Lucian joined Mark and Simon in the waiting chariot, his mind still wild with thoughts. He had defended Simon against Rosaline, and had cautioned her against baseless assumptions and accusations. As far as he knew, Simon wasn't a pillow biter, and it was wrong to point fingers at someone who she had just met a few hours ago. It was unlike Rosaline, but it didn't matter, she wouldn't make that mistake again, he made sure of it.
Just like Simon, Mark wasn't on board with Lucian following them into the village, especially somewhere as dangerous as Beggar's Row. There wasn't enough security should things go south, and Mark still didn't trust Simon. He wanted both the prince and his squire to stay at the castle, but Lucian wasn't going to listen to arguments. He had dressed as casual as he could, but anyone that was being accompanied by a knight would still be considered a noble.
"I'll be fine, just get going already." Lucian reassured for the umpteenth time. He didn't want to remain in the castle before words got to his father, he would never let him go to such a place, not without ten guards on his tail. He didn't want that, and he definitely didn't want to cause any problems with the people who were already in hell as it was.
Mark exchanged glances with Simon, who sat across from him in the chariot. He knew Simon was from that part of the kingdom, and it was exactly what made him so uneasy. He didn't trust the squire, and he couldn't help but feel that he might try to pull some sort of prank once they got there. Mark trusted his strength, but against many opponents, he might not be able to hold his own while protecting the prince. However, it didn't matter now, once the prince made up his mind, there was little that could sway him.
The chariot began to move, and Lucian leaned back in his seat, trying to push aside the thoughts from his earlier confrontation with Rosaline. She clearly hated Simon, and he couldn't help but feel that he might be the reason for that. Was it because he had told her that Simon was a thief? He didn't know, but he was sure that something had definitely changed about her.
"Your Highness, I still think this is a mistake," Mark said, pulling Lucian away from his thoughts. His voice low and cautious. He didn't want to sound insubordinate, but his concern for Lucian's safety was overriding his sense of protocol. "Beggar's Row isn't like the other villages. The people there—"
"—are desperate, I know," Lucian interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind.
"They don't like noble born like yourself, the chances of us being harassed are higher than you think." Mark pressed on. Lucian didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Mark knew about places like this, he had grown up in a slum as well, before becoming a servant for one of the noble lords. It was from there that King Wallace had picked him and made him the prince's personal guard. He didn't like nobles as well, and he remembered they always threw rocks at them as they rode by. He would be the one to get punished if anything happened to the prince, and he wasn't ready to face king Wallace's wrath.
"I said I'll be fine, enough of this conversation already!" Lucian returned, exhausted and furious at the repetitive conversation. He understood perfectly fine the danger he was walking into, Simon had made sure of that. He knew it was dangerous, and it was exactly why he had come. When has he ever had the chance to put his life on the line? He had lived his whole life without any thrill, only staying in the castle and leaving when there was an official task at hand. This time it was different, and he wasn't going to waste the only chance he could get because he was afraid.
Mark didn't argue any further, he just kept his judgemental gaze focused on Simon, and from time to time directed them towards Lucian.
It was a quiet ride to Beggar's Row, and no words were said until the chariot came to a steady stop in front of a few tattered buildings. The only one who had spoken throughout the entire ride was Simon, and he had only done so when he was asked for directions.
As expected, eyes trailed the carriage and its hosts, everyone suddenly silent as they alighted from the vehicle.
"Stay close to me, your grace." Mark whispered just before Lucian's feet touched the ground.
Simon was the last to climb down from the chariot, and the sight of him had caused a considerable uproar. The children were screaming, and the adults had smiles on their faces. However, those screams and smiles faded the moment Mark stepped forward, his expression stoic and his demeanor not very welcoming. He squeezed the bag of coins into Simon's hands, before whispering into his ears.
"You have five minutes, do what you want and be back here quickly!"
Simon nodded, forcing up a smile as he took the bag from Mark who returned to Lucian's side almost immediately.
Lucian on the other hand was busy surveying his environment. It was as bad as he had imagined, possibly worse. The houses were barely standing, and he wondered how they slept through the storm. The children were lean, and the adults seemed to be in even worse condition. All his life he had only heard praises about his father's rulership, he never expected that they were people in this situation under his father's rule.
Snapping back to his senses, he walked after Simon who had now disappeared into one of the rickety houses.
"It's not safe to go in there, your grace!" Mark cautioned, his voice low and full of caution. He didn't want to bring attention towards himself, but it couldn't be helped anymore. There was no way these people wouldn't be suspicious, not after they had entered the village on a chariot. Even with his plain looking attire, it would be easy to tell that Lucian was the son of a wealthy man, there was little he could do to hide it.
"It's fine—"
Lucian's words were broken when he was intercepted by another man, not bigger than himself, but a lot more menacing. Soon, more people joined in, and in a flash, a bunch of angry looking mobs had formed right before him.
"Where do you think you're going, pretty boy?" The first man inquired, reaching out to grab a handful of the prince's flowing hair.
Mark, who had easily understood the situation, stepped in, his demeanor cold and unyielding. However, it did little to discourage the mob who outnumbered him by a dozen.
With a crooked smile on his face, the first man made a gesture to the others. And in a flash, the horses were taken away, leaving the empty chariot and the coachman who was visibly terrified.
In an act of self defense, Mark drew his sword, but that had been a bad idea. He had no intention of cutting anybody down, but the people before him didn't understand intentions. All they could see was invitation for violence, and they had gladly accepted it.