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

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Conlaed stomped toward Hanrick, shivering with cold. The numbness had faded, replaced with a crackling fire - only this time it wasn't his magic. The King was seated on his throne once more, talking to... Yaslin?

"Here he is!" Hanrick exclaimed merrily. Yaslin bowed to the King and turned toward Con. "This young Mage was just delivering a message from the Mistress."

Conlaed scowled down at the sealed parchment in his uncle's hand. Yaslin excused himself and patted Con on the shoulder. The King pointed to the foot of his throne.

"Sit, Conlaed. Let us talk. Perhaps you should get your mother also...?"

"No. Just us."

Conlaed stalked forward and sat himself on the throne of the Queen. The cold blade of the dagger pressed against his thigh. Con kept his eyes ahead as Hanrick murmured, "How did you escape from those knights, my son?"

The prince smiled coldly. "My curse served me well. As did the fact that they fought for a King they did not believe in."

Hanrick choked. Conlaed turned to face him, green eyes shining ruthlessly. The mask was finally peeling off. He was still devastated - of course he was - but now Con had no fear of getting his hands dirty to claim the justice that was owed to him and his father. His true father.

The prince cocked his head, flashing his teeth as he grinned. "Tell me, how did you know it was two of your knights that kidnapped me? Hm?"

Hanrick's face darkened. Con nodded slowly. "Ah ha! I understand now... those knights were sent by you. How so very tragic. Although I must admit I am unsurprised."

There was a cheer from the courtiers as the musicians in the corner played a familiar jig. For once, the prince was glad for the commotion. No one was paying any attention to their heart to heart. Hanrick swivelled in his seat, eyes full of worry. His voice was not so confident as he muttered, "What do you mean?"

Now or never.

"I mean," Con purred, staring at his frozen hands, "this is not the first time you have attempted to rid yourself of family. Is it not?"

Conlaed watched with devilish pleasure as the King squirmed. His voice was high as he snapped, "I do not know what you are speaking of?"

The prince chuckled darkly. "Yes, you do. You wear a reminder of it over your heart every. Bloody. Day."

The King paled. "Who told you this?"

Con smirked. "The same creature that helped you win this throne, that's who."

Conlaed pointed his heart, eyes narrowed. He leaned in closer, so close in fact, that his lips brushed Hanrick's ear. Con murmured, "That creature promised me things too. Grand things. I intend to get them."

"That thing cannot raise the dead, Conlaed; you should know that."

"I don't need it to."

With a snarl, Con drew the dagger from his cloak and stabbed down. Hanrick leapt away just in time for the blade to hit the throne. Conlaed watched in terror as the King screamed,

"TRAITOR! PRINCE CONLAED IS A TRAITOR!!"

The room went silent. The royal court stared at him fearfully, whispers carrying through the crowd. There were so many faces he knew. Conlaed stumbled off his mother's throne as knights began to march toward him. His heart gave a squeeze when he spotted Sir Kygore among the other members of the Shield. Con shook his head at them, dropped the dagger. The prince thrust a hand toward the King cowering among his people.