The Ordinance

Chapter 9 - Maxon

Maxon was walking to his room after dinner when a group of guards came around the corner, singing a sea shanty and clearly drunk.

"Ompre def sen ikori
Ze dunj y karaz
Zem ferna ajori."

It was a song about a group of sailers being blown out to see by the first mate, who was an ikori. Maxon rubbed his temples, he already had a pounding headache and these buffoons were only making it worse.

"Denjan!" He shouted at the soldiers, calling for their attention.

"P-Prince Mason," one of them said, attempting to salute him.

"Go to your quarters immediately," he commanded.

"Okay," the same one said and turned on one foot, heading drunkenly down the hall.

"All of you," he amended, glowering at them.
They continued to hum the sea shanty together and headed down the stairs. Maxon would never allow himself to be that out of his wits in front of his subjects, and he wasn't quite why they thought it would be a good idea to show themselves like that to him either. Nonetheless, as Maxon started toward his rooms again, he was laughing at their jolly drunkenness.

He finally reached his rooms and shut his door behind him. On the wall to his left was his giant bookcase, filled to the brim with books, old and new alike. He'd never get the chance to read all of them, not in this lifetime anyways. And on the wall to his right was his large work desk and restroom door. Normally, Maxon would've taken a shower before going to bed, but Maxon was exhausted. He'd gotten up early and gone to bed late each night since Isabelle's kidnapping. He'd been sending out search parties, sending letters back and forth with Isabelle's father, and handing out rewards for any information on her whereabouts. He couldn't help but feel more than slightly responsible since she'd gotten kidnapped leaving his palace. He prayed to the gods she was safe. Maxon didn't think he could live with himself if anything happened to her.

Maxon laid on his bed and rubbed his temples again, begging for his headache to go away. He prayed that Isabelle was safe, and he fell asleep with the image of her face in her mind.

The next morning, he was working in his office. A letter from the Duke Winslow, a notice of a press conference at the end of the month, work, work, work. Suddenly, a guard knocked on his door.

"Come in," he said, not looking up from his papers.

The door opened and some light from the hallway shone in. He saw in his peripheral vision the petite shadow of a girl. There aren't any female guards posted in the palace, he thought. He looked up from his desk, and he saw Isabelle's face; she was smiling with relief. She was wearing army pants and a loose t-shirt, but she still looked beautiful. Her face was smeared with dirt and her hair was tied in a messy ponytail.

He stood from his desk and walked around it within the span of a second. They wrapped each other in a tight hug, he smelled the lavender scent of her hair. He pulled away from the hug, looking in her eyes urgently.

"I'm not hurt, Maxon," she said with a grin.

"Are you- who- how long-" he was broken off by Isabelle cupping his face gently with her hand.

"I'm fine. It was just some people who wanted money. They left me in the woods when they found I didn't have any, and I couldn't find my way out for a while."

He looked deep in her eyes. She'd been alone all that time.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at your castle," he questioned.

She looked down, "I wanted to be here," she looked at him in his eyes; he could see his reflection in them, "with you."

The next thing he knew, he was kissing her.