The Prince of Aragon

CHAPTER TEN: THE DREAM

Lady Ashbrook, now commonly known under the name of Alice Sommerville, peeped inside the sack in complete incomprehension for longer seconds than necessary, hands trembling as she contemplated the contents.

Novak felt certain that her lady would fervently disapprove of their method to extract revenge, but a serene woman looked back at them with glistening eyes.

“It’s done?” she asked weakly. It was a rhetorical question, of course for she had the living proof in her hands. “Is that the other Sadonese?”

“It is, mama. The brother of the assassin who killed Isaac. Part of our retribution is complete.” Ilaria informed with a crooked smile. “Finally.”

The mother nodded to her daughter approvingly, and Novak felt briefly out of his element. He’d underestimated the grief that those two women had experienced, for if those two wonderful ladies were condoning such an act, it surely meant that they had suffered much more at the hands of the Emperor.

But that wasn’t his only error – he’d failed to give enough credit to the one who’d defeated such a powerful warrior. Ilaria Ashbrook – a.k.a Isla Sommerville was no ordinary woman, she was a terrific fighter.

“You surprised me, Isla. You were really good in the fight today,” Novak praised in a heartfelt manner.

Ilaria had indeed astounded him with her sword techniques – it wasn’t that he hadn’t trusted her, but her choice of weapon had been questionable. Novak wasn’t aware that her techniques were so refined, despite the fact that they’d fought alongside for over two years.

He’d met the Ilaria Ashbrook a.k.a Isla Sommerville by pure chance when he and Cameron were strolling around in the pro wrestling championship in Milwaukee where the title holder Evan “Strangler” was fighting against Duncan C. Macmillan. It was said to be the match of the century.

Macmillan was a rising star, and every fan was harping for him, but Evan Lewis was five times champion in the past. As expected, the fight was torrid, with twists and turns with eventually Macmillan defeating the Strangler. The crowd was in awe, but the petite boy at his side was livid with outrage.

“That was such a lousy win,” he protested. “The strangler had him right until the last minute. I wonder if MacMillan cheated.”

“How can you say that?” Cameron muttered with indignation to the stranger who had brilliant cyan blue eyes, and freckles all over his face. He seemed very young, still in his teens with an oversized overall which threatened to swallow him.

The boy shrugged impertinently. “Lewis was faster and much better. I think it was an unfair win.”

“A win is a win. And I think that Lewis is getting old – it’s time for him to retire. He couldn’t even use his choke-hold this time against Macmillan.” Cameron was determined to argue with him, while Novak had no such inclinations. He remained silent as they sparred with words while he was impatient to fight.

The boy gasped in pure outrage. “That move was filled with controversy and banned. He cannot use this stroke now. Besides, I could have done a better job than Macmillan,” he announced boldly.

That statement caught Prince Novak’s attention.

“How old are you?” he abruptly asked the thin boy, who looked like he’d been starving to death. He looked quite small and fragile that Novak was certain that he was only bragging.

“Twenty and two,” he replied easily, his blue cyan eyes roaming over him in a curious manner. “Name’s Isla,” she whispered in a low voice, and Novak was flabbergasted when she used her feminine voice instead of the boyish squeak she’d been enacting.

With a wink, the little imp grinned at them, as both men’s jaws sagged open as they realized that indeed her delicate features were that of a woman, and not a boy. Women were not allowed in the wrestling arenas, that must be the reason why she’d felt the need to emulate the role of the opposite s*x.

Novak was intrigued in spite of himself, that little mischief was a challenge. Was she as good as she was stating, or was that smug bragging from her? He was captivated enough to give her a chance.

Much later, she proved to be as good as her words in her fight – not only she knew wrestling but was also a master in handling sword. With hindsight, Novak realized that she must have underplayed her skills in every fight, for it was only today that they had been allowed to see her whole potential. Was it something that was supposed to worry him?

“Thank you,” she said simply, and Novak was disappointed. He sometimes sensed a cold shoulder treatment from her, especially when he tried to get closer to her. There was still some part of her that she refused to share, and they had more in common that he’d initially believed.

“Where did you learn your combat skills?”

Isla shrugged nonchalantly, her slim shoulders making the movement very symmetrical. “I don’t tell you everything Cart, like you don’t share your innermost secrets.”

That calmly stated sentence startled him, he’d thought that they’d gone past that phase of mistrust. There was no denying that he’d kept the most important part of himself hidden from them, but he’ never thought they would resent him for that.

All five members kept a united front against him, and he gulped down the level of uneasiness which gripped him.

“What do you want to know about me?” he finally conceded in a defeated voice. Not relating his past was not a matter of mistrust, but more than him clinging to his real identity with fierce fanatism for some unknown reason to himself.

“Who are you?” Isla asked without flinching. “Why are you so hellbent on killing the Emperor? We know he has killed your parents, but my gut is telling me that there’s more to the story. You are more than a mere peasant.”

Novak sighed. “I am the Crown Prince of Aragon, Novak Juan V.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, a total misconstrued tension which led him to believe that they were not only shocked but displeased with that statement. Then, almost in synchronization, all his five associates bent in front of him with respect, making him even more uncomfortable. Even Isla and her mother were on their knees while he was not their King per say.

“Your Majesty,” Connor said with great humility.

“There’s no need for such formality,” he rasped, his throat thick with the reverence that they had irrevocably given him.

“You’re the sole heir to the Kingdom of Aragon,” Owen disputed with his head bent. “You’re our King.”

Novak sighed. “Please, stand up. That was the reason why I never divulged my true identity to you. There was never a question of lack of trust on my behalf. I wanted you to treat me equally. Others might overhear us and if Salvatore knows the truth about me, he’ll kill me before I attain my objectives.”

In front of his arguments, they all stood up looking at him in awe, most probably everyone on the ninth realm had heard tidbits about what had happened to the royal rulers of the ancient Kingdom.

“Your father was such a kind man,” Owen insisted with moisture in his eyes. “He was the best King in the whole era. My father attested to the fact several times. I’m honored to have known his son.”

“What happened to you, your Majesty? How did you survive?”

With another lingering sigh, Novak related how he’d infiltrated a group of peasants to blend in the mass, and how he’d mastered several combat skills in the quest for his destiny. Finding the Sommervilles had given him great courage, and the Ashbrooks had completed his team.

“I never had the intention to ally myself with anyone along my journey. Finding you guys was sheer luck. Maybe I don’t say it often, but I am so grateful for your presence in my life.”

“Cart…your Majesty,” Connor corrected himself over his mistake, appearing still bemused with the fact that all that time they’d been protecting their King, the one who they had all assumed dead. “I am so sorry for the past. I understand your drive better now. I am grateful for your support as well.”

“Please don’t call me your Majesty. I will always be Carter to you all. We need to be more careful, especially after killing Li Qi, more eyes would be on us. No more discussions in the palatial corridors.”

All three comrades nodded briskly. “Agreed. We had a narrow escape,” Connor commented, throwing a respected look towards Isla.

“Not so much,” Novak said enigmatically, he had the impression that Ilaria Ashbrook was more then she allowed others to see.

“I trained on the NoMans Islands,” Isla finally shared, and watched when all the men gasped at her in shock.

“The NoMans Islands?!!” repeated Cameron in stupefaction.

“With whom?” Prince Novak seemed impressed by her statement, and she schooled her expression into a casual one to hide her fluttering heart. There was no point showing what kind of effect he had on her, he was clearly not interested in romance.

“Master Wong,” she apprised helpfully, knowing what her revelation would unleash. She hadn’t wanted to brag, but the boys would be excited to discover that she’d been trained by the greatest sword master of all times, the one who trained the highest and sturdiest warriors.

“What??!!!” Connor jumped accordingly, his eyes bulging in open awe at the woman who was trying hard not to gloat at their stupefied expressions.

“After the m******e…,” Alice Ashbrook was kind enough to provide when the boys drooled over the fact that Isla had trained on NoMans Islands. “…we navigated to a place where nobody would find us. We hid among soldiers and knights to reach the destination where we would become powerful warriors.”

“You mean you also trained with Master Wong?” Connor asked incredulously.

Alice gave a subtle nod. “I never wanted to feel powerless against an opponent again. Not after what happened to my family and I couldn’t even defend them.”

Novak could relate to them so well – wasn’t that the reason why he’d taken it upon himself to train until he’d dropped dead every night after his parents’ demise? What surprised him was that he’d never guessed, not even after the fights he’d had with Isla.

“We could train you guys,” they said in unison. “It won’t be so tough. From what I can see, there’s only a few techniques that you lack,” Isla added for Novak’s benefit, her eyes roaming over him with pleasure at his dazzled expression.

How could she not have guessed that he hailed from blue blood? His regal stance reeked of royalty, the way he held himself with rigid stiffness, his sharp eyes too focused for an ordinary man. No wonder she fancied him so much, but she would be mortified if he got to guess her feelings for him.

“It would be an honor,” he said gravely, causing her heart to leap with joy.

“Can someone remove this head from my sight, please?” Alice asked in disgust, her forehead furrowed in a pattern as she stopped in her tracks. “I’ve an idea. How about beheading the King in our next murder?”

“Beheading him?” Novak parroted in stunned stupefaction. That was something he’d never even considered.

“Yah, the Emperor likes to murder people by cutting off their heads. How about chopping off his?” Alice mocked sarcastically. “Who knows it might break the spell?”

Novak considered the idea before shrugging. “It might work. We could try. I assume that cutting off his head will stop the transfer of number of years. But I am not interested in acquiring his lives.”

“Good,” Alice reflected pleased. “It’s decided, then. Our third murder will be an execution.”

That being said, Novak rode back to the castle for the night with a premonition he could not shake off. There was something not sitting quite right with him. Being on the verge of jeopardizing his mission had completely stressed him out.

Someone was floating in the air, with her gloriously long hair shining in the dark. Novak squinted to see better, but his eyes were not adjusting to the dimness. However, deep inside he knew the identity of the person.

The sorceress Amara.

“What do you want?” he asked in a troubled voice, struggling to keep his focus while her perfume drifting in the air to ensnare him.

Her eyes were reminiscent of light coming from a surreal source and gave off a sense of it’s power. Those eyes were so potent that it raised the hair on his nape. It was such a powerful presence.

The witch maintained silence for a long moment, and Novak just wanted her gone, for the visceral temptation to pounce on her was so vivid that he had to grip the metal at his sides to keep himself in toe.

“Did it work?” she whispered in a sinister voice, the wind which swept through him sending a chill to his bones. “Did the second murder work?”

“Yes,” he replied crisply, the feeling which swamped him not a cozy one as he struggled to figure out where he was.

A smile formed on her beautiful face, and he forgot his next breath as he felt himself getting so hard that it was literally hurting. A moan escaped him, and he fought for composure. Where was that turbulence and yearning coming from? Why did that little minx have the power to upset him with the merest smile?

The way she was staring at him right now held nothing if the usual disdain of complacency she usually withheld in his regard. Novak, despite not divulging his royal identity, had people looking down at him with respect and admiration.

The witch seemed to mock him, like she knew things deep inside him that others couldn’t see. Like she could read her very soul with her exquisitely diaphanous eyes glowed in that honeyed topaz color.

No matter how he cursed himself, he could not deny the hard truth – he wanted her. So desperately that for once in his life, he would throw cautions to the winds given the merest opportunity.

And there it was! That knowing smile like she had just read his thought, and that spooked the hell out of him.

Then, as sudden as her appearance, her face transformed into a serious frown, which was supposed to diminish the beauty, but instead it gave her face more character with her cheekbones protruding and aquiline nose slanting.

“You’re envisaging of beheading Aldo Salvatore?”

Even in the disturbed state he was in, Novak registered the fact that she didn’t address him as ‘Emperor’ or ‘King’ as almost everyone did. Even Novak. He’d been obligated to use that title in case somebody might find out about the truth of his mission.

“What if I am?” he countered boldly. Why the hell would she care? And how did she know about their plot anyway. A sense of alarm rushed through him as he figured that she was spying on them. Beads of perspiration aligned on his forehead, and he once again wrestled the bad vibes surrounding him.

“Don’t do it!” she ordered uncannily. “Don’t do it!” The warning – or threat? was repeated several times until the voice faded in the dark, and Prince Novak awoke with a jerk, his hands gripping the sides of his bed in a death grip.

Perspiration dripped over his whole face, and he sat up abruptly, to wipe away the moisture with one impatient swipe. Nightmares were his night companions; he was supposed to be immune to them. How many times had he replayed the murder of his parents in his head? How many times had he dreamt of saving them? Of being brave enough to challenge the Emperor like a true warrior? Instead of creeping into his chambers like a thief, and stealing his powers?

What kind of man did that make him? No wonder Amara was not a fan. But coming to that dream, had it been an illusion or was she actually spying on them. In that case, was that a warning she had just issued?

Deeply troubled, Novak decided to keep the nightmare to himself in case it was just a figment of his imagination. How could he explain to the others what kind of kinship she felt with a sorceress anyway? Not wanting to be made a laughingstock, he shrugged off the dream as insignificant, impatient for dawn to come in order to prepare for the next murder.