Twin brothers Frei and Qionne are separated by a cursed mirror. The younger is forced to shoulder the burden of the throne, while the older must learn to have courage and return to his world. In their wake is an empire at the brink of war, and a dar...
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If there was another one as mortified as the prince was, it was Alastair Il Rhiannon of Aluinne.
Alastair was appointed by the Elfeinne Rune Guard to watch over the prince and ensure that he returns the soonest time possible. But instead he fed to Qionne's heroic fantasies and delayed, in the hopes that the prince would come to his senses; that his rebellion was a mere act of his adolescence and grief, and that his ascension to the throne was the right move to make all along. The more he delayed, the more impatient the Rune Guard became. And Garuda fell into even more disarray.
He should have known Salazar didn't do subtle. He expected swift results. If one's elaborate plans did not deliver, he would resolve to using his own measures. Measures that brought in swift results, no matter how underhanded, for the good of the kingdom. It was why Qionne both admired and loathed him.
The intervention of the Ironhearts was both a cruel and crafty tactic. Alastair would have agreed to it... if not for the fact that those who died were also his friends. When Rodan mentioned there would be external intervention, he hadn't expected it to be in the form of the continents' most dangerous mercenaries.
He should have expected the worst from the late king's Rune Guard.
Sola had managed to stop the bleeding in Rodan's wounds with her seithr and left Alastair to bandage them up. The mage could tell from the flush in Sola's cheeks that she was fighting to keep her rage in check. The princess, though not an official member of the Order and merely served as their secret financier, did not adore bloodshed. She had made jibes about liking it in their childhood, but he knew better. She was easy to read, just as it was as easy for him to read Qionne.
"There," she huffed, wiping the blood from her hands with her capelet. She rummaged through the contents of the small pack with her and pulled out a small vial. "Here's some draught for the pain. Drink."
Rodan slightly whimpered as he made a motion to grab the vial-suddenly remembering that his hands were no longer there. Taking pity on him, the princess helped him drink the bitter fluid.
Sola had marched away soon after, probably to back Qionne into a corner and give him an earful. She gave the Eolin orders to tend to the men who went back up the surface before making her exit. That would be a good thing, Alastair thought, because he was not in the right mind to berate Qionne nor of the right conscience to receive the Eolin's calming power. For all he knew, he was equally as guilty of this as the prince was. The thieves' deaths were also on him. But for the sake of his plans, he could not afford the princess to know. Not yet.
"I'm sorry it had to end like this."
Alastair's words were sincere as he wrapped the final loop of bandages around Rodan's right wrist. The older man's eyes crinkled in appreciation, and his lips curled into a sad, apologetic grimace.
"We didn't know any better milord," Rodan replied, voice rasp with pain and weariness. "We didn't think the Lord Salazar would send them Ironhearts, but underhanded as it may seem, their being here worked better than what we've planned for the past months." The man paused, fighting a wry smile. "And his highness needed the motivation... though I wished..."
