The Savage Prince's Song

The wind howled like a starving wolf, clawing at Lucia's scarf as she dragged the last bundle of half‑rotted firewood toward the chapel ruins. The sky had gone white hours ago, snow choking the hill path, burying the world in silence. She pushed the chapel door open with her shoulder. It groaned but held, barely. Inside, the air was brittle with cold, pews half-collapsed and the altar a fractured stone mass. She didn't expect company. Then she heard it. A groan—barely audible. She froze. There, by the wall, half‑buried in ash and snow, lay a boy no older than ten. His royal blue tunic was torn, dark with blood. Silver gashes slashed across his chest like claw marks. His lips were blue. Lucia's eyes widened. “Hey—hey! You—are you alive?" His eyelids fluttered. No words. Just breath. Barely. She dropped to her knees beside him. Instinct overruled everything else. “Don't die," she whispered fiercely, ripping off her mitten. “Don't you dare." She packed snow into the wounds to stop the bleeding. He flinched weakly. “I know it hurts. But it's better than bleeding out." She glanced around. A rusted censer near the altar. Cracked, but intact. She gathered what little firewood she had left, broke two pew legs with a rock, and built a fire in the censer. With trembling hands, she held a tin mug over the flames, melting snow. Next, she ran to the corner where she'd hidden last week's rabbit scraps. A thin broth. It would have to do. He moaned as she dabbed his wounds with warm water. “Silver," he mumbled. “What?" “They cut me… with silver." Lucia's breath caught. Silver meant soldiers. Meant royalty. Meant he wasn't just a runaway. “I'm not going to ask who you are," she said gently, “but you're not safe, are you?" He didn't answer. Night fell fast. Lucia fed him rabbit broth, spoon by spoon. “Can you speak?" The boy's eyes cracked open. “Scarlet riders… they're coming." “Shh." Lucia pressed a hand to his forehead. He was burning now. “No one's coming here. Just rest." He trembled. “They'll find me." “Not if I hide you." She took the torn altar cloth, wrapped him tight, and dragged him behind the broken altar stones. Then she piled splintered pew wood in front, forming a crude wall. She crawled in beside him, her own blanket barely enough to cover them both. “Sing," he whispered. “What?" “Please… the song." Lucia blinked. “I don't—oh. Mama's lullaby." She hesitated, then began humming, her voice shaky but soft. “? When the wind howls low, and the cold bites deep… stay close, stay close… in the dark we sleep… ?" The boy exhaled, body relaxing against hers. She didn't stop singing, not even when her throat turned raw. The storm outside raged on, but inside their fragile cocoon of warmth and breath, time seemed to hold its breath. At some point, the boy spoke again. “Your name?" She hesitated. “Lucia." He nodded faintly. “I'm…" He didn't finish. When dawn finally bled grey through the boarded cracks, Lucia stirred to the sound of hoofbeats. Distant, but growing. She sat bolt upright. “No, no—please, not now." She crawled out from behind the altar. From the window slit, she saw them—banners snapping in the wind, crimson plumes atop helms. Cavalry. Panic gripped her. She scrambled back to the altar, whispering frantically. “You have to hide. Under. Under here." She pulled the boy fully behind the stone base, covering him with torn cloth and soot-dark blankets. He opened his eyes. “You'll be caught." “I'm not the one they want." The chapel door burst open. Boots. Cold air. Steel. Lucia dropped to her knees, pretending to pray. “Search every corner!" a sharp voice barked. She kept her head bowed as soldiers trampled the floor behind her. One paused. Heavy breathing. Then a deep voice, scarred and sharp. “He's here." Lucia's heart stopped. She turned just in time to see a tall man kneel beside the altar, reach behind the broken stone, and gently lift the boy into his arms. “Your Highness," the man said, voice softer now. “We have you." Lucia gasped. Highness? The boy—no, the prince—was alive, but barely. He turned his head to look at her, eyes wide and wet with something unspoken. “I—" he began. A soldier shoved Lucia aside. “Step back, peasant." She fell to the floor as the commander carried the prince away. The boy looked back once. Just once. Then he was gone. The door slammed shut behind the soldiers. Snow drifted in through the cracks. Lucia sat still, the fire dying. Was it real? She didn't know. She only knew that her blanket still held his warmth… and her lullaby still echoed in her throat.