A King's Guardian

>12<

I know it's been awhile since I updated! I have been preoccupied with other things and my motivation for this story was waning, but I'm determined to finish it. Anyway, here you go!

We had been marching for two hours when we stopped for a break. The sun was settling up in the sky, beating down on our dark clad bodies. Our rest stop was only to be ten minutes at most, but ten minutes would be more than enough time for an ambush. My eyes never stopped scanning the forest around us, my muscles tense from trepidation.

"Don't forget to breathe, dearie."

My head snapped to the side to peer up at Isaac. His mouth was curved up in a wicked smirk. If I wasn't so tense, I would have rolled my eyes. Instead, I simply returned to surveying our surroundings. The nuisance nudged my side with his elbow.

"What is your problem, Apphia?" he prodded. "You seem like you're seeing ghosts."

"I..." I shook my head. There was nothing I could say that wouldn't give me away. "Just focus. I have a bad feeling."

"A bad feeling?" His voice rang with doubt. "You women and your feel—"

"Pigs!" someone shouted from the back of the entourage, likely a foot soldier.

Dread burned its way through my chest. Pigs? Again? Samson began to bark orders at us while ushering the King back into his carriage. The Guardians assumed a formation around the carriage as the hogs came charging out of the forest. After being told to draw our weapons, we were told to hire at will. These pigs seemed even bigger than before, though perhaps it was my imagination.

Foot soldiers were being mown down, their bullets and arrows seeming to bounce harmlessly off the pig hides. Our guns were more advanced, the bullets made of a steel compound, and they pierced the hide but seemed useless nonetheless. I couldn't stifle a gasp at the sight of a pig knocking a horse onto his side. Then the hog began to bury its teeth into the horse's belly before moving on to its rider.

Already the dirt path was pooling in blood, and I realized we could not stop the hogs from overcoming us. We would all die if we stayed and attempted to fight. Turning my head to face Samson who was taking aim through the carriage window, I yelled.

"We have to go!" I screamed. "Take the king away!"

He couldn't hear me. His eyes were narrowed in hate, face scrunched in focus. How could he not see how this would unfold? How could he let us stay in this death trap? It was suicide.

The ground began to shake in the strangest way. I could hardly feel it, except that it was influencing my grip on the pistol. My attention was pulled back to the threat at hand. The hogs had killed or wounded most of the foot soldiers, and the mounted soldiers were struggling to keep their horses afoot. I wasted a whole magazine of seventeen rounds on one hog, and it hardly slowed the beast.

When I began to think our fate was sealed and that prayer on my lips would never be answered, the source of the ground's trembling made itself known. A horde of wolves swept through the forest. They avoided the bodies strewn along the ground and those of us still on our feet. In fact, they ignored us completely. Several wolves leapt onto each hog until they were flailing helplessly on the ground, their bodies being ripped into just as they had done to my fellow soldiers.

Those of us coherent enough to see the scene taking place stood, stunned. Within seconds, the wolves fled just as swiftly as they had arrived. They didn't so much as cast a glance in our direction. I gaped at the battlefield of human and hog corpses. My mind failed to process such a horror and mystery.

I found myself moving towards the nearest mauled pig. Stepping carefully around its body, I went to its head. Around the neck was a collar just like the one I had found on the pig from the first attack on the way to Wainsworth. Like before, I cut the leather from the pig's neck and held up to my face for inspection.

The outside of the collar was empty, but I found an inscription on the inside. It was numbers. Three numbers, to be exact. 994. I must have read it aloud because a deep voice repeated the sequence from behind me. Acting on instinct, I turned to acknowledge him. Zacharias was looking down at me through those dark, ominous eyes.

"Your Highness," I greeted with a bow, touching my fist to my chest. Straightening again, I asked, "Are you alright? You should go back to the carriage. We don't know if the threat has been elim—"

"I am fine," he assured me, low enough that no one else could hear. Surely there were staring. "Another collar?"

Nodding, I handed it over. He studied it as I had with critical eyes. When he discovered the numbers, his thick, strong fingers clenched around the leather band. My eyes flickered up to his face to find his eyes squeezed closed. I had to resist the urge to touch his shoulder.

"Gather the wounded," Samson was saying. "Line up the deceased."

As I dared look around us at the litter of flesh and blood, a suppressed sob choked out of me. This was my fault. These men were all dead or injured because I had remained silent. I had let Prince Philip control me like a pawn, like his slave.

"Apphia," murmured Zacharias. "Look at me."

"Your Highness," I forced out, unable to meet his gaze, "you should return to the carriage."

When I stepped towards the nearest body, he seized my wrist and pulled me back to him. I lifted my shiny eyes to his, surprised. His brows were drawn together in anger. My heart beat nervously against my ribs. He would have me killed if I told him I knew this would happen. Not only would my Guardianship be taken from me, but so would my life. Perhaps I deserved it. These men, they didn't know. They were innocent.

"Tell me what the matter is," he ordered.

"I have to help with the bodies." My words sounded weak, even to my ears.

He refused to release me. "Why are you crying? Apphia, tell me."

"I can't," I hissed. "I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone. Please, leave me be."

This time he let me wrench myself away. I would tell him, perhaps, when we were back at the castle. Once he was safe, I could come to terms with this, what I had allowed to happen.

An hour had passed before the bodies were separated, categorized in a sense. It was decided that the King, what few mounted soldiers were left, and half of the Guardians would return to the castle. The other half of us would stay behind with the wounded until medical carts could come. Samson assigned me to stay with the wounded at first, but King Zacharias overrode his command.

"She's coming with us," he told the Head Guardian in his steely voice. "She has important information to share."

Samson looked at me with a surprised, albeit suspicious look. My cheeks warmed. They would all be onto me now, wondering what I knew that they did not. So with that, we started on our way again. Isaac was staying behind and his eyes followed our retreat. When Seth caught my glancing worriedly back at his brother, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it. As Head Guardian in training, he was given no choice but to come back to the Castle, too. Not that he probably minded. Who would willingly stay behind with the stench of decay and blood?

"It will be okay," Seth whispered. "Whatever it is, you will be okay."

My heart clenched. If only he knew.