My Enemy's Prince
August's Story Tag
The trembling earth roused me from sleep, and I blinked my eyes open. But the pitch black dungeon cell gave nothing away. Then other sounds reached me—unfamiliar sounds—floating down from the world above.
I scurried from my cosy nook of pilfered straw, and crept along the passageway toward the stairs. Just as I reached the bottom, feet came clattering down, forcing me to slink back into the shadows. But it was just a boy. A skinny, emaciated young boy. The right side of his body was coated in blood. Its sharp iron scent rolled my stomach. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his filthy hands.
This was my chance to escape. I shot past him and clambered up the steps into the dark night, darting around pools of blood, and hiding behind the empty stable block. Up here, humans were wailing, yelling, and scurrying for cover. Angry voices and a clashing of swords were carried by the wind from beyond the castle walls.
As I watched on, the King emerged from the keep and descended the steps, his royal aides at his heels. His emotionless face surveyed the bloody mess.
“Stop!” he shouted, as his soldiers dragged bodies to fill the holes in the damaged drawbridge.
Where was his Queen? In all my months living below the castle, I’d never seen her away from his side. Then a voice from behind startled me. It was the boy.
“Father?” he called, and the King looked toward him, sweat and rain mingling on his brow. “Where’s Mother?”
The King shook his head once, and the boy, again, crumbled to the ground. The wail escaping from deep within was enough to set my fur on end. What the hell had happened here?
Well, whatever horrors had unfolded here were none of my concern.
I had been trapped here for far too long, this was not my fight, not my grief. My only thought was to slip back into the night and find my way home, to my own kingdom far from this carnage.
I pressed myself flat against the chill of the interior wall, ears flicking at the uproar beyond. Slipping from the hallway’s shadow, my paws made no sound on the cold stone as I crept to a narrow window, only to be met with a sight so unthinkably horrific it stole the breath from my lungs.
The kingdom had incurred the fury of the Gods themselves. The heavens raged, torn open by a storm that hurled bolts of lightning with cruel precision, striking men and women as if they were nothing more than insects to be scorched from the earth. Fire devoured the streets, screaming voices swallowed by the roar of collapsing towers. And above it all, shapes moved, vast, celestial horrors clawing their way through the clouds, tearing the night apart as they descended.
This kingdom was beyond saving.
I had known its heart was rotten, but not even in my darkest moments would I have wished such a fate, such utter annihilation, upon anyone, let alone an entire realm.
“Amarriah, help them.” I prayed to the god of mercy.
“Brannon!” A voice cut through the sounds of screams and terror, only one person in this kingdom knew who I was in this form.
I spun around to find the head guard, Kellick, my dearest friend. Against all odds, he still lived, and for a fleeting heartbeat that sparked a fragile ember of hope. If ever this kingdom had a soul worth saving, it was him.
“You’d better get out of here before this whole place crumbles to ash!” he shouted over the chaos.
I couldn’t speak in this form, but I let out a fierce, urgent yowl, as if to tell him, “Run, Kellick, run while you still can.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but before a single word could fall, darkness swallowed everything, and the world went black.
When I came to, I was sprawled atop a jagged mound of rubble. Kellick was gone. For miles in every direction, nothing stirred. No birds, no voices, not even the whisper of movement. It was as if a hurricane had swept through and stripped the land of life itself. How I had survived was a mystery I couldn’t begin to fathom.
A rasping cough rose from somewhere beneath the wreckage, and my heart lurched. Please… let it be Kellick.
There was no longer any reason to hide. I shed my other form and stood as myself; large statured, strong, built to lift more than my own weight. If someone still clung to life down there, I would drag them free.
I heaved a slab of broken stone aside, dust choking the air, and uncovered a slight figure curled beneath.
Not Kellick.
The boy. The prince.
“Oh, gods, I thought”, a chill running through me, “what a cruel, wretched way to survive.”
His eyes fluttered open, dazed, and I dragged him into the open…then, without thinking, I pulled the enemy’s prince into my arms.
His rich sienna skin and cropped silver hair were now coated with a thick layer of blood and dust. Each breath came in a gasping rasp as he choked on his blood; he clung to consciousness by a thread.
Rain continued to fall, slowly at first, creating a gentle rhythm against the prince’s silver armor. Then it swelled into a wild tempest—sheets of rain thrashed with the howling wind.
I looked out into the fray, and through the mist stood a towering shadow with luminous yellow eyes. It watched me for a moment, standing with unnatural stillness. Dread pooled in my gut, and my heart raced with the fury of a hundred noble steeds.
Its bat-like wings unfurled from its sides as its maw widened. Flames lashed through its jagged, pointed teeth.
Through the ringing in my ears, the sound of pounding hooves broke through. A riderless horse barreled towards us. Hope cracked through the leaden panic, like flowers growing between cobblestones.
“We might live yet, prince.” I groaned as I lifted his body over my shoulder.
I seized the reins of the dapple-gray horse and hauled the prince and myself into the saddle. With a sharp kick to its sides, we launched toward the forest.
Flames roared behind us as we vanished into the treeline.
The forest blurred around us as we raced through the trees. It had been years since I last felt the wind on my face, and as much as I relished the feeling, I desperately wished my freedom had come under different circumstances.
I dared a glance back toward what remained of Eaveton Hold, but instead of a wall of flame, I was surprised to find another rider emerging from the smoke.
He looked much like the prince; his usually polished armor was now tarnished by soot, his olive face was streaked by blood, and his violet eyes were wide in horror. But he was alive.
Kellick was alive.
A deafening roar ripped through the air, carried on a singed and acrid wind. The heat of it lashed through the trees, curling the leaves in its wake.
Faster, we need to move faster. Digging my heels into the mare she lurched forward with renewed speed, flames licking our heels.
“Kellick,” I screamed above the growing thunder, “the coast.” Sending a silent prayer to Zevrion, god of luck, I tuck the prince's limp body closer into my chest and lean into the mare as she barrels toward the growing coastline.
Only slowing once the thunderous bellows were drowned out by crashing waves along the shore, I glanced over my shoulder to see Kellick slumped over his horse. Cursing under my breath, I pulled sharply on the reins and circled back toward him.
I may have been blessed and cursed by the gods for my strength and ability to shift forms v, but I doubt I will be able to keep two unconscious bodies safe on a journey across the Strait of Ithram. The narrow boats needed didn’t allow room for error, and if they wake and begin to thrash…
That’s a problem for future Brannon, I remind myself, and shift the prince to ease his weight in my arms. Deal with what’s in front of you now. I must find a way to return home and not allow myself to deviate from my mission, not again. That’s how I ended up in the infernal dungeon to begin with. My restless, fickle heart.
Reaching Kellick I lift his head to find his pulse, please be alive, letting out a breath of relief I feel his heartbeat still strong. He’s alive, for now. “I’ve got you friend; I’ll find us a way out of this mess.” I promise, allowing my heart to overrule my head once again.
As I allow my heart to feel again, my memories of Elira start rushing in. I know that now is not the time for me to reminisce about the love of my life. I know I shouldn't lose focus but I just can’t help it. I broke my promise to return to her in a week by getting trapped in that godforsaken dungeon for years.
Is she still waiting for me? I don’t deserve to have any expectations after going on this stupid mission even though she begged me not to. How could I possibly face her if I manage to cross the strait of Ithram and finally step foot in my homeland after all this time? Is it better if I never get back?
Doubts and guilt consume me. They weigh me down more than the scars and all the blood shed I had to endure. “What do you think you’re doing?”, a faint voice brings me back to the present moment. It was Kellick!
“Oh Kellick! You’re back. The gods have shown us some mercy after all!”
“Yes, I’ll thank the gods for sure because you seemed to be totally out of it. We are on the run for our lives right now and we have an unconscious prince with us. Can you please postpone your day dreams to another time? If we get out of this alive, that is!”
“Well, pardon me for taking a minute to think about my Elira after all that I’ve gone through to catch a glimpse of her once again. You, however, seem to be doing fine seeing how you’re back to your jolly sarcastic self again”
“Jolly? Who’s the sarcastic one now, eh?”
Our brief time of normality was interrupted by a gathering sound of horses galloping towards us. We looked at each other and nodded as we knew exactly what to do next. Or so we thought!
“By the Gods,” I muttered under my breath as the riders’ silhouettes appeared on the horizon. Dawn was breaking over the strait of Ithram, the golden towers of the bridge to my homeland of Thalsvir glimmering in the early light.
So close. I was so close to my home. To my love.
But with this unexpected brigade directly in our path, creating plumes of dust against the watercolor horizon, my heart plummeted to my boots.
“Maybe they’re simply a traveling band of performers out for a pleasure ride in the wee hours of the morning into war-torn territory?” Kellick quipped. He had always been one to mask his fear with humor.
“Unfortunately for us,” I groaned under the weight of the sleeping boy slumped against me. “We have the enemy prince in tow. Something tells me that the king of Thalsvir will not be sympathetic. He’s been waiting years for Eaveton’s Hold to fall.”
“Yet he chose to stay behind his gold palisades, claiming neutrality, while he let other provinces’ armies do his dirty work?” Kellick raised an eyebrow.
“This is my home we’re talking about, Kellick,” I grunted. “Tread lightly.”
“Some homeland. The king never cared to recover his top intelligence agent from behind enemy lines,” Kellick spat, “He chose to let you rot in the dungeons of Eaveton’s Hold, knowing it was only a matter of time before it was torched.”
“We’re wasting time discussing politics,” I hissed as the distance between us and the shadowy riders closed. “We need to deal with whatever this is so we can get across the strait.”
“And what are we going to do with the boy?” Kellick argued. “You just said you don’t think the king will be sympathetic to him.”
“Shh,” I hushed him as the riders approached, multiple bronze clad figures appearing through the fog in front of us.
“Ho, there!” A voice rang out through the misty air as the horses approached. “From where do you hail?”
“We are merely lost travelers seeking shelter,” I called out tentatively, hoping they wouldn’t look too closely at the prince.
“From where do you hail?” The voice said firmly. “I will not ask again.”
There was something eerily familiar about that tone, almost lyrical. As the riders approached, I saw they were a group of female warriors—the pride and joy of Thalsvir’s military. My heart leapt into my throat.
“We’re from Doranth,” I lied, holding the prince close, covering as much of his silver hair as I could.
“Shut up, Bran,” Kellick hissed.
“You never have been a good liar, have you?” The warrior snickered.
My breath caught, chest tight. As she rode closer, her horse neck-and-neck with mine, I caught a glimpse of the deep-set violet eyes beneath her bronze helmet.
“What kind of trouble have you managed to stir up now, Brannon?” Came the honeyed voice of Elira, warrior-in-chief of Thalsvir—and my once-upon-a-time lover.
H. T. DARROW
“E—Elira?” I stumbled over my words. This couldn’t be happening. After so long, I thought I’d have to search for her. “You’re here?”
Elira took her helmet off, shaking out her long, black hair, glinting blue as the sunlight caressed her curls. “Still so eloquent with your words, I see.” She smiled as she stepped closer to me, her bright white teeth glinting in the morning light. I was dumbstruck, as always in her presence. Who wouldn’t be?
“I mean, here. Gods, I thought I would have to search all of Thalsvir to find you. Even further if the king learned of your . . .” I stopped myself. I didn’t know the guards behind her, and I wasn’t about to betray her secret.
“Ah yes. A lot has changed over the years. That’s no longer a secret.” She crossed her arms and stared out over the lapping waves. “I digress. What are you doing here, Brannon?”
“I’m coming home. Eaveton Hold is—”
“Destroyed. Yes, we know.” The gravel along the shore crunched under her boots.
I tensed, hoping she wouldn’t look down and notice the shock of silver hair.
“You know and you . . .” I paused. We hadn’t yet crossed the Straight. We hadn’t yet reached the boats to cross. What was she doing on Eaveton’s shores?
The Prince shifted and groaned.
Elira stared at the Prince before turning to me, her smile turning vicious. “What are you doing here, Brannon?” she whispered.
And I remembered I didn’t—playfully back then—nickname her “Blue Viper” for no reason.
She wasn’t to be messed with; her tone told me all I needed to know. I pulled myself up taller and shifted the weight of the Prince; no need to hide him now.
“Elira,” I returned her hard stare, “How do you know Eaveton Hold has been destroyed?”
Her sharp violet eyes narrowed their stare, focusing on the Prince, “You think I destroyed it.” Not a question, a statement, those violet eyes moved to mine. “You’d be correct. I am the Warrier-in-Chief of Thalsvir, like I said, things have changed since you abandoned our city.”
My childhood friend and the young woman I fell in love with, completely absent from the woman in front of me. I have never seen her look so cruel. She is worlds away from the soft, carefree woman I had once pulled into my arms and kissed.
“Answer my question, Bran, what are you doing here on the edge of our territory? You abandoned the kingdom a long time ago. What makes you think you are welcome back?” I could see Kellick shift in his saddle under the weight of her words. Twice now, she has used the term 'abandoned.' She believes I was never coming home, that I lied to her to escape the secrets that hung around our necks like a noose threatening to strangle.
“First of all, Elira,” I used her name as she had used mine; it made her smart, her back straightened in response, “I would have never abandoned Thalsvir, I would never have abandoned you.” I dared to take a step closer, feeling the familiar pull despite the icy wall she had built around her. “I’ll play. You know I went to rescue your mother from the clutches of King Doret. I went for you.” Elira swallowed hard. “I was too late, Elira. I’m sorry. I was caught in a trap and held in the dungeons. Not abandoned, imprisoned. Now, if you will, your turn, if our King knows your secret, tell me, how are you not lying in a grave?”
Elira opens her mouth, only for nothing to come out, avoiding eye contact.
A bloom of satisfaction warms my chest, but only for an instant, chased with the ache of mourning the woman I’ve done all of this for. The woman that no longer exists behind her once soft eyes.
She spoke so quietly, her voice was almost completely washed away under the sound of the ocean. “You’re still the exact same man, aren’t you, Bran?”
It was gentle and kind. I yearn for her to look up at me again. For her eyes to lock with mine again after so long. But despite the ache, I hold my ground. “Answer my question.”
The world exhales around us and everything else melts away as she—finally—looks at me. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done to hold my ground and not melt into what once was.
“It’s quite a long story,” she begins.
“And we have plenty of time,” Kellick adds with his usual flair of sarcasm.
A glare is shot in Kellick’s direction, her violet eyes blazing and bright. “I’ll be brief.”
She takes another breath, unaware—or maybe simply unsympathetic—of the anticipation boiling alongside the grief within me and threatening to spill out over my eyelids, getting harder and harder to contain with each passing second.
“I made a deal with our beloved king,” she starts. “See, we had two needs that had the same solution. Mine, escape from death in any way possible. His? Well, you remember his godawful son. This son needed a bride. Suddenly, my tainted blood sparkled with riches and the end of mocking glances towards our king.” She slowly removes her golden gauntlet, revealing the permanent markings that signified marriage.
At the sight of it, my chest tightens and I lose control over the tears flooding my eyes. She continues, “Immediately following the ceremony, the king held a private meeting with some phony witchdoctor in hopes to remove my magic. He and all his dimwitted Thalsvian knights believed it worked. I’ve simply continued to hide it as it’s the only reason I stand before you today.”
She sees my tears but offers no pity. Her voice is steady, her tone solid. She is telling the truth.
Everything has changed.
The prince shifts in my arms. Oh gods, I forgot he is here too, adding another dark and heavy layer to all of this.
“What do you plan on doing with him?” Elira asks coldly, her tongue sharp as her gaze.
“I—“ I stammer. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. First was to get somewhere safe, then care for anything wounded.
Kellick intervenes, saving me. “We were planning on taking him to Thalsvir, to turn him in with hopes of welcoming arms in return.”
He states it with such confidence, like it was the plan all along. However, even my nodding agreement doesn’t convince Elira. Her gaggle of knights hop off their steeds and draw their blades.
“See, the thing is, when I was sent to demolish Eaveton Hold, the royal family was to go down with it. You,” gauntlet returning to her hand, she unsheaths her own golden sword, “are currently holding a fugitive, and may be fugitives yourself. I advise that you surrender and come peacefully.”
It becomes fully realized to me now, soaked all the way through, that this person before me is brand new; I am meeting her for the first time.
I retract the step I made previously, away from the false warmth I now know full well, pulling the prince closer to my chest. This poor boy who’s lost his parents, his home. I’m not going to let him lose his life too.
Mustering the strength of anger riding the tail end of grief, I say, “I pray Amarriah has his hand over you, after all that you have done.”
Elira sighs, advancing to close the distance. Kellick jumps off his horse, prepared to fight.
“Then it’s time to put you where you should’ve gone, all those years ago.”
A war cry erupts from her throat and past her once beautiful but now poisonous lips, echoed in turn by her knights.
I’m not even conscious of what happens next, amongst the flurry of gold and blood and rage. I can’t find it in me to even care. The only thing that kept me going all those years is dead. And now, so am I.
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Very cool!!
"If someone still clung to life down there, I would drag them free."
Hot damn! What a line. This whole thing rocks :)