A King With No Crown

Chapter Two

Niall felt bereft as the doctor talked with the Prince and the knight. He didn't pay much attention, though he kept track of her summary of him; mute due to magic-damaged vocal chords, previously mute and noticeably sensitive to noise. Malnourished, dehydrated, though not as bad as she'd originally thought.

She hadn't taken his weight or height, and due to his silence it wasn't certain where he originated from, though she thought him eighteen and Irish, due to the location where Higgins had found him, and a few discernable genetic structures. Relatively healthy, considering.

Niall agreed with her statements; he'd just turned eighteen a few months ago. Irish, yes; he'd been surprised when he wasn't taken far from his mother's farm. Surprising that he was still in Ireland. He didn't quite understand how the doctor had missed the brand the Queen had given the slaves; located on his right forearm, just above the inside of his elbow. She hadn't checked anywhere underneath his clothing, so he figured she just hadn't seen it.

Hesitant, and knowing he'd be seen, he reached over and tugged the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the red crest of the Irish castle. It had stopped hurting long ago, but he remembered the pain when it had burned into his skin, eight years ago.

Conversation above him stopped as the doctor took note of the mark, taking his arm and inspecting it thoroughly.

"Irish castle- Dublin?" The doctor tapped her fingers against the mark, slightly surprised when the boy nodded. Hmm; perhaps they could figure out where he came from quicker than expected.

"Take him to my room, Paul; I need to speak with my parents." The Prince spoke suddenly, the deep tone making Niall jump slightly. It was much louder than he'd been expecting, reverberating against his eardrums. How he hated his hearing; Niall had almost been relieved when it had disappeared. It was the one thing that could upset him before the Castle slavery.

The memories suddenly popped up; his mother smiling as Greg helped him skate over the frozen pond, lying in the grassy plain with his brother as they stared at the darkening sky, laughing as they ran from the fierce geese in the summer pond. He longed to feel the rough hide of their cattle, the soft downy feathers of a newly-hatched, fresh-dried chick, even to hear the sharp cries of their tall rooster. The young goats, with their devil-may-care attitudes and tiny horns, the rough bark underneath his hands as he dared his brother to climb the high sycamore in their yard.

Tears had pooled in Niall's eyes, but he didn't dare move or let them fall, kept his breathing steady and forced the thoughts from his mind. Those days were long and gone; he had to deal with the present. He could remember later, during the night, when he was alone and free to think and cry.

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Harry frowned at the melancholy scent radiating from the teen on the bed. Suppressing a low growl, he looked at Lou for confirmation, and then stepped aside to let Paul take him to his quarters.

"I didn't do a full check, Harry." Lou said, as she straightened the sheets the boy had been sitting on. Harry only nodded, turning to follow Paul and the boy out to the hall. When Lou didn't call him back he continued, letting the door swing closed behind him. They hadn't turned the corner yet, but Harry wasn't heading that way yet. Instead, he needed to alert his parents that he may have found his Chosen.

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Thankfully, they'd called for a break a few moments earlier.

"Your Chosen?" His mother sounded excited, eyes wide in surprise, mouth curling into a wide smile that portrayed long, delicate fangs. Harry, born with his own set, had been used to them, but he still saw humans shoot fearful glances at his mother sometimes.