The Promised One: The Chalam Færytales (Book I)

Chapter Two

"Well, if it isn't my long lost little brother!" Prince Ferryl exclaimed, throwing his arm around his brother as soon as he reached him in the palace corridor. After having spent a day in the city meeting with some of the nobility to discuss the presence of Midvarish rebels, he had returned to Benalle Palace as soon as he had seen the horses and wagons coming up the road—Commander Titus's men, returned from their long stint on the other side of the kingdom. He had quickly finished up the last of the pointless meetings his father had scheduled and rushed back to greet his wild-tempered little brother who was anything but little.

Derwin returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm. "Brother," he said, clapping Ferryl's shoulder whilst inadvertently crushing him under the solid girth of his arms. "It's good to see you."

"How was Qadim Province?"

"As much of a wasteland as it has ever been," said Derwin, his tanned skin even darker from the days he must have spent in the sun the past few months, his auburn hair a mess of disheveled curls atop his head.

"You smell like shit," laughed Ferryl.

"Well," said Derwin. "At least I have an excuse."

Ferryl punched his brother's arm with a chuckle. "Any updates?"

"The commander is still under the impression that he has everything under control. But from where I stand, the rebels are only growing. The border was teeming with them. Much more than we had anticipated." Derwin walked past his brother, trudging down the black and white marble corridor, shrugging off his dusty riding cloak and handing it off to a servant girl who waited patiently, her hungry eyes practically devouring the returning prince. Derwin ignored the ogling servant, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by his older brother. Flirtation with any female in the vicinity had been a favorite pastime of the brothers since the moment they realized they were surrounded by a gaggle of willing candidates.

Derwin marched off, and Ferryl could see the tension practically trailing him. "Well that was new," said Ferryl, following in step behind his brother.

"What?"

"Please don't tell me three months on the road with the army and you've lost your taste for women."

Derwin didn't attempt to hide the ire in his glare. "Spare me, Ferryl. She's been eyeing both of us like that for years."

"Which seems an awfully long time not to do anything about it."

"I thought you, of all people, had tired of court games."

"Indeed, but I didn't think you had. Unyielding service to king and country has changed you, brother." He had meant it as a joke, but the humor was painfully lost on his little brother.

Derwin ignored him, rounding a corner, pushing into his private receiving room, Ferryl following after. "Derwin, are you alright?"

"I'm tired. I've been on the road with a group of a hundred stinking brutes for the better part of three months. I've seen nothing in the way of progress toward ending this ridiculous rebel threat, and I've had to bite my tongue about it because of a commander who is only interested in ignoring the problem for the sake of so-called peace. Indeed, Ferryl, I'm tired."

Derwin collapsed into a plush chair before a warm and otherwise useless fire that his servants had no doubt lit in anticipation of his return. He scrubbed his face with his calloused hands and sighed heavily. He might have been Ferryl's younger brother, but in that moment he looked a thousand years old. Weary. Worn. What had happened in Qadim?

"Dinner is in fifteen minutes," Ferryl said, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Mother and father can wait to hail their returning warrior. I'm in no mood for mother's prying."