The door slammed inward and I tumbled to the floor in a half asleep lurch forward that made me appear demented, or at the very least feel it. When my eyes adjusted after furious rubbing, I saw a figure in my doorway glide soundlessly toward me with determined, supernatural speed. As it drew closer, it revealed that it wore worn clothes of a civilian, a tunic that hadn't been washed since time immemorial, and a dark cloak of indiscernible color. It was obviously male, not just due to the clothes but the size and shape of the massive hand that reached for me.
Groggily, I swat it away and walked backward on all fours like a crab.
"Come with me," his voice emanated from somewhere deeper than his chest. It was powerful, commanded my attention in a way that made me think only one thing.
He was an incubus.
Which was disgusting, given the implications.
"Not interested," I said, my spit keeping my voice sounding muffled.
Before he even had time to argue, another figure appeared in the doorway, followed by another. Their clothes were similar fare to the first.
"Oh, good you already got here," the first one said. "Come on then, grab him and let's—"
He was cut off by a knife that appeared in his throat. A second whizzed by simultaneously, hitting the other man in the eye.
My hands went numb. "What the hell is going on?" I found myself thinking out loud, rubbing my eyes again to wake myself up.
"I haven't time to explain," the deep voiced man said. "But suffice it to say, you're in danger and I've got to get you far away from this place, and fast." He walked over to the weapons he'd tossed and retrieved them, wiping them off on the outside of his cloak. I suddenly was aware of how much blood was on other parts, where he may or may not have wiped more of that dark ichor before.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked again as he hoisted me over his shoulder, this time more haughtily.
"A coup," he replied simply. "This place is burning. I'll explain when we get out of here."
I wanted him to explain right then what was going on, why I was being ripped out of bed, why he killed those two who seemed by all accounts to think they were of the same ilk—which also meant there was a group, who I wanted to know about. And where was the smoke coming from?
Where was mother?
But all of that was thrown out the window, quite literally, when my supposed savior/possible kidnapper leapt out of my window down five stories of sheer brick and landed, knelt down but uninjured, on the hard cobblestone at the bottom. My heart leapt up into my throat around the fourth story, and flew out of my mouth around the second. It's a miracle I wasn't lying limp and lifeless on him in that moment from the sheer shock of it all.
Without even pausing to rest or check to make sure both of his legs were still legs and not gelatinous goop, my man—now most likely not an incubus, more likely a werebeast or vampire, even a ghoul—burst into a pure sprint, his breathing measured and calculated, as if he had done this all before a thousand times. I bounced around on his back, useless but curious, trying to take in everything around me despite my vision blurring from all the things happening at once.
For starters, the castle was up in flames, not just smoke. In fact the entire building was all but consumed in big, bright red flames reaching up to the third or fourth floor. That all consuming fire was spreading further into the city, and the hour must have been late; everyone was still asleep. The citizens were groggily getting out of their beds and seeing what was happening, trying to process it through the drowsiness and alcohol. A few were moving away, and even fewer were attempting to figure out a way to fix the fire. But mostly the people were just staring, eyes as focused as a doe's to danger, processing the situation as if it were implausible.
None of them noticed me and my captor moving at the speed of lightning through the city. The castle and my home grew smaller and smaller, further and further away. Suddenly the thought hit me that my mother was back there and I had no idea if she was okay.
"Hey," I said, still muffled and groggy. He was running so fast that we had almost left Persea, a city I was sure was larger than average, in less than five minutes. "Hey!" I called, a little louder. I made sure to hit his shoulder for good measure, but he just kept moving soundlessly through the city like a ghost.
A ghost, yeah. Maybe he was a ghost.
But that wouldn't make much sense, ghosts aren't—
"Ow!" I grunted as my face met the grass. Immediately, I checked to make sure my teeth were all there, then I spit the dirt from my mouth, all vomit and vitriol.
"Quit fooling around, boy." My captor yanked me up by my collar and knelt down to eye level. For the first time I could see his eyes beneath the mask.
They were green like mine. Like mom's.
But with something else, something darker.
"Look, I'm serious when I say you're in danger. We have to get out of here fast, and you're already weighing me down. We should have been out of here a minute ago."
Just then, there was a sound in the trees and my captor held his hand up to me, showing I should remain quiet. My lips locked up tight, and I watched with horror mixed with interest while he walked over to the trees to see what the disturbance was. In a few moments he was back, his knife back in his belt loop. "Just a rabbit, running from the flames," he muttered. Then, hoisting me up, he added, "Like we should be," and he continued his mad dash away.
At this point, I understood that I was getting no answers from him, so I was back to wondering why we were running. He had said a coup, and as I understood it, that meant that this was a malicious act of war. Which left one explanation, really.
Cashew had betrayed our good will and used our midsummer celebration to take over the castle and overthrow our country. Considering they were searching for me, I could also conclude they were searching for…
"Mother…" I said, voice wavering. I gripped the man's shoulder tighter and found myself weeping openly into it, drenching him and myself in disgusting, sleepy tears and snot. At the time, it felt appropriate.
I felt him turn to look at me, and I wiped my face as clean as I could. I already was seen in my sleep, I didn't need to be seen crying by some heathen. As royalty, I was to keep up my appearances. Just as my mother always said.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice even deeper when it was being gentle. It shook me to the bone, but in a way that was comforting. That was all he said, "Don't worry," but that was all I needed.
He slowed down, and I found that we were deep in the forest of everblues, the pine trees looking even more blue in the night. Once he slowed to a walk, he let me down and looked me over to see that I wasn't hurt. When he saw that all I had were a few minor bruises on my face and some dirt and soot on my clothes, he grunted and handed me a knife from his pocket.
"What are you doing?" I asked in a voice I wanted to be more level, but came out with more incredulity than intended.
"It's going to be difficult from here on out, and I need to be sure you'll be okay even if I am not within ten feet of you. I assume you've trained in combat before, being the prince, right?"
When I didn't answer, he sighed and ran a palm through his hair and over his forehead. It wasn't that he was wrong; I had trained plenty in combat. Whether or not I was good at it was more of a different thing, though. In all one thousand odd hours of me fencing, I had landed one hit on an opponent. And it was because a bee had flown in his face, throwing him off balance. When it came to archery, I was even worse, never landing a mark. Being the only heir to the throne meant I should be good at these sorts of things. Who would lead the charge for battle? Who would attend the royal hunts?
I always just figured someone else would take care of that under my rule.
"Look, just hold the knife and look menacing. If they get close, dodge and call for me."
"How do you know they'll come for me?" I asked, timidly because I knew the answer.
He narrowed his eyes and walked ahead. I followed, feeling the weight of the knife in my hand. It was more like a dagger or short sword, the blade itself a hunk of iron long enough to be my forearm, and thick enough to be my leg. This guy threw one of these at a speed I couldn't even keep up with?
"Who are you?" I finally decided to ask.
All I got was a laugh, full of mirth, and it gave me an odd sense of nostalgia.
We continued for a time, getting closer and closer to the lake, which was peering through the trees here and there the further we went, glistening a bright white from the moon and a dark, night tinged green. Idly, I would turn my knife here and there as I walked, fidgeting to maintain a sense of calm despite the unfamiliar surroundings.
Despite our home overseeing all of these things, and despite being the prince of a country far larger than I could understand, I had little experience in the world outside. My father was never around to take me anywhere, and the rule was that the queen had to stay home if the king was out or vice versa. Because my father left without me, I was stuck home, keeping the servants busy and my mother company.
It was never enough for either of us, and without the walls to surround me I felt more vulnerable than ever, the everblues closing in on me with devious intent, the cracking of twigs sending my spine to convulsions.
Then the man stopped, holding a hand out to stop me. I slammed into it and stayed there, unsure of what to do.
"Back up," he growled, his voice an even lower register than before. "But stay close, and keep your knife ready."
I took a few steps backward and held my knife pointed outward, both hands grasping the hilt firmly enough my palms began burning. The blade shook, but I remained still. Or maybe I shook but the blade remained still.
The dark was unnerving, and I could barely see the man in front of me save for when he moved, a ripple in the darkness. The forestry was so dense that the sky was blocked by a makeshift ceiling of blueish green. I told myself to breathe long and slow, and it helped at least take my mind off the fact that I wasn't home, that I was in danger, that my mother was in danger.
Voices whispered in our direction, and I could just barely hear them coming from our left.
"...sure he's this way?" the first one asked.
"Pretty sure I saw someone this way," the second answered, breathing heavy. They couldn't possibly have run from the city to keep up with us. They must have been stationed near here, or at least in the forest, and saw us coming through.
"How would he have gotten this far out so fast? He's just a kid, right? I feel like horseshit after all that running and we run all the time."
The other grunted, and I was suddenly aware of rustling as their figures materialized from the foliage. "Well either way we have to find him. Hopefully he's not too hurt or anything, that explosion was huge."
My forehead began pounding. Were these guys trying to kidnap me, or save me? Now I couldn't tell based on what they had said.
When they were in full view, they appeared fine enough. I didn't recognize them but they weren't wearing anything to indicate ill will, and from what I could see they carried no weapons. None were certainly in their hands.
So why was the man who took me attacking them?
He lurched forward with speed that I wouldn't have followed in the brightest light, let alone in that dark little area of the forest. All I saw was movement, and I heard the disgusting sound of pain and consciousness leaving the body. Or the soul. I couldn't tell if he had killed them, and I wasn't curious enough to see for myself.
The instant they were down, he wiped his blade as he had before and sighed with an indignation I usually reserved for my studies.
"Come on," he muttered, hand held out for me to hold to while he hoisted me on his back.
I shook my head.
"We don't have time for this, just hop on and I'll run us again." A growl began to enter his voice. It was commanding, authoritative.
I didn't really have a choice—at least, he made it seem as though I didn't—so I grabbed his hand and he hoisted me up. And the gears spun in my head, and I drew up conclusions, and I imagined what to do, and I still wasn't sure. But this didn't feel right, and that I was sure of.
So I probably shouldn't have been surprised when we went down, and I was staring at the knife that he gave me jutting out of his shoulder. It hadn't gone very deep, but it was deep enough to cause more than a mild discomfort. He went down like a felled deer, and I tumbled in a roll that sent me slamming into the nearest tree.
When I saw him still on the ground, stunned, I panicked and ran away in the opposite direction, toward the smoke stacks billowing up over the trees. Tears streamed down my dirty cheeks, heat making the snot drip from my nose freely. My breath was ragged. My steps were wobbly.
And I tripped on the undergrowth once, twice, three times. I got up each time more slowly. I kept thinking of my mother, where she was and how she felt. That made getting up a little easier, but not by much. Blood covered my hands, and I was unsure whose it was. I remember stopping to vomit, but I couldn't. The nausea just remained constant, bile slapping my throat with each step I took, each breath bringing acid with it to my nose and mouth.
After a few minutes of running, I heard footsteps and came to a stop so I could see who it was. If it was the man, he'd have come to get me and I wasn't sure what to do—after all, he could outrun any horse, even Sleipner as far as I was concerned.
It was two more men, both dressed in civilian clothes which were covered in soot from the fire. They wore swords in their belts, but I was sure they would help me if they were from Persea, and I had a better chance with them considering I hadn't been foolish enough to stab them.
"Hey!" I called, running out to them with both hands in the air. They both immediately drew their weapons and I screeched to a halt and waved my hands more frantically. "No-no-no! I'm not going to hurt you, I just want your help!"
They didn't say anything, they just glanced at each other and stomped forward slowly, blades bouncing in the idle hypnotism of a cobra.
"I'm Prince Peppermint Avocado," I said in as proclamatory a way as possible despite the timbre my voice reached.
They kept closing in, and my back hit a tree. I slid to the side with as much grace as a brick hitting a skull.
"Maybe you're still drunk from the festivities," I said, more to myself than anyone. "I'm your Prince. You don't wish to harm me."
This time one of them snorted. "Nah," he said. "But if you struggle we won't mind whopping a finger or two off. The parts of a royal go for a higher price 'n you think, yer majesty."
"That they do," the other said, his grin an ominous white line in the darkness. "Royal blood for the sacrament will be worth its weight in gold, I'd wager. An ear for a necklace might fetch a price too."
They laughed, and tears once again rode the familiar trails of my face, pathways etched there from a night of mares. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what came next.
Which, to my surprise, was their swift demise.
The man I'd stabbed leapt from the trees like a bat from hell, the blade I'd lodged in him still protruding like a flag. In a flash of his blade, both men fell in a heap of meat. He wiped his blade clean and sheathed it, staring down at the men in silence.
It was creepy.
It was really, really creepy.
He turned then, and without saying anything still held out a hand for me. I whimpered and stepped back, as you do when you're approached by a crazy.
But crazy has a way of just whisking you off without your consent. I held tight to his good shoulder, still unsure if this was a good idea or if I was being taken to a prison in a far off land or a wild mans hut or I was to be sold as a slave. I've heard plenty of tales regarding princes being sent through horrible, terrible hardships, only to come out of it better for it, albeit hardened.
That only happened in fairy tales, though.