The Prince’s Heart

30. Chapter 30

Chapter thirty

W hen I wake the next morning, bleary-eyed and a little nauseous, there’s a note waiting for me. I read it as I eat a light breakfast.

Darien, It has come to my attention that the city garrison will be testing a new weapon this afternoon on the outskirts of Cedelia. I wish to be present for this test, and you will escort me. Meet me in the stables after lunch. Do not be late. Arbois

I breathe a quiet sigh as soon as I’m finished. Perfect . It’s a little disquieting that Arbois found out about the test on his own, but for once I’m glad he knows about what should be a secret. One thing that Ivy, Emma, and I agreed on during our hasty late-night planning session is that this is our best chance of sending him back to Jirena Sadai for good. Just the thought makes me want to jump for joy.

Yet, my hands are shaking slightly as I continue to eat breakfast, because if things go wrong, the situation could become even worse than it is now. I may have lost Tag, and who knows where Mother is, but at least they—and Emma and Kenessa and Ivy—are safe. If Arbois finds out Emma and I conspired against him, I doubt his response will be measured.

But I’m going to do it anyway, because I can’t keep living like I am now, with both my family and my country under threat. If my plan succeeds, then he’ll be gone, and I can make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

If I fail … I grimace at the thought of it. I’ll have to make sure that the consequences fall on me, and me alone .

I get to the stables that afternoon a bit earlier than strictly necessary. Not because Arbois commanded me not to be late, but because I just want to take a moment to be away from it all—the endless meetings, the heavy crown, all the little things that I hate about being king. Here, in the stable, surrounded by the decidedly humble scent of horses and hay, I can almost believe that I’m not trapped by my title.

‘Almost’ being the key word here.

The first thing I do when I get to the stables is make sure Laya is ready. As I check Laya’s bridle, a groom shifts, and a flash of long, dark-brown hair catches my eye, just for a second, as its owner turns a corner and leaves my sight. Even though nobody’s looking at me, I continue to act normal, pretending like I didn’t just see Emma leaving the stable. She really waited till the last second .

It’s a good thing I didn’t react, because it’s only a few moments later that I hear a familiar voice behind me. “I see you got my note,” Arbois says cheerfully. “You’re on time, too. Excellent. I would have been very displeased if you were late.”

I turn to see him standing at the entrance to the stables; his expression seems just as cheerful as his tone, and for a moment all I can think is how good it will feel to wipe that hideous grin off his face. “I’m here,” I reply shortly. “Let’s get on with it.”

“There’s no need to be so impatient. It shouldn’t take too much longer for the grooms to finish getting my horse ready.” He walks toward me, turning his attention to Laya. “Hello, there!” he says to her. “Aren’t you a magnificent horse?” When Laya ignores him, he frowns. “Don’t tell me your horse is as ill-mannered as you are, Darien.”

I push down a feeling of anger. If all goes well, I’ll only have to put up with him for a little while longer. “She can’t hear you,” I tell him, my voice even tauter than it was before. “She’s deaf. Has been since she was born.”

He stares at me for a moment as though he’s not sure whether I’m joking, before breaking out into amused laughter. “Are you serious? Why in the world would you have a deaf horse? You do know you’re the king, right? Or are all the other horses in these stables defective too?”

I clench my teeth and silently count to three before I respond. Don’t mess up the plan, Darien . “Laya is a good horse,” I say once I’ve calmed a bit. “Just because she can’t hear doesn’t mean she’s defective .”

He pats me on the shoulder, grinning widely; it takes quite a bit of effort not to snatch his hand away. “Come now, Darien. It was just a joke. No need to get so worked up.” He looks around, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Where is my horse? I explicitly instructed the head groom to have her ready on time.”

Before I can answer, a young stable hand, who can’t be more than fifteen years old, runs up to us. The boy skids to a halt just before he runs into me and bows deeply, his eyes wide, panting slightly.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” he says, speaking so fast he nearly stumbles over his words. “I was told to prepare Your Grace’s horse, but it seems she’s lost a shoe. We sent for the farrier, but she won’t be here for another hour or two at least.”

Arbois frowns again, deeper this time, while I hold my breath. If he insists on taking his own horse, or even postponing the test, then the best-case scenario is that the whole plan is called off. In the worst case … No. I can’t afford to think like that. Everything will be fine .

Finally, after a few moments of torture, he shakes his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he mutters. Then, louder, “Well then, I have no choice but to borrow one of these nags for today, thanks to your incompetence. Go find me a horse that isn’t too bad—assuming you can find one, that is—and get it ready immediately .”

The boy bows again, his body shaking, but makes no move to carry out Arbois’s orders.

“What are you waiting for?” Arbois snaps. “Go, before I truly lose my patience!”

At that, the boy squeaks and finally runs off.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Arbois. “You will not speak to my servants that way,” I growl, my voice low. “You will treat them with the respect they deserve.”

I wasn’t really expecting him to apologize for his behavior, so I’m not surprised when he waves a hand dismissively.

“Servants like that don’t deserve any respect,” he says, a hint of contempt in his tone. “Not from people like you and me, at least.”

I want to argue with him, to demand that he treats my people better than he treats me. But everything is going about as well as it can so far, and I don’t want it to get worse. So Arbois and I stand there in awkward silence for a few minutes, until the boy returns with a saddled chestnut mare.

Arbois quickly glances her over. “She’ll do, I suppose,” he finally says, his tone patronizing. “Come, Darien. Let’s go.”

Once we’re both mounted, Arbois guides his horse out of the stables, and I fall in slightly behind him, with two palace guards following us at a polite distance. Normally, nobody walks in front of the monarch, but he’s the one who knows where we’re going. It grates on me to be seen following him instead of the other way around, yet I doubt he’d tell me just so I can have the honor of taking the lead. Like many things in the last few weeks, I just grin and bear it as best I can. Hopefully this will be the last time I need to deal with something like this.

He leads me toward the eastern gate, setting a brisk but unhurried pace. There’s not a single cloud in the sky, and the air is neither too warm nor too cold. It would be a pleasant day for riding, were it not for the company. Unbidden, my thoughts drift back to another day, not too long ago, when I took Tag to the sea of flowers for the very first time. I let myself get lost in the memory, trusting Laya to follow Arbois’s horse. Even though Tag is painful to think about, memories are all I have of him now, and I have to savor them while I still can.

I get so caught up in daydreaming that I barely even notice that we’ve arrived at our destination until Laya stops walking, the sudden change in motion jolting me back to the present day. I blink a few times and look around. We appear to be on top of a small hill covered in grass that gently slopes down before us to become an empty field. Turning in my saddle, I see that we’re a couple of miles outside of the city. Off to my left, about a hundred feet away, are two groups of soldiers, clad in the blue-and-purple uniforms of the Soerian army. Each group is gathered around what appears at first glance to be some sort of cannon, loading the weapons with powder and large, round cannonballs. Part of me wants to scrutinize the soldiers, but I don’t want Arbois to see me looking. Besides, it’s not like I’d recognize them anyway. I just have to trust that Ivy knows what she’s doing; she’s already saved my life once, after all.

Behind the soldiers are six large horses and a medium-sized tent, the latter a splotch of red against the green of the hill. Four of the horses are hooked up in pairs to some sort of harness that I assume was used to transport the two cannons, while the other two hold riders, who are watching the soldiers go about their duties. As we get closer, I see that one of the riders is Colonel Belling, and the other one, a middle-aged woman with long white hair, is Major Pressa.

One of the soldiers says something to Belling, who turns and guides their horse in our direction with a quick word to Pressa; the latter continues to keep a watchful eye on the soldiers. Belling nods their head as they get close, their impeccable uniform gleaming in the midday sun. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” they say. “As you can see, the soldiers are almost ready.” They gesture in the direction of the tent. “In the meantime, would you like to meet Major Pressa? Should you wish to rest while we complete preparations, we have refreshments—”

Arbois holds up a hand. “Skip the pleasantries, Belling. I’m here to see the new cannon in action, not waste my time making small talk with subordinates. Tell me, what makes this one better than previous ones?”

Belling’s lips thin slightly and their eyebrows draw down slightly, but their voice remains even. “As Your Grace can see, this model is quite a bit smaller than previous models. That means that it can be hauled by two horses instead of four. Speaking of which, we’ve developed a new form of limber that allows the horses to be harnessed much quicker, even if the cannon is being used at the time. In addition, we have developed a new rifling technique that allows for greater accuracy, and...”

They continue to tell us about the improvements that have been made, while I listen with a growing pit in my stomach. I’d be lying if I said I know much about artillery, but what Belling is describing sounds like a marked improvement over what we have now. If my plan goes wrong—and there is still every chance of that happening—and the cannon works as intended, I’ll basically be handing Arbois an advantage over every other nation as soon as we get married. Who knows what something like this could do to an opposing army? He must be salivating at the thought of it! Sure, it’s just a few cannons, but if it really is that much better, I doubt it’ll take long before we make more. It’s not like Arbois will hold back—if he really intends to reform the Empire, he’ll need every edge he can possibly get. Maybe, if I’m lucky, the threat of both armies combined will be enough to get other countries to submit without using force.

It’s a nice idea, but I doubt that Khoria and Verreene and the rest will give in that easily. Besides, something tells me that even if Arbois doesn’t strictly have to use force, he will anyway. The very thought is almost enough to make me break out into a cold sweat. This plan needs to work .

I steal a glance at Arbois; now that Belling is getting into the heart of the matter, he pays rapt attention, presumably thinking of ways to use this new weapon to his advantage.

When Belling finishes, Arbois sits silently, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a few moments of contemplation, he says, “Thank you, Colonel Belling. I’m going to get a closer look now.” He rides off without waiting for either of us to respond, Belling and I following shortly behind.

Each cannon is made of bronze and is about five feet long. Arbois approaches the nearest one, which has a soldier standing at attention on either side. Next to one of the soldiers is a metal sconce with a long, thin piece of wood that’s smoking at one end, which I try my best not to stare at. As soon as he gets close, Arbois bombards the soldiers with questions, eagerly examining the cannon from horseback as though he’s a child and it’s a new toy. Which I suppose it is, in a way. The soldiers seem slightly taken aback at the verbal onslaught; both of them look to their commander before saying anything, only responding to Arbois’s questions once Belling nods their approval.

Arbois spends a good fifteen minutes examining the cannon from different angles, keeping up a steady stream of inquiries for the bemused soldiers. At one point, he dismounts and raps a hand gently on the bronze breech, seemingly pleased by the ring that sounds when he does, before returning to his horse. In the meantime, I just sit there, trying not to seem suspicious. It’s almost time .

Eventually, Arbois’s thirst for knowledge seems to be slaked—for the moment, at least. He nods to the soldiers, then turns back to me and Belling. “Excellent work,” he says, his tone brisk. “Now then, it’s time for the demonstration. I would like—”

He cuts off as a sudden commotion erupts behind him.

“Be careful!” someone shouts. “It’s loaded, you idiot!”

I turn to see the metal holder falling toward the cannon in slow motion, the soldier who was standing next to it reaching out to catch the lit taper. His horrified expression is so real that I almost wonder if this really is an accident.

The soldier makes a grab for the taper but misses, and it alights onto the cannon, the smoking end coming to rest right above the touch hole, where the fuse is located. As soon as it hits the fuse, there’s a flash and a hiss, and then a moment of silence that’s so deep that it seems I can hear each blade of grass around me whistling in the wind, everyone frozen in place like they’ve been encased in clear ice.

Then, almost without warning, there’s a clap that’s louder than thunder, and my vision fills with white.