He was driving his car along Rosewood Avenue when he realized that something was off. He immediately peaked at the side mirror at and the rear view mirror.
"Clarence," he called for his chevalier who was at the driver's seat.
"Yes, Your Highness?" Clarence spoke in his usual calm and collective tone.
He eyed the rear view mirror once more. "How many are they?"
"Three cars, Your Highness, but I am not that sure, yet."
Damn it. Someone was tailing him and for whatever reason it might be, he knew it will not be good for him.
He made a sharp left turn on a nearby intersection, not caring for any traffic violations that he might incur. He stepped on the gas to get some leverage, hoping to lose whoever those mother fuckers. He made a turn once more in an alley way. He was on a street that was not very familiar to him but he just kept driving like a maniac.
"Did we lose them?"
Clarence reached inside one of the car compartments. He pulled out a gun. Without any sense of panic he said, "Your Highness, I am sorry to say this, but the two cars are still following us."
He did not know what was happening. All he knew was that there was danger and his instinct told him to be on overdrive.
He opted to take a midnight stroll on downtown Camelot and look where it got him! He just became a target by some group of psychopaths. He steeled his hand on the steering wheel. Adrenaline started to pump in his body. He gave a broken smile. They chose the wrong night to mess with him. He was really stressed out of everything that was happening in his life right now; his mother's sickness, him, being shackled down by the palace, and of course, meeting his dreadful father. There's gonna be blood tonight, and he'll make sure that it's not his. He will use them as a punching bag to relieve all of the stress and tension balled-up inside him.
"Did we lose the other one?" he asked after his tricky drive inside Camelot's inner streets.
Clarence pulled the slide of the gun. He knew his chevalier was ready to fight. "Unfortunately Sir, we didn't. Right now, the other one is in front of us."
It was too late for him to notice that impending collision of a vehicle in front of him. The car immediately went for the stop, blocking his was on the road. He could have maneuvered his way out of this if they were in a huge boulevard, but they were just inside a narrow alleyway. He had no choice but to step on the brakes.
The force from the sudden halt was so hard, he almost slammed his head on the windshield. Thankfully, he and his Chevalier had their seatbelts tightly strapped on their bodies.
Clarence removed his seatbelt and slowly went out of car with the pistol pointing at the car in front of them. He followed him. He wanted to see for himself who these men were.
And not a moment later, he heard screeches of tires from behind.
He turned around to see where it came from. Damn it! He did not lose those fucking cars. They were now cornered in this seemingly god-forsaken alley.
Four to five men exited from each of the cars. He did a mental calculation. More or less, there were twenty men. His Chevalier remained calm.
He studied his assailants. They were all huge. Most of them have weapons on their arms, pipes, crowbars and baseball bats. These psychos aim to really hurt them.
To make things more frustrating, those men had nasty grins pasted on their faces.
"How's your day, Your Highness!" shouted one.
"In the name of Camelot's Imperial Knights, you are all under arrest for attempting to harm a member of the Royal Family. If you know what's good for you, drop your weapons, now!," Clarence showed them the insignia of the Imperial Knights which also acts as his badge.
The croons just laughed their hearts out.
"You're not calling the shots here. We do. If we want to let the both of you live, then we'll let you live. If we decide to kill you, you will die. If we want to make you suffer, then you will suffer. Your fate is now in our hands," one boasted.
Clarence positioned himself opposite him. "You're majesty, just stay by my side. Let me handle this."
He gave a saccharine grin, "Quit shitting around. I'm not a pushover. I can handle them, too."
He will not go down easily.
"You royal croons are very entertaining. Arrogance at its finest. Your courage will take you nowhere. Let's see where this will get you."
They surrounded them. And to his utter disgust, the men still has that shitty grin on their faces. It was as if they were just toying with them.
He was really furious. He will definitely remove that arrogant smile on their faces.
"What do you need to His Highness?" Clarence calmly asked as he strategically moved beside him. He handed of a hand gun to him. He slid the weapon inside the pocket of his leather jacket.
"We want to make a point."
"And what point would that be?" he asked.
"Very simple, that the Royal Family is nothing but shit."
That, he couldn't agree more. But he didn't dare to speak his mind. These mercenaries were detractors of the Royal Family. If they think that he'll be their guinea pig, their willing victim, they better think twice. He will not go down without a fight.
"Again! Surrender now or prepare for the worst!" Clarence said firmly.
And again, the men burst in laughter. These thugs were truly getting in his nerves.
They were now standing back to back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His killer instincts rose. He knew for a fact they're hunting for his head.
It was now down to a simple choice, it is either him or them.
"You still don't get the gravity of the situation, eh? Let us see how high and mighty you are when we beat you up."
He whistled in retaliation. These men would never see fear in his eyes. If he's to die right now, he'd die proud.
"Our patron will definitely be happy about this."
This time, three men approached them, all were equipped with dangerous weapons. The first one had a steel knuckle while the remaining two are carrying steel pipes. They were armed and dangerous.
Tension filled the whole area as he and Clarence waited for the first strike. The silence of the night drowned their rapid breathing. Then, as if on cue, the first man swung his bat to him. He always had a very keen reflex. He saw through the attack before it even connected. He successfully evaded the attack. He then . Frustration started to brew on the face of his attacker.
On his peripheral visions, he saw that Clarence was engaged on fist fight between the other two.
One of them took out a dagger. Shit! They were really there to cause some real damage. His blood started to boil up. He reached out for the gun on his pocket. He tightened his grip on it, preparing himself for the worst.
His opponent came at him like a raging bull, holding his knife on a perfect angle to stab him. On a swift motion, he made a side step away from the man. The man seemed shocked of his evasive maneuver. He immediately drew the gun from his pocket. It is now or never. It is you or him. Kill or be killed. He formed himself in a perfect shooting stance. Then without any hesitation, his bullet passed through the man's chest. This rendered the man writhing in pain against the concrete pavements.
He heard a series of gunshots. Adrenaline was pumping in his system non-stop. His peripherals looked for Clarence. He saw him successfully gun down five of those thugs.
"Now's the time Your Highness!" He didn't need to say this twice. He faced the men who were all too aggressive to attack him.
Seven furious men were now after him. One tried to swing a right hook at his face but he was able to shield himself. He was about to return the punch when he felt a sharp pain on his left thigh.
"Shit!" his adversaries finally connected.
He also felt a pang of pain on his left shoulders as one of them hit him with a steel pipe. His visions started to blur. The searing pain had him on his knees. Damn it! Random punches were now hitting him. He tightened his grip on the gun. It was his last hope for survival. He refused to die here!
He aimlessly pointed the gun to his surroundings. Without any hesitations, he pulled the trigger. One by one, his nemesis went down. Others were shocked at his retaliation that they opted to move back. He grabbed that window of opportunity. He willed himself to stand up. And when he did, pandemonium erupted.
Like a thirsty hyena, he went for each one of them. He smacked the head of the thug near him using the butt of his gun. Others started to pursue him. Four of those men went at him all at the same time. Few of their punches connected, but he did not mind it anymore. The adrenaline rush kept him from feeling any pain.
Without a bullet wasted, he took down the men one after the other. Blood was now free flowing from his wounded forehead. His eyes searched for Clarence. He saw Clarence finished of the men who went to pursue him. Like him, his chevalier was severely wounded. He eyed his surroundings. His stare focused on the only man left.
He assessed the man from head to toe. It was the man he quarrelled with earlier.
"The last man standing," he said. He saw blood in his eyes.
The man was frozen solid. Fear and trepidation mirrored in the eyes of this thug.
Good! Fear him. Served them right for messing with him.
He saw the man trembled as he reached inside his breast pocket. He saw a gun on his hand but he did not care. He was numb all throughout, not really caring anymore but to kill.
"Don't come near me!" the man shouted as he tried to aim the gun with his trembling fingers.
He did the same thing. He pointed his gun on the man's skull. Perfect shot. One pull and this man will be put six-feet under. He continued his stride towards the man.
The man became so distracted that he didn't notice Clarence sneak up on him from behind.
Everything happened very fast. Clarence tackled the man, but before the man went down, he was able to pull the trigger of his gun. A gunshot now filled the quiet atmosphere. It happened so fast. He literally saw the bullet coming his way. He did his best to do evade the raging bullet, but to no avail. He felt the bullet went to his left shoulder.
His body became numb, but a few seconds later, he felt a searing pain from his wounded shoulder.
Fuck! It fucking hurts!
Gush of blood oozed from his open wound. Clarence immediately attended to him.
"Your Highness, you're shot. Let's go to the hospital," his voice was worried as hell.
Even from afar, he could hear the sirens of the police cars gathering around them. The police was now on their way to them. The neighbourhood folks probably alerted the police when they heard several gun shots.
Shit! He should not be seen here. This was a fucking crime scene! He may enjoy splattering dirt on the image of the Royal Family through his wayward ways and scandalous escapades, but murder was not his cup of tea.
"We need to get away," he weakly said.
"No. Your Highness, you need to be in a hospital."
He inhaled sharply. The pain on his shoulder was worsening by the minute. He should act now.
"Clarence, should the police see us, we will be in big trouble."
"We could always insinuate the truth, that it was self-defence."
"Do you even know who I am? I am the prodigal prince of the empire. Should I be seen here... No! Should we be seen here, the whole Royal Family will be dragged to this murder scandal. Who would believe us? And even if the court believed our innocence, people would just think that I got away due to my lineage. Do you get me now?"
He just blankly stared at him.
"I do not have time for this. I don't want to spend my remaining years in the fucking pit of Tartarus. This is a royal order. Destroy the car, make sure that the police will not be able to ID the imperial sedan. Clean the site. Just leave the body. 'When you're done, get away as far from here, return to the palace."
"But how about you, Your Highness?"
"I can manage on my own. I'll have my wounds treated. I'll return to the palace tomorrow. No word to anybody about this. Understand?"
He straightened his posture then gave him a salute, "Yes your highness! I understand. But please, contact me should there be anything you need that I could assist you."
He didn't bother responding. He hurriedly ran away from the place. He walked past different alleyways while pressing his already excruciating wound. He needed to find a doctor soon, a trustworthy one that will not speak of any of this. He looked around. That part of Camelot was not familiar to him. Everything was dark except for the streetlights.
But as he walked, his wound became more and more painful. He was rendered immobile. Bile was now filling his mouth. His visions became blurry. Then the next thing he knew, he was falling down in a pit of nothingness.
Steffanie looked at the LED screen of her phone. It was almost 1:00 am. She, once again, got carried away as she expressed her inner self in her paintings. Once she was in her studio, time was never a factor for her. She was always lost in her world.
She looked at the canvass in front of her. It was a painting of a man clad in a suit of armor. He was bathed in blood while standing in the pile of his fallen adversaries. The background of the painting was a chaotic environment caused by war. It was full of red and oranges. He already has a name for it, Mars Ultor. This will be one of her paintings to be featured in her exhibit.
But no matter how good she painted it, there was still something missing. The man does not have a face yet. She still couldn't figure out the face to give character to her version of Mars Ultor.
She started cleaning up. She needed to go home and get some rest. It was already past midnight. She'll just continue where she left off tomorrow.
She locked the door of her studio then went out of the building. This studio had been a blessing to her because the condo unit where she lived in is quite small and couldn't cater the space she needed for an art studio.
It's actually just five blocks away from her condo so the convenience was there.
The alleyway was empty. She already expected that as the place she lived was a retirement village. Majority of her neighbors were sweet old men and women. No late-nights activities, no loud parties, just plain and peaceful surroundings. This community was haven for her. The crime rate on the area was low as well. That gave her a sense of peace to be confident to walk the streets even at wee hours in the night.
She was walking on the main road when she heard a series of steps. She turned and tried to find the source of the sound. Even in her night blindness, she could not see anything past dimly lit alleys. She would have pass it as figment of her imagination, but a few seconds later, she heard the same steps again. This time, it was coupled with a series of pant.
"Help..." then a weak voice came.
With that, she searched for the person behind the voice. Someone needed her help. She reached for the flashlight in her bag. She went in between alleyways to search for the distressed owner of that voice.
She found difficulty trying to find the voice. It was not easy for her to clearly see the surroundings, let alone search for something unknown. Her flashlight was not also helping her as well, but she didn't give up. It was her heroic side that urged her to continue the search. She wanted to help whoever that person was.
The distress in his voice was so alarming that he sounded as if he was in the brink of death. She hurriedly scoured the place. The man could be dying right now. The thought sent dagger of fears inside her. She must find that person fast.
She went inside an alleyway. She was trying to illuminate the place through her flashlight. As she searched through the darkness, she suddenly tripped and fell down. She silently winced in pain. The darkness was never and can never be her friend. She beamed the flashlight to see what tripped her. She saw something that terrified her. It was a body of a man. She went for him. She put her fingers on his neck, checking his pulse. She was relieved to feel that the man lying there still had a pulse, but it was very weak.
She held her flashlight by the mouth and checked the body of the man once more. She saw something that made her face pale in fear, the man was bathing in his blood. She then looked at the face of the man. His face was already turning white. She came to study his face. She could not explain the shock that she felt when she recognized that face.
Oh my God. She will never forget that face. It was Prince Gareth, the man who piqued her deepest and wildest imaginations. How on earth did this happen to him? Who did this to him? Is he going to die? The last thought made her cringe. It was as if her heart was suddenly firmly squeezed. No! It will never happen. He will not die in her arms. Not for the second time. He will not be like her mom.
She let go of her flashlight. She could not contain her sobs any more. She needed to help him. She wanted to help him. She tried to compose herself. She needed her sane thoughts. No room for any hesitations. Then with trembling fingers, she made a call.
The other line started to ring. It kept ringing and ringing. Each passing moment was pure torture for her.
"Please answer the phone," she silently prayed.
"Hello Steff. What can I do for you?" came the gentle voice of the person from the other line.
"Doc, I need help. Please. My friend here is dying. Help me!" she could not hide the panic in her voice.
"Ok, where are you?"
She told their current location. She held the motionless man while praying and hoping for a divine intervention.
Gareth had never felt this weak. He tried to open his eyes, but he just didn't have the energy. He was numb all over. He wanted to panic but he was too drained to do so.
All he can do was lay down and listen to the voices around him. He could barely comprehend the words being uttered by the voices. It was all a slur for him. But one voice stood out the most, it was a female voice. Very soft and gentle. Very smooth and fragile. It sounded like a classical melody. Her voice is of an angel. He concentrated on that voice. Somehow, it made him relax.
"C'mon Price Gareth, you can do it."
Each word she said was like a serenade, lulling him to complete rest. It erased all of his doubts and worries. It reassured him. Suddenly, he was drawn back to his slumber.
It was already morning when Gareth awakened once again. He felt disoriented. He studied his surroundings. The room was full of medical apparatus.
Where the hell was he? Which hospital was he in?
He wanted to stand but the pain on his right shoulder was unbearable. His body ached all over.
"Easy there, Your Highness."
He looked at the source of the sound. It was a middle-aged man wearing a doctor's robe.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"You are in our small clinic."
He could no longer recall how'd he gotten there in the first place. All he could remember was that he was walking senselessly to get away from that incident last night. Then everything went black.
"How did I get here?"
But before the man could answer him, someone went inside the room. This time, it was a woman wearing the same robe. She brought some food with her.
"Breakfast is ready Your Highness." She gently smiled at him.
"How did I get here?" he asked once more.
The woman just smiled.
"Hon, you are needed downstairs. I'll be the one to assist His Highness," she said as she arranged the meal that she brought.
"Sure, I'll come back later."
The man then went out of the room.
He was frustrated. Really, really frustrated.
"Hey! Why aren't you answering me? Are you deaf?!" his mouth blurted out.
"Apologies if I had offended you, Your Highness. I'll answer all of your questions once you've got your breakfast," she answered with a smile on her face.
She laid the food in front of him. It was bacon and eggs alongside a freshly brewed coffee. The aroma of the home cooked meal flooded his nostrils. He felt his stomach rumbled in hunger.
"Go help yourself, Your Highness. You'll need that for your fast recovery."
And help himself, he did. He was really hungry.
She sat on a stool beside him.
"How are you feeling?"
"Answer my question first. Then I'll answer yours."
She sighed. "I cannot go also to details because I really do not know what happened to you last night. All I know was you were sent here bruised from head to toe and bathing in your blood because of a gunshot in your shoulder. So in the middle of the night, you were put under the knife for a surgery to extract the bullet."
He suddenly stopped eating, his mind was trying comprehend everything that was happening. He suddenly felt ashamed of his actions towards the people who saved his ass.
"Thank you," he silently uttered.
"Your Highness, I cannot take all the credit. I just assisted last night. I am an ophthalmologist. I am not a general surgeon. My husband was the one who operated on you."
He beamed a thankful smile at her before he continued devouring his meal. He was really dead hungry.
"But the one you should thank the most is the one who called our help. Without your friend, we could have never helped you. Had she not found you, you might be dead right now. You were really in a pretty bad shape. We had to perform blood transfusion last night as a lot of blood was lost to you."
Someone saved him? But who?
"I can't remember anything."
"This is perfectly normal. You've had a mild trauma in the head. Maybe that's why everything was still in blur. But don't worry, it will come back sooner or later."
"Doc, can you help me in filling the details? I really can't remember a thing after I was shot," he said to her.
"Well, first and foremost, I am Dr. Mary Lou Flyheight. It is a pleasure for us to meet the Fourth Prince of the Kingdom."
They both shook hands.
"Last night, at around 1:30 am, Ms. Steffanie Smithson called me. She said that she needed our help as her friend was shot. She should be the one whom you should thank. She's the one who called for help. If you were to arrive one to two hours more, my husband would not be able to save you."
What! Steffanie was the one who saved him? What a coincidence. The thought of her sent volts of electrifying shocks to his body, especially on his nether regions. It was a good thing his lower body was wrapped inside a warm comforter. It hid his raging hard-on quite really well.
"How did you come to know of Miss Steffanie?" he asked out of the blue.
"Well, the Miss has been my patient for about a decade now. She's practically a family friend. That's why when she called for help, we did not hesitated to lend a hand."
He was trying to piece things together. A regular at this clinic? Was she sick?
"We are not actually expecting it to be you, your highness. Steffanie said that it was her friend whom she found lifelessly laying on the pavement road. But I guess, you really are her friend," Dr. Flyheight continued. So it was really her that helped him. Somehow, he cannot help himself smile at that thought.
"Again thank you doc for helping me. Where is she by the way?"
"She already went home after we reassured her that you'd be OK."
He nodded in response.
"One last thing, Doc. Please do not tell about any of this to anybody. Can you do that?" he needed to make sure that nothing will go out, especially to those fucking hounds.
"You can count on us, your highness. In this place, we are very proficient in keeping things private. Confidentiality is a must here. Our mouth is sealed."