DISTANT MURMURS AND light chatter in the form of whispers was what Hartley eventually woke up to. He was surprised that he even woke up at all, actually, given the fact that he thought he had already seen the gates of heaven from what he could remember last. Alas, it was not his time to die just yet. The grim reaper was yet to be ready to receive him and thus, he was thrown back into the mortal world to suffer just a tad bit more.
"W...What…" He managed to croak out.
A painful tear scorched his throat as he tried to speak. His lips had gone so dry that they were chapped, dreadfully parched of water. With the comfort of the bed beneath him and the lack of adrenaline in his veins, Hartley could feel each and every fiber of his body searing. Only some parts held broken bones but it seemed as though his entire body was crippled and weak.
"Your Highness!" Wyatt was the first to notice that Hartley was awake. "You're awake!"
He rushed over, gloved hands quickly filling up a glass of water for Hartley to drink. The latter took it without hesitation, chugging it down and emptying it within a second. Once he was done, Wyatt filled it with water again, careful not to let it overflow.
"Slowly," he reminded. Of course, the advice went in from an ear and flew out the other. Hartley finished the drink as quickly as the first.
Now that his throat was moistened, Hartley felt like he could breathe better again. He blinked, allowing his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness of the room. He recognized the people and his surroundings. Of course, he was in his own bedroom, nestled under the covers. Only candles were used to illuminate the room, the curtains drawn. Seeing how silver was the color that escaped the bottom of the fabric, Hartley deduced that it must be nighttime.
Only two people were in the room with him. His trusted friend and advisor, Wyatt, and the brother that quite possibly saved his life, Spade. Before, their voices were the ones that woke Hartley up.
"What happened? How did I get here?" Then, the image of a girl flitted across his mind. He jolted, bolting up to sit upright as his eyes widened. Just as quickly as he did so, he hunched back down, hissing in pain. He had forgotten that he was still with injury. "Alice. Where is she? Is she alright?"
"Calm down," Wyatt said. His expression softened, turning the mildest Hartley had seen in at least a decade. Huffing, Wyatt took the now-empty cup from Hartley's fingers, placing it on the bedside table. "Alice is fine. She is at the Ragan Estate right now, recovering. Charlie and Miles are looking after her. You protected her well, Your Highness, and for that, I owe you my thanks."
"How can I be the future king if I can't protect a mere girl?" Hartley asked in reply. To that, neither Wyatt nor Spade answered. Nevertheless, hearing that Alice was alright was enough. His posture slackened significantly, allowing the soft cushion to fully envelope his body. "How long was I unconscious for?"
"Two days," Spade supplied. "And two nights. You were knocked out pretty badly, Brother."
"Tell me."
"Two broken ribs, a fractured ankle, and a broken arm. Not to mention the abrasions you received from tumbling down the edge of a cliff, and cuts from the glass fragments. Thankfully, because of you, Alice received much lighter injures. Just some scratches and a fractured wrist. Nothing that can't be fixed with time," answered Spade.
His words most definitely explained why Hartley thought he was about to die. While Hartley's injuries weren't light and could've been life-threatening, he somehow wasn't too worried for himself. It was odd that a simple girl could get him so worried that he would use his own flesh and bones to shield her from shedding even a drop of blood. Indeed, whatever the tales of old said were true. The charm of a beauty could lead to the downfall of kingdoms.
"Thank goodness," Hartley muttered under his breath. Alice was well and that was the most important thing.
"Ah, but I wouldn't relax so early if I were you." Spade walked forward. He leaned against the poster bed frame, his arms folded across his chest with a frown that was worse than usual. "It seems like there's someone after your life."
The air grew tense. Everything was pin-drop silent as Hartley's eyes narrowed at Spade's words. Being targeted wasn't a rare sight. It was part and parcel of being part of the nobility. However, for it to happen on Hartley himself, this was the first time. In the past, no one had dared to be so brazen and bold.
"Explain," the crown prince ordered.
"The wheels of the carriage had been sabotaged." This time, it was Wyatt that spoke. He began to list down the details of the accident. Or, at least, whatever information that could be salvaged from it. "The beams of two of the wheels were found to be cut, a clean slice, a clear indication of foul play. However, since not all of the wheels were sabotaged, it lasted just long enough for the carriage to arrive at the cliff, the most dangerous part of the journey, before it gave out."
Hartley furrowed his eyebrows. Indeed, it hadn't just been the rain. Although, the bad weather could have been a catalyst in the accident.
"Any suspects?"
"None as of now. The driver, if you had seen the body from the angle you were seated, was dead when I arrived. He was beyond saving, body a mangled mess. However," Spade paused, pursing his lips, "We did find something rather interesting on his body."
"Well, spit it out," Hartley urged, annoyed.
"He had a slice on his throat, Hartley," Wyatt replied. "He didn't die from rolling down the cliff. He was most likely dead before the carriage even went off the path."
Things were becoming more and more complicated. If the driver was dead before the accident, it would explain why Hartley was unable to get a reply from him when he called.
"Do we know if he's killed? Or was it a suicide?"
"We don't know. Could be both." Spade scoffed. "After all, the driver was a new staff that just joined a few months ago. He doesn't have the same loyalties as the knights do. Who is to say that he didn't kill himself to cut the chain that would lead us to his master?"
"And of course you of all people would be able to paint the image so vividly," Wyatt retorted. His words held deeper meaning and as a man of the same trade, Spade caught it easily.
The second prince narrowed his eyes, the skin between his eyebrows furrowed as he stood up straighter than just now. With his jaw clenched and expression stern, Spade was no doubt in a battle stance.
"And what is that supposed to mean, Young Master Wyatt?"
Wyatt smiled serenely, holding no warmth on those lips. "Whatever you want it to mean, Your Highness."
"Enough." Rubbing his temples, Hartley sighed. He didn't know which was worse— the pain of having multiple broken bones or the throbbing of his head from the commotion. "Wyatt, it couldn't have been Spade."
"Then, might I ask, Your Highness, what were you doing at the time of the accident?" Wyatt threw the question back. The glint in his eyes was venomous and sharp, not a single ounce of friendliness in them despite the patronizing smile he wore. "Alice was your guest on the day of the accident. And yet, she returned injured and bloodied. If she had been the only one in the carriage, if Prince Hartley wasn't there, she could've—"
"She will not," Spade firmly cut in, his voice raised. Then, in a softer tone, he repeated, "She will not. I will not let anything happen to her from this day forth. And to satisfy your curiosity, I was with Dorian for work. Once I finished up, I looked for Alice only to hear that my brother decided it was a good idea to see my guest out the door."
"Then how did you find us?" Hartley questioned.
"I, too, was on my way to the Ragan's Estate. Alice left something of hers behind during tea and I wanted to return it to her," Spade smoothly answered.
From his pockets, he withdrew a small sheathed blade. The jewels — though sparse in number as the dagger was for practical use and not mere decor — on it sparkled. Once the item was brought out, Wyatt's eyes widened. He recognized it, of course, as the dagger that he had just given her. It was a gift meant for her to protect herself. Who knew that it did, albeit in a different way from what he had originally intended it to.
"It seemed important. After all, there is the Ragan house crest on it." Spade shrugged, passing the dagger to Wyatt.
Now that Spade's name was most likely cleared, a question bloomed brighter than ever. With the prime suspect — Hartley's competitor for the crown — out of the way, the list was now washed clean and blank. Everyone in the room had but just one resounding thought:
Who was the one that wanted them dead?