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

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Prince of Maidora sat at the feet of the King. a day had passed and yet it was still raining heavily; a sign from the gods. A lament for Aglaesha. Conlaed was wearing black again. Only black. Behind him, Hanrick was tense, Tenna anxious. Their son gazed at the dancing with disgust. His fiancée had perished and no one cared. It seemed one day was enough for the world to forget one of the greatest Mages of their time.

Conlaed shifted in his seat, wincing as he felt blood starting to drip down his back. The day before, he had refused to see his physician, despite Jules' pleas. Con couldn't risk being imprisoned or drugged - he had to fulfill his oath. He knew if Brilyn were with him, he would urge him against it, plead with him to wait for more evidence other than magic. There is no other evidence. Conlaed had to trust himself. He was tired of being told what he should do. He had waited for so long. Justice cost everything. It took Aglaesha's murder and Brilyn's imprisonment to push him in the right direction. He had never realized the price of retribution.

All his life, Conlaed had been told to show mercy. Maxum had taught him to grant humility instead of wreaking revenge. So far mercy and patience had taken his princess from him and gotten himself captured. Patience had filled his mind with doubt and confusion instead of the whole truth. The longer he waited, the more twisted the truth became. If he waited any longer the truth would be lost forever. Con was left to cling to the scraps of twisted lies and distorted memories. For months his life had been full of fear and rage. All because of his real father.

The prince's eyes followed Hanrick as he rose from his throne to join the crowd. A confident smile played on his lips, but his gait was jumpy. He was afraid. Excellent. Con studied the rest of the crowd. None of them wore black. The court was a sea of bright gowns and doublets, laughter and drunks. The entire mass of people disgusted him. Conlaed's lips quirked as he watched the King scan the crowd for two deceitful knights. Con wondered if those same knights cursed him for the disfigurements he had gifted them. Most likely. It gave the prince more pleasure than he cared to share, that two handsome young men were on a boat to the Ruby city with little coin, burned faces and no lodgings. Perhaps they will run into Lorenzo.

The name panged in his head. Does he even know his sister and father are dead? Very little messengers were willing to brave Caspleigh's capital city in order to deliver a condolence to a lordling. When I kill Hanrick I will go myself.

Conlaed's hand went to the inside of his black cloak. The dagger hidden there was razor sharp; perfect for slitting the throats of traitorous kings. It had an ornate handle made of golden tiger eye stone. It was light and the right size to conceal. That morning Jules had given it to him, a knowing gleam in his brown eyes. The servant had said only one thing to him -

"Sometimes we must be ruthless to win. Sometimes mercy is not enough."

The words had rung so true to Con, that he bowed to the manservant before taking the dagger.

A hand tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Conlaed turned to see his mother staring frightfully at him. He glared at Tenna and snapped, "What do you want, mother?"

She gulped. "Conlaed, I am truly sorry. I know you loved her like I loved your father."

"I think I loved her more than that," Con spat, rising elegantly to his feet. The Queen rose also, eyes glassy.

"I must talk with you in private, sweet son. Please - it will only take a moment, I swear."

Tenna stroked his arm timidly, urging him to follow. Con scowled. The Queen clutched his arm tightly, and in her eyes sparked something terrible. Enthralled by the horrible light in her eyes, Con muttered, "Fine."