The Fugitive Prince Page 4

  The prince’s pain overrode his bruised pride. He humbly nodded. The girl nodded and walked off the path leading away from the river. Valente quietly followed the hooded girl. She stepped towards a small outcropping of trees that lingered off the main path of the village. Valente stared at the simple cloak and downwards at the dirtied boots. She was much less dirty than the rest, but still a commoner.

  Why would she help me?

  Valente pondered the thought. Liosians were not known for their generosity without a price. However, she helped him twice so far. Valente smirked with hope.

  Maybe she’s a Tharian.

  His smirk faded for a moment as his doubt attacked his optimism.

  Perhaps she’s waiting for the right moment.

  Valente’s body twinged at the thought. Seemingly sensing this, the girl made a quick turn and faced Valente. She continued to walk backwards as she led him towards a little cabin in the trees.

  “Are you brooding over there? You haven’t said anything since I saved your butt.”

  Valente looked at her eyes searching for some answer. Their rich jade weaved in hazel glistened with a friendly shine.

  No judgment?

  Valente swallowed his nervous surprise as he talked to the stranger.

  “Sorry, I’ve just been through a lot. I’m not used to being helped.”

  “Not used to being helped?”

  The girl’s hood almost fell back in her own surprise.

  “Where are you from where people aren’t willing to help? Oh…”

  The girl’s eyes glinted with cautious concern, “You’re from Upper Deloria then…”

  Valente dropped his head in shameful association.

  “Yes, but it’s not as though I liked it there.”

  The girl’s friendly demeanor returned as she stepped up the stairs to the cabin. Valente climbed the painful steps. The girl watched the prince’s efforts for a moment before she leaned against the door pushing it open.

  “Well alright, didn’t expect to have a proper Liosian over. Hopefully, my place is up to your standards. You’ll have to tell me how someone convinced you to wear that and leave the city walls.”

  Valente picked up a small fragment of peace as he followed the girl into her cabin. She unslung her quiver quietly counting the arrows as she walked towards a nearby table. She stopped mid-count turned to the prince and snatched the arrow from his belt. Valente stepped back in surprise at her speed. The girl dropped the knotted arrow into the quiver.

  “Five. Thanks for holding it for me.”

  Valente cleared his throat.

  “Uh… yes… of course. I expected a larger share of the meat.”

  The girl rolled her eyes and continued her count.

  “If you’re wondering, I’m Cassandra, but you can call me Cass.”

  Valente was surprised at his own informality. Arthan would have talked off his ear had he not introduced himself properly to a lady even if they were of low birth. Valente puffed his chest and stood up straight.

  “Oh. Apologies. I am Prince Valente the First. Son of King Hamen and heir to the Tharian throne.”

  The quiver of arrows scattered across the floor.

  Rattling of dropped arrows resonated through the small cabin. The moment suspended on their tapping wooden pings. Cass’s jaw was not made to drop so low as she recoiled. She whipped her body around to confront Valente’s and his claim.

  “What?! Y-You can’t be—”

  The huntress cut off her own voice as she looked upon the disarray of arrows. She had lost count.

  “I don’t know how I missed it. Earlier this morning… Those royal patrols were looking for you. You’re wanted…”

  Cass spun around again mid-pace to glare at the prince. His rattled clothes hid the clues. The Farlosian Red Silk ran along the sides of the scuffed vest though dirtied and ripped they still held value. The thick Tharian ribbon of rich blue sewn onto his chest. Its sprawl of thread clung with weak tear of string to a silver crest. The Royal Tharian Crest.

  It has to be him.

  Cass interrogated her guest though her mind was still stilted by the surprise.

  “Why are they looking for you?! Why…? The crier came to town about a rogue prince… I thought… The treaty… There can’t be another war…”

  Noiseless echoes of the painful conflict set the huntress at unease. A burning weight shadowed the back of Cass’s mind. She pushed herself away from the memory by meeting the prince’s eyes with an intense stare.

  “What did you do?”

  Valente shifted for an uncomfortable moment. The answer was not what bothered him. The commoner could jeopardize his escape. He had to get home. Turning his vision towards Cass he saw she had distanced herself from her weapon. An opportunity. Valente’s body constricted and twisted under his garments as it was caught in indecision.

  She wouldn’t see it coming.

  Valente’s side ached again reminding him of his savior’s favor. His body relaxed.

  The strongest men are not weak enough for violence.

  Arthan’s teachings deterred the prince’s abhorrent thought. It was not the Tharian way. The very thought was Liosian in nature. At least it was natural for those of the royal court. Valente was no stranger, and often a witness, to the atrocities of Liosian nobles using others for gain. Ultimately, someone paid the price and ended up discarded. Valente inhaled. He could not dishonor himself or his name. Forcing his shame behind him, he looked at the huntress. Her face riddled with inquisitive lines and cautious ridges. Valente addressed her with respect.

  “I apologize for putting you at risk. I need to get home… I have to get to Tharia at any cost. All of Farlos can’t afford another war. It would destroy one of the kingdoms if not us all!”

  The huntress brought her hand in a firm grip around her braid. Her mind doing its best to sort the flow of thoughts and information.

  “So you really are the prince…”

  Cass’s vision scanned the floor. Her simple carved arrows remained strewn across the wooden planks.

  That reward. The gold alone could have me two lifetimes of wealth.

  Pulling her face upwards she faced Valente’s piercing royal eyes. He was searching her face for answers, and perhaps something else. The shambled locks of black hair covered his personable face. He appeared naïve and helpless, but genuine in his purpose. Guilt pinged at her.

  He needs help.

  Cass grabbed at the fabric at her chest fingering the two rings hidden underneath. The cool metal permeated through Cass’s touch as it settled her mind.

  “Okay, prince. I can get you to the Araheil River, but tell me everything. Why is Lios hunting the Tharian foster prince? Why are they hunting you?”

  Valente reached towards the remnants of his royal vest wrapping his fingers around the Tharian crest and the tatter of blue ribbon that held it. Valente tore it free. It lay in his hands as he looked at its tarnished reflection. The dark silver metal weakly glinted through the dirt and grime now covering it. With a gentle, cleaning rub, the golden streaks that formed the mountainous crown shone: the Symbol of Tharia. The blue ribbons dangled down in a tattered state held between the platinum plate that the silver half sphere was affixed to. Valente’s cheeks raised into a slight grin at the warmth and hope the crest gave him.

  “Well Cassandra, as you know, the water wars ended eleven years ago,”

  The huntress’s gaze dragged downward. The weight of the war was not light on anyone.

  “Tharia was losing near the end and the Great Drought was not looking to quit, so my father tried to establish a white peace for the sake of both kingdoms and all of Farlos. Sadly, Lios is crafty and proud. Though they could not afford to continue an offense as all supplies were low, they still forced peace at a price. Thinking of his people he paid that price.”

  Valente swallowed the dark feeling of dread that lingered at the bottom of his heart.

  “To ensure that peace would be on their term
s they gutted Tharia. They would take the prince. They would take me as a foster. Had that been the only thing.”

  Valente shut his eyes trying to forgo the pain that sparked in his chest.

  “They wanted no other heirs to arise… They executed the queen… my mother.”

  Cass saw Valente writhe in silence. The compassion in her heart wanted to leap out. She knew that pain.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I thought the peace only included your fostering…”

  Valente opened his eyes and grit back his emotion.

  “They kept those details away from the public. For all they knew, my mother died from illness after I left. Even my father agreed. Couldn’t have the people anymore upset about the surrender. They had to focus on working together to see the end of the drought.”

  Valente said the words he had been fed as a boy. They were as bitter as when he heard them.

  The people should’ve been told.

  Cass looked at the prince’s face. His furrowed brows showed a more complex story. Valente met her gaze. His eyes wavered under the pressure and pain of the memories. The prince returned to his tale.

  “I was forced to grow up among enemies. In a court that had no respect for Tharian traditions and even less for me. Under scorn and hated, but I had no choice. I was the reason the treaty would hold weight. I was the reason we have peace now. The reason so many survived the drought.”

  Cass turned away from Valente’s empowered gaze. Her cheeks burned in soft appreciation of the prince’s sacrifice. Involuntary or not. Valente blinked and turned his vision down to the crest he held.

  “It was a struggle… but I was not alone. They sent me with my mentor Arthan. Wise beyond his years and he had a double serving of those,”

  Valente chuckled in his remission, “But I swear he was drier than the drought in his lesson. He could cure insomnia on the first page.”

  Valente pushed his crop of hair back off his face as he looked up at Cass once more.

  “Lios wasn’t all bad. King Leonin made my stay surprisingly welcome. He was one of the last people I expected to show any form of compassion. He didn’t say much, but his words served me more than any guard would. Not as advice, but as a symbol to others that were not so keen on having me in their court.”

  Cass’s ears perked up at the mention of her previous liege,

  “King Leonin is the… was the Pride of Lios and the Golden Sun! Of course, he would talk to you. Even if you were just a foster a prince.”

  Valente stared at the patriot for a moment unsure to be offended or inspired. The prince returned Cass an inspired smile.

  “Well because of his few words, I could meet the Liosian prince,”

  Valente readjusted his composure recalling the details.

  “Well, I suppose he’s king now. I met Jonathan. We were both still young infants. Despite our warring lineages and the many voices that disapproved of our comradery, we became friends. Good friends… Maybe we had even been best friends.”

  The prince took a breath to pass on his nostalgia. His creased forehead holding his dismay. Cass continued to listen while tasking herself with the slow collection of the quiver and its arrows. Her mind no longer concerned with counting the arrows. Valente spoke on.

  “But I guess we could not be young forever… I was Tharian and he was Liosian after all. We grew apart over the years. We tried to cling to our past. It may have even been possible, but then we met Maria.”

  Valente’s cheeks warmed at the thought. A gentle smile crept up along with the pleasant memory.

  “A daughter of a powerful Liosian Trade Duke. Maybe even the strongest. Her father in his famous entrepreneurial spirit set up an expedition to the West. Of course, this was no place for a lady, so with his influence, he was able to convince Leonin himself to take care of his daughter. Thus, Maria came to the Liosian courts. She was shy at first. Shy and quiet. But time sure changed that. She soon led us in our play among the bushes of the Grand Liosian Gardens.”

  Cass’s eyes lit up. The stories of the Gardens were mythical. Her inner child wanted to be Maria. Valente provided a small smile at his eager listener.

  “But we could not stay children forever. Maria grew out of her timid ways and she turned bubbly and beautiful. Jonathan grew impatient and ambitious, and soon enough his ambitions fell on Maria. Although I can’t blame him. For I also fell to her charms.”

  Valente resignedly shrugged.

  “Maria led us both on playing with our feelings and our hearts. But though she played as though it were a game, it was real for me and Jonathan. We fought about it with words, then with fists. Our friendship was pushed to the point of fragility.”

  Cass placed her filled quiver on the table beside her bow. She absently grabbed her braid and stroked it in concentration. Valente adjusted his ragged vest with his one free hand as he explained onward.

  “When the ice was about to melt. It was at that point that Maria chose me. Jonathan… he took it poorly. He swore at me and our friendship… I remember him calling me a true Liosian then. It was never the same after that. Time passed , but the wounds festered. It was almost a year like that… then Leonin died.”

  Valente tightened his grip on the crest letting its metal edge imprint his hand.

  “I thought perhaps in his mourning I could speak to him and fix anything surviving between us.”

  Valente stared at his crest hoping it would cough up relief. Cass turned to Valente and leaned against the table. The prince frowned at the metal symbol.

  “King Leonin died in the morning. I went to say my condolences to my past friend, and I saw nothing in his eyes as he coldly told me to leave. Never had I seen him so… lost. I can’t believe he didn’t see it was my loss too.”

  Valente grit his teeth.

  “That evening we had the coronation. Liosian royalty does not like waiting for power. I went to see my mentor Arthan in his study. He was poisoned. Some royal agent must have done it. In his dying breaths, he told me I was being hunted and Lios was planning a surprise attack on my country of Tharia. Guards came for me after that. I escaped through some lost catacombs within the castle walls. I ran for a few days through the woods, and then I found you and now… I’m here.”

  Cass stepped off from the table towards the prince as he rubbed his crest. Cass placed her small precise hands on his shoulder hoping her action would lighten the weight on them.

  “I will take you to the Tharian border. I know the way there. You’ll need me; I know how to avoid a Liosian patrol.”

  Valente brought his head upward and looked at Cass’s rich hazel-green eyes. The hand on his shoulder lifted an unbearable weight.

  “I… You would help me? At no cost?”

  The huntress laughed.

  “Oh no. This won’t be free. When I take you to Tharia, I want a title and a lot of gold. Maybe a house with handsome man servants if you can spare them. Besides, it sounds like I would make more money bringing you alive to Tharia then handing you over to the Liosians dead.”

  Valente met her laugh with a feeble smile.

  “Well, that’s an acceptable price,”

  Looking at his crest, the Tharian crown spurred him.

  “I… I’ve never talked to anyone this way before. It’s… something new. I would appreciate it and be indebted if you would… keep this between us.”

  Cass laughed again.

  “Please. I have no one to tell anymore. Besides, no one would believe a little old peasant girl met a prince. That only happens in those lame romance novels.”

  Cass’s eyes betrayed her as they drifted towards a shelf over her bed. Following her glance, Valente looked at an old leather binding. His eyes traced the bindings.

  “Love under the Liosian Moonlight.”

  Valente turned back towards a red and flustered woman with a smirk. Cass fumbled with her words. Embarrassment rifled across her cheeks.

  “Err…. Hey… Look! Just keep this between us.”


  Valente chuckled placing a grandly gestured hand over his heart.

  “As a noble and honorable Tharian, I would never compromise a lady’s integrity.”

  His words grew doubtful from the sarcasm that was oozing from his smirk. Cass shrugged off the burning feeling.

  “All right, prince. We have to leave soon. If someone was paying attention in the village, they may have recognized you, or think it’s strange someone looking like you is slinking around. I bet the Liosian patrols aren’t too far behind you, but first , let me get you patched up.”

  Cass retrieved a small basket from the far wall and placed it beside Valente as she pointed to the chair.

  “Sit down. I’m no expert but I’ll see what I can do.”

  The prince obeyed remembering the fierce ache in his ribs. Cass knelt down beside the chair. She lifted the prince’s tunic.

  “Excuse me!”

  The huntress gave the prince an impatient look.

  “You want me to help you or what?”

  Valente swallowed his pride as he let the commoner dress his wound. Cass retrieved a small bundle of herbs and removed one. She placed the stalk into her mouth and chewed. The prince watched in curious bewilderment at what was being achieved. The huntress spat out a green gob into her hand as she lifted the prince’s shirt once more.

  “What are you doing?”

  The huntress glared at the prince. The impatience intensified.

  “You’re lucky it’s just a bruise. This will help the pain. Stop complaining.”

  Valente watched in silent terror as the mass of spit and plant was rubbed into his flesh by a peasant. The prince’s skin crawled under the assault. Valente winced for a moment, but then his skin cooled. The pain faded as the delicate fluid soaked into his bruise. Cass got up from the floor.

  “Feels better right?”

  Valente’s indignity refused to answer. Cass smiled as she walked across the cabin. She knew the answer.

  Grabbing a satchel beside her bed she reached up towards the rafters. Tearing it free from a hanging string, she grabbed a hock of meat and tossed it to the prince. Valente’s vest caught it as he grabbed at the air. Giving a justified smirk, Cass pushed open the door. The meat met the ground with a hearty thud. The skeptical huntress looked at the floor meat as she spoke once more to the prince.