’t believe this...” I whispered.

“Yes, I was frustrated that day in the woods, and I... I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Micah said.

I continued to shake my head. “My father doesn’t even want me to take over. He keeps secrets from me. And yours already wants you in the council. It’s unbelievable, and to think that this is supposed to excuse what you did—”

“But it doesn’t,” he cut in, stepping closer.

He took my hand, and for some reason, I let him, though I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“Raven, please. I lost my head. It won’t happen again, I promise!” he said earnestly. “I will never hurt you again!”

I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. He had already hurt me once—wasn’t that enough proof to be wary? But my father always said everyone deserved a second chance.

“I...”

“Don’t listen to him,” a hoarse voice suddenly interrupted.

I looked to my right and saw the pale, wounded prince watching us.

“It’s just a tactic to win you back,” he whispered weakly. “Don’t fall for it.”

What in the Gods’ names...