Dark Queen

xiv.

     Jurauk did not expect Soren to corner him after a morning to strenuous sword fighting. He approached him in the washing rooms, his long brown hair still wet from the shower.

     Neither wore anything beyond trousers which hung low on their hips. Jurauk was examining a large bruise blossoming across his bare shoulder as he stood before a mirror. He scowled at the twinge of discomfort, even as it shrank before his eyes. Then he saw Soren behind his reflection.

      His elder brother's arms were crossed. Confused, Jurauk pressed himself against the wall, his muscles taut as a bowstring, awaiting some imminent attack. But none came.

      Soren held up a hand. "At east, Jurauk. I haven't come to hurt you."

     "Really? Or are you just here to gloat about how you beat me in that fight?" Jurauk tapped the bruise, which was strategically placed so that the wood blade would hit nerves hard enough to force him to drop his own sword. Soren shrugged.

     "You win, I win. We're evenly matched. What can I say? Now, quit being salty about this. You'll have more chances later."

     "Just get on with it." Jurauk dared to turn his back so he could pick up his discarded tunic lying on a nearby bench.

     "Be careful tonight. You aren't the only prince wanted dead."

     Jurauk paused, his tunic halfway over his dark red curls. "What? I'm nobody. I'm not even the heir."

     "Or are you?"

     Soren's gaze was calm but cold. Jurauk choked on air. "Excuse me? You're delusional. I'm much younger than your twenty-one years of age."

     Soren opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes bulged, and his lips flapped madly. Then a sort of resignation settled over his face, and he said, "Yes, how silly of me. Carry on."

     He marched out almost mechanically. Jurauk's mind was thoroughly jumbled. Finally, he deemed the occurrence to be a joke Soren was playing on him. After he finished donning his clothes, he entered the garden, scanning for the appropriate flora.

     Trees and flowers flourished everywhere, their verdure astounding even as winter crept in. A warbling creek meandered along beneath a row of arching birches. Birds perched on fountains and branches, singing and chirping. Blossom ranging from the deepest of reds to the lightest of blues dotted the grass beside the elegant marble pathways embellished with ornate designs.

     His heart heavy, Jurauk gently severed a white rose from its home nestled within the briar. He felt bad for taking another, but reminded himself these were simply plants. Might as well do something with them than let them stay there till the end of their days.

     He winced as a thorn pricked him. A tiny trickle of blood winded down his palm, following the contours of his hand. Already, the torn flesh was knitting itself together until there was only a pale line which was fading fast. He shivered, feeling a pang of hunger. He needed to eat.