The Prince of Aragon

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE SETBACK

“What are you doing here?” the Emperor roared to his only daughter who looked like someone the cat had dragged in. That idiotic senseless girl could barely keep her eyes open out of sheer exhaustion. There were skin tears everywhere, her dress looked muddy and ugly, and her face was unrecognizable.

Anger, rapid and uncontrollable surged inside him.

“Who the hell agreed for the Royal Princess to travel here?” he grounded out to Earl of Catterline, the man who stood behind his bone-weary daughter with his hands folded in front of his crotch. Like a damned fool.

Sometimes, he wondered if Freya was right about the men in Blanca court being all nincompoops, boneless idiots.

“Don’t just stand there!” he screamed in pure fury, his fist towards a group of aid. “Somebody bring the princess and take care of her.”

A hustle of female maids scurried in front of the crumbled princess and supported her listless body to lift her and bring her in the upper rooms of the main palace unit. Emperor Salvatore watched with bitterness and displeasure, although he loved his daughter, he profoundly disliked the fact that she was weak and a female.

“Come forward Catterline,” he ordered frostily, and watched with satisfaction as the man winced with remorse.

“Your Majesty, I tried to deter her from the journey,” he said in his defense.

Emperor Salvatore was well-aware of how stubborn his daughter was, especially when she was hellbent over an idea, but he resented the man for pointing out his daughter’s flaw.

His Dà Vita sat right at his waist, and he could feel the power of the sword beckoning him. Another reason why he’d deemed it necessary to keep it locked away safe in a secret chamber was because that damned weapon was filled with dark magic. It tended to consume him even when he was unwilling.

Wilfred Montgomery, Earl of Catterline was a trusted servant, he was even one of the matches he found suitable for Freya and killing him was out of question. Emperor Salvatore had to grip his fists into two tight knuckles in order to prevent himself from removing the sword from the scabbard and chop his head off.

That was something he wouldn’t have thought twice about in the past, but he’d reached a point where he’d had to question his own credibility. Was he killing because he wanted to, or was the sword forcing him to finish off anyone? All he figured was that the more he used the damned weapon, the more compelled he felt to kill again.

It had become an addiction.

“Get out of my sight right now!” he hollered violently, turning away from the man before he gave in to the temptation.

That was something that the cruel witch had forgotten to mention, the side effects of that evil magic.

A few feet away from him, Prince Novak was watching everything like a hawk. Although he missed the unobtrusive fact that the Emperor was trying hard to fight against the moreish thirst of the Dà Vita, Novak was surprised to discover that Salvatore’s daughter was here.

It was only that morning that the monarch had announced that he was going back to his Kingdom next week. Which had made Novak restless for the first time. They’d been so spooked after the King’s visit that he’d decided to pause with his revenge for a while. Besides, the Dà Vita being in custody of Salvatore made it impossible for them to carry on with their mission.

Now, with the princess dropping unannounced, Novak feared that their assignment would be more even more compromised. Unless he used the Princess’s arrival to his benefit? The nascent idea formed in his witty head, burgeoned into a plan - befriend her in order to convince to extend their stay at the ninth realm?

“Carter?” Isla whispered in a perturbed tone, mirroring his sentiment. The only difference was that he was not one to show his distress.

“Not now,” he hissed angrily, eyes darting around for any prospective eavesdropper. “We’ll have this conversation later.”

Later came in the evening when nobody noticed them sneaking into Novak’s room for their usual retrospective. The twins looked alarmed, while Isla was pacing the floor like she would bore a hole in the carpet.

“What do we do? What do we do?” she reiterated with a troubled frown.

“Will you stop pacing?” Novak asked annoyed. “Let me think!”

Rebuffed by the reprimand, Isla promptly sat on the bed with a displeased moue for having been treated as a child. The truth was that she was growing impatient; it was days since the beheading, and that morning they’d learned that the Emperor was going back to his main realm.

“We have to get our hands on his sword, and continue our killings,” she finally stated feebly. Was there any other option?

“I have a better idea,” Novak told them. “I will befriend the Princess to convince her to stay longer than until next week. If she remains in the ninth realm, I doubt his Royal Highness will leave her here alone.”

Isla’s frown deepened if that was possible, the furrow between her eyes creating a deep crevice.

The merest thought of Carter getting close to that horrible daughter sent a powerful surge of jealousy through her. Hugging herself, she caressed her arms as chills formed on both sides of her arms. Imagining them together was enough to send her in a frenzy of insufferable jealousy.

“Befriend her? You think that this is the time for you to get cozy with the princess?” she spat with pure venom and cringed when Novak sent her a bland look. “I mean…,” she corrected her tone. “…isn’t that too risky?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Novak asked, seeming peeved with her.

Vexed, she pursed her lips to curb her annoyance. “I think we should use the opportunity to check the Emperor’s lives while he carries his sword with him,” she delivered pragmatically. “This will help us calculate how many murders we have left.”

“She’s right, you know,” Connor prompted quickly. “We need to find a way to make the Emperor take the guard position to check his remaining years.”

Isla was glad to have someone on her side, even if she’d preferred it to be Novak. That blinding possessiveness was messing with the ability to keep her objectivity in the mission, and she had to get a grip on her stupid emotions before they jeopardized their revenge.

“Are you out of your mind?” Cameron countered passionately. “Do you think the Emperor’s a fool? That he will deliberately show you his lives? If you ever mention the guard position, he will guess that we have discovered his secret.”

“Exactly,” Novak grounded, glad that someone at least was on his side. “This is too big a risk.”

“So, befriending the Princess is the solution to all of our problems?” Isla inferred sardonically, her reasons for contesting the idea completely different from Connor’s, but she was beyond reasoning. “You think it’s such an easy task? What if it takes days to woo her?”

She could have bitten her lips for letting that word to slip from her mouth. It was too obvious that he planned on romancing her.

“I am not planning on wooing her!” Novak exclaimed in outrage. “It would be a perfectly platonic relationship.”

Isla huffed in frustration not a bit reassured to hear that seduction was not on the agenda. She’d seen the woman, even in that disheveled state, the princess looked far prettier than her. “Are you really that stupid? Do you think any female would be so entranced by you that she’ll become your best friends within second?”

“Fine!” roared Novak in anger. “I think if we have a conflict, it’s better if we divide the team,” he said, and instantly regretted his rash decision. It was too late to retract on his words though. “You and Connor focus on the finding a way with Salvatore. While Cam and me we’re targeting the princess.”

“Right!” she exclaimed huffily. “We’ll see if your new best friend will come around. Let’s go Con,” and they both exited the room in angry strides.

Novak wished he could call them back, but he feared that if he confronted them beyond the confined space of his room, they might raise suspicions. So, for the moment, he asked Cameron to keep a watch on them.

On his way to the main palace, he kept pondering over what could impress the Princess. She must have plenty of males at her bid and call in their main palace at Blanca, and the only way to draw her attention would be defiance. Open subversion would be the most rapid and efficient method.

“I can take care of myself, Papa. I was worried about you,” he heard the woman shout as he approached the chamber where father and daughter were discussing.

“You could have gotten yourself killed. Catterline told me you met with Midnight crawlers? What if they had gotten to you first?”

“Well, I did exactly as you taught me. I put myself first and let the others deal with the monsters.”

Great! A selfish princess. But what could one expect from Salvatore’s daughter, really? Reigning in his opinion, he surged forward to make his presence known. “I agree with your Majesty,” he bowed before Salvatore to demonstrate which ‘majesty’ he was complying with. “It’s a way too dangerous journey for a lady,” he bowed to the Princess in turn while the latter stared at him in open animosity.

“Ah, Sommerville. I don’t think you’ve met my daughter, Her Royal Highness of Blanca, Queen of Decagon, Duchess of Valencia, Countess of Riesa?”

A string of title only to show off their wealth, but for Novak the longer the title, the more he was reminded of the abhorrent massacres behind. They had both destroyed nine kingdoms to build their legacies – that was quite a massive amount of blood spill and cadavers to account for.

“This is Sommerville? Carter Sommerville? Your right-hand man?” It was said in a derogatory manner meant to insult, but Novak’s alert was instantly raised. How did she know about him?

“The very one, my Lady,” he drawled in a mocking voice, knowing that his derision would ignite her curiosity. Or her anger. Whatever it was that she bore towards him, flustering her would be the only option to find out more.

Nose wrinkling in distaste, she looked down upon him like he was someone unworthy and mediocre to stand among them. “He’s the one to beat Shi ni?” She sounded unimpressed. “Can we be sure that there was there no foul play?”

He pretended to be aggravated by the provocative comment, but in fact, he was merely amused by her indignation. The Emperor glanced towards him with a conspiratorial smile, appearing to share his humor. “It was an open fight,” Salvatore answered. “No scope for dishonesty.”

“Fair enough,” she replied walking towards Novak in slow strides, circling him like she would while assessing a horse she was considering purchasing. It was made to deliberately intimidate, but he braced himself against the galling disrespect.

“Sommerville,” the Emperor laughed dryly. “My daughter seems to be doubting your combat skills.”

“Is she a warrior too?” he asked in a carefully neutral voice, but the discourteous connotation was very much implicit in his lopsided mirthless smile.

Seeming surprised, she stopped her movements to lock eyes with him mutinously. “Should we have a fight then?” she asked, picking up a sword which seemed too feminine to belong to anyone else.

“Now, now, children,” the Emperor admonished gently, most probably knowing that it would be a lost battle especially in the fatigued condition she was in right now, and not wanting his daughter to feel humiliated in front of his men. By that time, a small crowd had gathered around, their voices flowing loud enough for the other servants to follow.

“Papa, please don’t interfere,” the Princess barked autocratically. “So, what do you say, right-hand man? Do you want to fight me?”

Hiding his inward smile, Novak pretended to consider the option while all that time he’d been betting on a battle with the princess. Now, he would use his trump card, revealing the real reason behind that provocation.

“But if his Majesty thinks that it’s an unfair combat, you can have someone else pitched against me. What about his Majesty? How about a friendly match of swords among the three of us?” he called forth in open challenge.

It was impossible to renege.

“I can fight my own battle, thank you very much,” muttered a very cross Princess, but with lesser conviction now that she was faced against such superior confidence.

“Okay, I accept,” the Emperor complied quickly, removing his sword – the Dà Vita, Novak noted with satisfaction, and swinging it towards him. “Let’s go downstairs for some practice.”

By the time they reached the arena, a massive crowd had gathered, Novak scanned the crowd rapidly to lock eyes with Cameron and the other two. With the barest nod, he gave his confirmation and Cameron gave him a thumbs-up signal to convey that he’d understood the subtle message. To any onlooker, it would seem that Cameron was wishing him luck, but when his brother bent to whisper something in Isla’s ears, Novak was convinced that they’d understood his plan.

He had managed to make the Emperor take his sword, and he was counting on them to be vigilant and catch him in the guard’s position to read the remaining years during the battle. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noted with relief when the three approached the fighting space for a better vision.

A sadistic smile spread on the Emperor’s face as he contemplated the sword in his hand, and the man in front of him.

He gripped the Dà Vita tightly in his hand, loving the way they connected as he reminisced with nostalgia all the murders he’d committed with that very weapon. It was a great memory, and he realized he’d missed the usage of his weapon. He’d stopped when he’d acquired twenty and five thousand lives or something. It still showed approximately the same number of years. It was the first thing he’d checked that other night when he’d checked upon the sword.

Now, it would seem that the man in front of him had a death wish, and he would steal his lives as well. Although it was a friendly battle, Salvatore wasn’t sure whether he could retain himself from eschewing the murder at the last minute.

He and Freya took position while Sommerville placed himself opposite them. It was going to be an epic battle.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Step! Step! Step!

Sommerville was dodging his every swipe with dexterity, and a flash of remembered feelings darted through Salvatore. It was so fleeting that he could not quite put his hands on it. Besides, there was no place for emotion in a battle, so he heaved them back and concentrated on delivering cuts to wound the man.

With Freya covering one angle of attack, that is Sommerville’s horizontal right, Salvatore was able to repeatedly throw oberhau and unterhau cuts from three angles - diagonally down, diagonally up, and horizontally left. Sommerville was showing great defense techniques though, parrying and dodging every attack right in the nick of time. He was an excellent swordsman.

Salvatore watched Sommerville’s flowing, artlike movements with great admiration, but then he surged forward and scraped his left leg. Blood flowed from the cut flesh but Sommerville didn’t even flinch. He maintained his line of defense, but there was no way he would win. Both father and daughter were not giving him an opportunity to attack.

Most experts would agree that one wanted to win at sword fighting, seizing the offensive at the beginning was a better position than waiting for the right time to counter-attack. It took years to cultivate the correct winning mentality for a sword fighting, and Sommerville seemed too young for such outstanding performance.

Distracted by his over confidence, he missed the next attack, and Sommerville closed the distance preparing for an overhead strike towards Freya. She raised her sword to intercept the attack, but Sommerville delivered a kick in her midsection to knock her out in the span of a few seconds, before dodging the Emperor’s sword thrust his way to his left in perfect timing.

With a clever maneuver, Sommerville eliminated the weaker link, and now it was a one-to-one battle between Salvatore and Sommerville. Their swords interlinked; they both took a moment to breathe as they stared at each other in obvious defiance.

Salvatore was finally able to put a name to the emotion he’d been feeling – elation. After many years, he found himself pitched against an enemy worthy of his own standards. It was an equal battle.