The mob circled the two men before them, emboldened by the sight of Mark's drawn sword. However, Mark didn't falter. He knew he was outnumbered, but it didn't waver his commitment to his job. He was going to protect Lucian even if it cost him his life.
Lucian on the other hand didn't do much. He just stood still, surprised that the hate had gotten this intense. He had no idea what they might do if they learnt that he was actually the prince. He had known this would be dangerous, but the reality was far more immediate and terrifying than he had imagined.
"Put the sword down, Mark!" Lucian commanded, his voice soft but authoritative.
Mark turned to meet Lucian's gaze, surprised that the prince would even suggest such in this type of situation. However, Lucian meant every word he had just said, and he repeated it to make sure that the man before him understood that perfectly fine.
"Put the sword down, Mark." He ordered, and only then did Mark reluctantly obey. The instincts to protect him had clearly blinded Mark to see that these people were only advancing towards them because they were itching for a reason to beat up a noble born. Mark's drawn blade was the perfect excuse—it would be called self defense.
However, surrendering would probably ease the tension in the air. If there was nothing to defend against, attacking wouldn't make much of a sense.
The mob hesitated, but only for a moment. The leader, the man who had grabbed Lucian's hair earlier, sneered at him. "You're a smart, and handsome lad. Do you have any other talents you want to show us?"
Lucian ignored the remark only because he was unsure of what to say to that question. He was afraid, but at the same time excited. The thrill of having his life being in front of danger was one that he had never experienced before, but he knew better than to push too far. These people could actually kill him, keeping his excitement in check was necessary.
"What are you doing, Harold? Those people are friends of mine." A softer voice questioned from outside the mob.
"You're friends with nobles now, lad? Have you lost ye mind?" Harold replied, appalled by Simon's words. The small mob began to dissipate slowly after Simon's appearance, but a few of them remained to back up the older man's words.
Simon didn't say much, he merely walked towards the center of the commotion and put himself between Lucian and Harold, his eyes cold and unreceptive to the threatening glares from the villagers around. He might be loved by many, but he still had his own fair share of enemies.
Harold and his squad weren't a fan of him. Before Simon discovered his innate talent of pickpocketing, Harold had been the person providing for most of the occupants of Beggars Row. His ways were crude, beating up nobles and robbing them of their possessions. It hadn't been the best way, but it placed food on their tables, so nobody complained.
However, the unending stories of violence soon took its toll on the people. The nobles learned to take other routes, as well as double their defenses while passing through Beggars Row. The sudden change meant that Harold and his men couldn't provide as much as they used to, and this had made them lose a lot of their relevance in the community.
Simon on the other hand had learnt to enter the markets, and steal from the wealthy without being caught. People learnt to be cautious, but it wasn't an alarming case like beating up nobles everyday.
At first, his provision for the community had been little, but things changed when he learnt to sneak into events and make his way out with enough money to keep the people alive for a while. The little ones and the women adored him, but Harold and the older men didn't really like the fact that they were being outshined by a mere boy.
With a cold demeanor, Simon tossed the bag of coins in his possession to Harold's feet. "That's two hundred gold pieces, he sent it to us instead of having me executed. Do you still want to act immature now—"
"Mind your tongue boy!" Harold charged at Simon, his fists at large, ready to descend on the smaller figure before him at any moment. Two hundred pieces of gold was a lot, and if this man could spare such an amount for a thief, Harold couldn't imagine how much the lad's father would pay for his son.
Harold walked forward, a proud grin spread across his face. He had finally struck gold, and this boy would be the one to save them from this wretched town. "How much do you think daddy would pay to get you back, pretty boy?" He inquired as he casually pushed Simon out of the way.
Reading the situation, Mark immediately pulled his sword a second time, and this time he wasn't listening to orders. Their horses had been stolen, and outrunning these men on foot would be impossible.
"Stay away from them—"
A punch to the face sent Simon spiraling to the floor with a bleeding nose and a broken lip. Harold clearly outmatched him in strength, but he wasn't going to sit back and watch the people who had helped him get beaten by these ungrateful turds. Getting up to his feet, Simon launched himself at Harold a second time, but got sent flying once more. Lucian made to run forward, to help his squire, but Mark stopped him from making any reckless moves. Lucian might be skilled in combat, but he wasn't going to do much against these men.
Frustrated, Simon's eyes darted around for something he could use. And when his eyes finally fell on a log of wood sitting by the side, he wasted no time in grabbing it. With his full strength, he swung the weapon across Harold's face, effectively knocking him out, potentially killing him even.
The others recoiled in shock, giving Mark and Lucian the moment they needed to make a run for it. Simon broke into a quick run as well, his mind clouded with the thoughts of how he could potentially be a murderer.
"Pick him up!" Lucian's voice thundered as he ordered Mark to stop the horse for Simon. Three people on one horse would definitely lower their chances of escaping, but there was no way the prince was going to leave without his squire.