A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 8 - "Put me down!"

Alwyn

A soft sunset lit the horizon, pastel hues brushed across the sky. Off the ocean drifted a cool salty breeze that beat away the day's heat. On the docks the murmur of voices and jingling of carriage harnesses floated through the air, a welcoming sound.

Alwyn hated all of it.

Most of all she hated the three guards standing on her ship.

"We have orders to search your ship," the leader of the trio said.

Alwyn balled her fists, glaring at the guard.

"Why?" she bite out. "What crime are we charged with?"

Alwyn could imagine a dozen things Tor could have said to get guards interested in search the ship. She'd landed enough painful blows to him that he would want to fight back. She could hear Cyrus's voice, saying that this was her fault for being so rash.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard," the guard said. "The palace was attacked last night, almost all of the royal family were killed. Prince Corwin barely lives. We are searching for the assassins."

The news struck Alwyn in the chest, despite already being aware of the fact. The day had been filled with rumors of what happened. She'd seen for herself the burning remains of the Eldin Prince ship. She'd watched petrified as townspeople had doused the fire and pulled off the charred remains of bodies. Even though she'd wanted to know for certain, she couldn't make her feet move closer to inspect the dead.

"And the visiting prince?" Cyrus asked, his voice low.

"Dead."

Alwyn couldn't breathe. She felt like brittle metal, ready to snap. She knew if she stayed near this unfeeling guard any longer she'd most likely break and cut him.

"Do what you must," she said, and turned on her heel.

She crossed the ship and leaned against the deck railing, staring out on the rippling ocean. Behind her, she heard the trump of boots as the trio of guards dispersed to search the ship. She locked her fingers together, squeezing them, trying to hold herself together. In that moment she felt torn between wanting to scream, cry, and hit something.

When Cyrus took the spot beside her, she swore if he tried to say something comforting she would break his nose.

But he knew her, he was the better half and so he said nothing at all.

Alwyn let out a slow breath.

Cyrus gripped her shoulder.

She closed her eyes.

The sea splashed against the side of the ship, a constant melody in her ears. When she opened her eyes, she stared down at the faint white scar at the base of her thumb. She traced her finger over it.

A memory came that felt sharp as day and cut Alwyn just as deep. 

The day had been crystal blue and perfect. Alwyn cut passed Prince Zavier's guard and stabbing him in the ribs with her wooden sword. Zavier winced and stumbling back as Alwyn grinned at him. Both in their thirteen year, they matched in height, where Zavier had strength on his side, Alwyn had agility. When Alwyn stuck again, Zavier managed to parry the blow, but barely.

"For a prince said to know how to handle a sword, you are terrible," Alwyn said, darting in and landing a hit to Zavier's side.

"That is because most of my day is spent inside the palace, studying boring politics."

Zavier lunged forward, almost getting under Alwyn's defense but she twisted away, his sword slicing through air.

"No one could make me stay in doors," she said.