Prince of Fire

Chapter 10

Not wanting to see his father so soon, Laurent asked Madame Denver to send a servant to his rooms with a portion of dinner.

After Madame Denver's lesson, he made his way to the left wing that housed the guards' quarters and training halls, seeking to sweat away some of the anger inside of his body. As always, it worked to an extent. There was always some remaining anger deep, deep inside that he could not get rid off, no matter how many hours he spent parrying with the air or throwing and blocking the punches of a guard.

In desperate need of a bath, Laurent made his way back to his tower. Rounding the corner brought in sight the wooden door, the guards stationed beside it, and another smaller figure wearing the brown skirts and white blouse of the maids. She seemed to be engaged in a rather heated argument with one of the guards.

"His Grace is not in his rooms," he was saying. Laurent barely recognised him with the helmet, his sandy blond hair peeking out here and there, green eyes intent on the servant girl. Caiden- a new arrival. "You are not permitted to enter."

"His Grace wished his dinner to be delivered to his rooms," the servant snapped back with more harshness than she ought to. She had hair as black as a starless night sky, and as Laurent approached, he saw the grey eyes. The servant from the previous night.

Before Caiden could retort a response, Laurent stepped in. "I have, indeed, asked that. No need to bite each other's heads off." He took the plate from the stunned servant. "Thank you."

"Your Grace." Caiden inclined his head in a bow.

The servant followed suit, recovering from her shock. "I meant no trouble, Your Grace," Caiden explained. "I simply did not want to let her in while you were away."

"It is quite alright Caiden," Laurent reassured his guard with a smile. "You were following orders." He turned to the maid one more. "Thank you for the dinner, Miss...?"

"Miss Levette, Your Grace." She curtsied, gathering her skirts in her hands.

As she straightened, Laurent was frozen in place by her eyes, mesmerized. They were of the most luminous grey he has seen, like silver shining under the light of the sun. Black, misty shadows swirled over the grey and around the small black window into her soul. They clouded her eyes, hiding the secrets of her soul.

Her eyes lingered on his for one moment before she averted them and dashed down the hallway, her footfalls soft and soundless.

"Who is she," Laurent demanded no one in particular, watching the retreating form of Miss Levette.

"One of the newcomers. Arrived a month or so ago," Caiden responded, coming to stand beside the prince. His eyes followed the maid as she disappeared around a corner into the southern wing. "Has some wits about her, that girl does."

"Good," Laurent muttered. Plate in hand, he ducked through the door, letting it fall shut behind him.

Darkness enveloped him with longing care like a friend he has not visited for some time. Putting the food on the table beside the door- he had no appetite for it-, Laurent summoned fire to his hands to light the way.

The stone staircase loomed before him, gaping open like the jaw of a predator waiting for its next meal. His boots clanked against the surface with each step, echoing in the deafening silence of the night. Shadows danced and swayed as the flames on his hand fluttered. Despite the fire, the cold seeped through his clothes, into his bones.

Up and up he went, floor after floor, until he reached the uppermost landing and the wooden door of his room greeted him. With alarming clarity, Laurent recalled closing the door upon departing in the morning, but now it stood open, firelight pouring out from the crack between it and the frame. No one should have been able to get in through the four locks he installed on the door. Four locks that only he had the keys to.

Extinguishing his fire, he moved into a defensive stance, planting his feet shoulder-width apart and sideways, hands ready before him. He had no weapons, but he could fight his way out of it, maybe even use his fire to attack the enemy with-

He pushed the door open, eyes frantically flying over the room. All was in order- not a single thing moved. Not even a book out of place. No assassin stood before his desk, examining the paperwork there. No knife was pressed to his throat as he stepped through the door.

His eyes came to a stop when he beheld Cathrine laying on the bed, silk sheets tangled around her. She wore a deep red gown, her breasts all plumbed up and waist shoved into a tiny corset.

"What are you doing here?" Laurent demanded, lowering his hands.

Sheets rustled as she sat up. "You made no appearance at dinner; I was worried."

Throwing his tunic on the book filled armchair, he sat on the edge of the bed, head against the cool stone wall. "There is no reason to be worried."

"Where have you been all day?" A slender hand came to rest on his shoulder, pressing into the tight muscles.

"Meeting, lessons, training. The usual." He let the cold bite into his head, to clear his mind.

"Father came to talk to me today," she whispered, voice small.

"What did he say? 'Do not dare go near that boy- that empty headed little bastard'." He used his deepest, most miserable and mocking voice to intimate Lord Lovell's sneering.

She did not laugh. "He told me war is coming. And that he will soon set for home and I shall go with him."

Laurent turned lazy eyes at her. She was already looking at him with her caramel eyes wide, tears glimmering in the firelight. "Oh, Cath." He reached a hand out to stroke her cheek, but she leaned away.

"Is it true, Laurent? Is war truly coming?" She sounded so troubled, shaken up with fear and worry- and he told her there was nothing to worry for.

He silently cursed at his own idiocy. "It could be true, but we do not know. No one is sure of the Conqueror's intentions."

"It is clear enough to me: to kill us all. Like they murdered King and Queen Larson in Mora all those years ago. Like they murdered the entire Croilon family." Tears spilled down her rosy cheeks. "We are next, Laurent, are we not?"

He had no answer to offer her. She was right: the Conqueror has set a target on Valhara and the same fate might befall them that befell Mora and Lariz. Wrapping his hands around her, he tucked Cath into his embrace, stroking her hair as she cried.

"I don't want to go home, Laurent," she muttered between sobs.

Lord Lovell was not a gentle father, Cath had told him a long time ago. He was cruel and harsh to his daughters, blaming them for every wrong in their mansion- even the littlest thing like a painting hanging crooked on its hook. Being the oldest of three, Cath often received the worst punishments. Lord Lovell often slapped her across the cheek, Cath admitted, but most of the time he hit her where it would not be seen. The lord was as bad at being a father as he was good on the battlefield, a better father to the young boys he trained than his own daughters. You could only excel at one thing, not both, Laurent supposed, thinking of his own father. A good King, but a terrible father. Would he one day be a father like that? What would he be: a good king or a good father?

He shoved the thought away, deep down into the black abyss of his heart. "I know," he whispered in Cath's ear. "I will not let him take you."

Her small, delicate body trembled in his arms. She lifted her tear filled eyes to his. "You would not?"

The hope in her eyes cracked his heart. "I would never."

No matter whether he cared for her or not, Laurent would not allow that self-righteous bastard of a lord to take Cath back to the awful place she grew up in, with an even more awful father beating her. No one deserved that.

Shaking, her fingers encircled his neck, coming to rest around him. She played with the escaped strands at the nape of his neck, twirling and stroking, as she buried her face in his chest to cry some more.