Chapter 3
Zane
What the fuck was that?
What in the name of the old gods just happened?thought Crown Prince Zane Holygazer. He remembered hacking his way through the tiny piece-of-shit village and then noticing that he was the only one who was still doing any work. All the men had stopped mid-battle (if you could even call it a battle) and were watching the star currently hurtling across the sky. He was staring at his trained soldiers, incredulous they would stop simply to look at a fucking shooting star, when a blast knocked the crown prince of the Athusan Empire unceremoniously on his ass and his vision went white.
Zane glanced around to confirm it was the star that had caused such a colossal explosion. No war machine he was aware of was capable of producing anything of that magnitude, let alone out there in the middle of nowhere, men armed with fucking brooms and rakes. Had this been some weird stroke of luck? If it was, was it bad luck on his part or good luck for the villagers? Perhaps the prince had finally lost Otho’s favor, for he had never been defeated in a skirmish as small as this one.
Once his vision cleared, little dots still dancing around the edges, all his men were on the ground in various states of consciousness. The locals were nowhere to be seen. Huts continued to burn, the red and orange hues dancing in his peripheral vision, causing a moment of vertigo. Zane closed his eyes to allow the dizziness to pass.
Whatever in the nine hells is happening, I’m done, he thought. This village is not worth my time or life. Standing up was harder than he thought it should be, and he had to brace against a nearby burnt shell of a hut to catch his balance. He grabbed the small horn that hung on his waist during every excursion and blew the code for a retreat. Three short blasts followed by one long. Then he slowly began the jog back to the supply wagon on wobbly legs, still a little woozy, the beginnings of a headache pounding underneath his skull. He felt the back of his head; there was a knot forming but luckily no blood. A hiss escaped him as he prodded the tender area. He would have appreciated a cold pack for his injury, but there was nothing in this desert other than heat. A few men caught up to him, creating a barrier; they kept their hands on their swords and their heads on a swivel.
“Five minutes, and then we roll out,” Zane snarled. “Anyone not here gets left behind.” They saluted, then started readying the wagon. Both the horses and men were still spooked by the explosion—the animals’ eyes were wide, rolling in their heads, and the humans jumped at any little sound. A soldier with flashy red hair handed him the reins to his own horse—a massive, sleek black stallion—and he swung up into the saddle, patting the boy’s neck to help calm him. “Easy, Ryunn,” Zane muttered lovingly. This horse had been with him for the last three years. He had broken the wild animal on his own, and now he was the only creature (man or animal) the prince truly trusted. Phaedros take me, that’s pathetic.
Zane wanted to get the fuck out of there as swiftly as fucking possible, although he knew his father would have his head for failing this project. He desperately needed to come up with a story, a lie, anything that would deter Uther from doling out a punishment. Luckily he would have a week, maybe two if he took his time sleeping in late and courting the townswomen. He wouldn’t mind overstaying his welcome in some of the small towns between here and Athusia. Zane felt he’d earned and deserved a bit of drinking, gambling, and fucking before he had to face his father. He frowned down upon the bedraggled men who had made it back to the wagon. Around half were missing. Good enough. The others were either dead or could find their way back on their own.
“Move out,” he said, kicking his horse into a canter.