Honour or Reason - Book 1# in the Burning Prince Chronicles

PART ONE - In the Darkness : Chapter One

Conlaed Isodor was miserable when his servant entered. He was always miserable now. His servant Jules said nothing as he roused the prince from his nest of blankets upon his enormous bed. Con grunted and pulled the blankets over his head sulkily. I am the Crown Prince of the Isle of Maidora. Not even Jules can boss me around. Not today. The prince was determined to defy the servant, no matter the cost. He was known for his stubbornness. Everyone said that strong-willed temperament had come from his father. For that, he was proud.

"Your Highness, you must attend. You shall disappoint your mother and uncle if you do not go . Pardon, I meant father - or uncle - or..."

"He will never be my father," Conlaed snarled from his cocoon. He heard Jules sigh. "I know, Your Highness. I know."

He felt the weight of the mattress shift slightly as the servant seated himself. When Jules laid an apologetic hand on his back Con let out a savage hiss and rolled away. Onto the floor. He let out a groan of frustration. Jules sighed and moved to where Con was tangled on the floor. Conlaed's green eyes flashed with frustration as he grumbled, "Get my black doublet."

"Which one?"

The heir snorted. "Whichever you think is the grimmest. I wish to make Uncle Hanrick shift in his seat."

Jules laughed. "You are a very spiteful child, Your Highness."

Con arched a perfect eyebrow mischievously and lazily rose to his feet. "I am not a child. I am nineteen - practically a man grown. Though I can admit to being terribly spiteful. Even young men must have their fun, don't you agree?"

Jules shook his head and wandered to the door. "I'll prepare your bath, Your Highness."
The prince frowned. "Bath? I called for no such thing."

The servant chewed his lip, before replying meagrely, "Her Radiance Queen Tenna, commanded it Your Highness. She said she'd oversee your preparation herself." The prince laughed coldly in answer. "No. I'll have the damned bath, but Tenna cannot attend. Tell her that, Jules."

Jules nodded briskly, before fleeing through the door. Con groaned and collapsed upon his bed in a melodramatic swoon. It was the only appropriate reaction to what he was about to suffer through. He was sick of coating himself in fine velvets and jewels. He despised the scent of perfume, gagged at the taste of fine foods. He hated the hot baths that stole the cold from his body, loathed the people in court who pretended to care for him and instead pressed themselves upon him.

Conlaed missed boiled leather jerkins, his three-fingered archers' gloves. He longed to run free outside the castle, ride across Maidora's lovely beaches atop his steed. He wished to nibble on wild berries and roll through the pungent meadows of iris-purple flowers. He wanted his hands to roughen with callouses, sweat to sting his eyes. He dreamed of his father's sword in his hand as he danced the waltz of blades with Sir Kygore. Most of all, he missed his father.

Con sat up, unable to sit still. He moved carefully to his feet and staggered across the room. He passed into his reading chamber. Oak bookshelves covered the walls, except for the one that lead to his terrace. His reading chamber had the most sunlight out of all his chambers. It had the most books too. The shelves were stacked with beautiful leather-bound volumes, half of which hadn't been read yet. Hundreds of books, hundreds of stories, hundreds of places Con could escape to. His father had given him that luxury. From the age of five, whenever King Maxum ventured to other lands he would bring Conlaed a book back as an apology for being away for so long. As the prince grew older, the King brought more and more volumes home. Each book held the scent of his father - oak and stormy winds.

Conlaed released a sad huff and moved toward the terrace. He flung the glass door to the balcony open carelessly and stumbled to the balustrade. He leaned against the polished sandstone breathing heavily. His throat was terribly tight, and his thick black hair was drenched with sweat. He sunk to the hot floor, head swimming. The sunshine pierced his skin and caused his emerald eyes to water. Con rubbed the foolish tears away furiously and drew his knees to his chest. It was going to be a long, hard day.