47. Nicholas
47
Nicholas
T he guards nearly trembled with confusion when I marched up to the castle gates, unescorted, with no security detail. No doubt fearing they’d somehow missed the prince walking right past them and now questioned their job security. Ignoring their fumbling attempts at greetings, I entered through the gate.
When one of the battalion leaders ran toward me, offering a horse to take me up to the castle, I accepted, dismounting after I’d crossed the drawbridge. Those guards stirred, just as panicked. Their greetings also fell on deaf ears. A pulsing anger radiated from my presence, keeping anyone who considered approaching at bay.
Eventually winding through some corridors, Ricks scrambled to chase after me. “Sire! Sire, if I could have a moment of your time…”
I halted, pivoting to face him as he approached. He repeatedly adjusted his tiny circular spectacles, pushing them up his now perspiring nose while huffing and puffing. “I couldn’t find you last night, Your Highness. I meant to discuss that I’ve sent out the final invitations for the dinner in three days’ time. There will be nine ladies, three from each—”
“You know I’ll be in attendance. I don’t want to hear one more word about planning or events or any of this nonsense. Tell me a time, and I’ll be there. Until then, you will not speak another word of this to me. Understood?” If there was any chance of misconstruing my seriousness, my domineering glare clarified.
The poor man’s already reddened face deepened its vermillion shade, but I had no patience left. This was the last business I wanted to discuss right now. Before he had a chance to comply, which he would have, I stormed down the hall, heading toward the guest wing.
Marco’s posted guards nodded in greeting. They remained at their posted positions, even after I slammed open the bedroom door. Marco looked up from where he sat at the desk in his room going over correspondence.
“I’m going to give you one opportunity to tell me the truth, or you’ll never be welcome back to my kingdom again,” I snarled, chest heaving, heart racing. My hands flexed at my side, curling my strained fingers.
He creased his brow, setting down his pen and standing. “What is it?” Not a whisper of jovial prowess emanated from his person, reading me correctly.
I halved the distance between us and yelled for his guards to shut the door. They obeyed after receiving an approving nod from Marco. When the door clicked, my anger vented in a whisper.
“Are you conspiring against my kingdom with Windguard?” My stare remained unflinching, monitoring any signs of reaction.
“Of course not,” he said, brow furrowed.
I moved forward again, this time close enough to throw a punch. “Then why did I find your gods damned currency on a ship carrying stolen weaponry and a kidnapped magic wielder?”
“Cousin—”
The word seemed like nothing more than pure manipulation at this point. A way to lower my defenses, to rely on genetics as a bond of trust rather than actions. “Don’t ‘cousin’ me. You came to my kingdom, lied to my face, snuck around, and provided yourself plenty of time to corroborate with King Taja. You’ve been smuggling out weapons from my armory and orchestrating abductions from my kingdom. Why?” The last word was rage induced, colliding against every wall in this lavish suite that had hosted a traitor. I saw red. My nostrils flared, and my knuckles ached to kiss his cheeks.
He paused, hardly moving, not breaking our eye contact. “I did lie, yes, about that camping trip, but we’ve already been over that. Why would I, of all people, encourage attacks among wielders? My citizens don’t live in divide as yours do, and I would do nothing to jeopardize that back at home.
“If anyone found out I had participated in anything of the sort, even the men I have with me, they would hold me to trial. I swear on our bloodline that I have had no part in the kidnappings. As for your armory, my men have come with our own supply. We have no need of yours, and I swear neither I nor my men have had any part of that.
“I explained that I needed to investigate the proposed trade with Windguard specifically because of his reputation against magic. That refugee camp clarified many things for me. Take a look for yourself. I was just drawing up correspondence to Taja, informing him that come such a time when his people aren’t persecuted for their blood gifts, the Kingdom of Duski will be happy to reconsider offering assistance.
“I can’t even bring myself to be associated with the man and those twisted, sick views toward magic. I’ve agonized over letting his people suffer because of it, but I can’t in good conscience assist.” His throat bobbed, and I thought I may have seen a hint of moisture gathering in his piercing blue eyes.
My rage stuttered. Marco’s kingdom held no prejudices against magic wielders, as mine did. I forgot that he hadn’t kept his magic hidden from his kingdom. It was easy to forget he possessed the gift. With the tumultuous relationship toward magic here, it wasn’t something we spoke of in the open.
Foolish. I felt foolish for hurling these accusations against him.
“As for my currency, I’ve had trips to your cities and towns and villages since arriving, sometimes tossing in a coin from a faraway kingdom. They seem to be fascinated by it, and I have no problem distributing some of the small amount I traveled with. I’ve been here for weeks, and I wouldn’t be surprised if hundreds of coins were now in circulation.”
Realizing I was still no closer to discovering who was responsible disturbed me more than the guilt I had for accusing Marco. He must have seen the defeat wash over me.
“Nicholas, tell me what’s going on.”
And so I did. I told him about where I’d actually been going at night. How I and a confidante discovered the magic connection to the abductions. That we’d caught the trail of a recent kidnapping and followed it to Rahana, and successfully took down a group of smugglers. I kept Nora’s identity a secret, though. I would protect her until my dying breath, even if she wanted never to see me again.
I hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
Marco cursed.
“Yeah,” I shared the sentiment. Moving to a leatherback chair in his room, I sat, burying my face in my hands.
“And you’re about to get married,” he added, as if I needed the reminder.
“I need to find out who’s behind this and put a stop to it. I still don’t know why it’s happening. The Serpentine Line feeds into the mountains. To what end? There’s no population there, and no official ports that far north.”
“So they’re unloading into Windguard, then?” Marco asked, thumbing his bottom lip.
“Why though? Windguard suffers from their poisonous prejudice. They slaughter magic wielders in public. What would be their goal in bringing more? Going through the effort of stealing them from my kingdom, no less.” This puzzle still had missing pieces, but none that I had were connecting. “And why steal from my armory? Iron weapons, of all things. Magic wielders and iron are a complete dichotomy to one another. It makes no sense. One or the other, sure, but both?” My fingers pressed into my temples as I massaged them in tiny circles. “I have to figure out who’s taking the weapons, figure out who’s giving the orders.”
Marco stalked over to the back of the couch, gripping the wood frame. “I can spare two of my men. We can dress them in staff clothing, and have them stationed in the areas you think are vulnerable. They can monitor and report back.”
“That’s not a bad idea. We can station them at points that feed into the armory. I can cross reference against the list of approved guards, and when supplies are withdrawn.”
“I think I like this covert side of you, cousin. Curbs the tooth-decaying sweetness of your usual perfect princely persona.” A tilted grin stretched across his lips.
I greeted him with a sly smile of my own while I rubbed my hands between my spread apart knees. “Spare some of that paper?”