A Tale of Crown and Country

Lea

  "Wake up, your highness," a gravelly voice said. It wasn't Arlan's voice, that was for sure.

Lea forced her eyes open. She felt as though she'd only just managed to fall asleep. Despite her discomforts exhaustion had made even the solid ground as comfortable as her feathery bed back at the castle.

Standing over her was a man all in black. Everything from his long leather coat to his dishevelled blouse was torn and scraped. A belt at his waist sported much too many weapons and a floppy hat blocked the sun that beat down against Lea's face. He pointed a sword at her, not threateningly; he was just telling her it was there. He looked relaxed and at ease, as if he woke people at the point of a sword every other Thursday.

"Your father is so terribly worried about you," he said, not in the least bit sincere. He offered out his hand to help her stand, but she ignored it and pushed herself to her feet. Three men, similarly dressed, each took a step closer to her. No one was worried she would run off; where would she run to? There was nothing but open grass for miles around.

Lea brushed her skirts off while she stood. She was analyzing her every move, careful not to give the bandits–for that was what they were–what they wanted. She was going to stand her ground, be brave, like Vivan in Decipher. She was going to keep her chin high and her voice steady. Surely she could reason with these men.

"Morto Domev, at your service, your highness," the man bowed with a flourish, but it wasn't out of respect or any sort of propriety. He was toying with her. He made his own humour and laughed at his own jokes.

Lea didn't bother deigning him with a response of her own. She glared at him under furrowed brows. That and she didn't yet trust herself to speak without cracking. She needed to garner her confidence first. She couldn't show him any sign of weakness. She'd run away, slept under the stars, and escaped an Allriyan soldier. Surely she could face a highwayman, no matter his choice in fashion. She focused on the fact that he looked like a time-travelling pirate washed ashore; it kept her nervous energy under control.

"Is this the boy who kidnapped you?" Morto asked, a trickle of genuine concern permeating his otherwise performative nature. He gestured behind him. Arlan stood surrounded by more of the bandits, arms pinned behind his back. He didn't look worried or scared. He just watched her; Lea couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

"The only kidnapper here is you," Lea said in a low voice. She repressed the excitement inside, the self-congratulatory part of her. She commended herself on the forceful words and the quick comeback. They were definitely something a heroine would say to an evil oppressor.

Morto laughed and his men joined in. She didn't need to be told he was the leader, nor did she have to think too hard about the fact that he was mocking her. But Lea held her ground. She didn't get upset or scared. In fact, she let it fuel an anger that had apparently been growing since the man had woken her up, and maybe even before then. Somehow she knew that her father had sent these men.

"You'll have plenty of time to think of more witty comebacks on the road to Regros," he said when the laughter had subsided, though he still chuckled as he said it.

Had he just congratulated her on her words? Lea couldn't quite tell, but there was a more pressing matter to attend to. "Regros?" she asked, unintentionally dropping the strong shell she'd only recently built.

"Yes, Regros. Seems the king has some business there. He wants to conduct this transaction outside of Aldira for... propriety's sake."

"He hired you?" she realized.

"Being free men and all, we would never have accepted, but the reward is just so deliciously high that we couldn't resist." Morto smiled. A few of his teeth were crooked but they were surprisingly white for someone who supposedly spent much of his life in the wilderness.

The rest of the men agreed with him. Probably counting the money in their heads, if they could count at all, Lea thought.

"Come along, Princess. The King isn't a patient person."

"No," she said defiantly. "You can tell my father that I much prefer it out here and that I do not wish to marry a man I've never met."

"You say that as if you've got a choice in the matter," he commented. "How adorable."

A large man picker her up from behind. She started kicking and screaming, trying as hard as she could to make the man release her, but his grip was like iron. As much as she squirmed he didn't move a muscle. He deposited her on top of a horse. Someone else got up behind her, a man Morto called Veirin. He didn't exactly tie her to the horse or anything, but his presence and the fact that Lea was not the least bit coordinated enough to jump and/or fall off a horse without hurting herself kept her seated.

She wasn't in control of the situation, but she would do her best to keep herself in check. She couldn't get angry or weepy or completely fall apart. If she couldn't defy her father by running away than she could do it by being indifferent to his demands.

The rest of the bandits clambered aboard their own horses. Morto led the pack, circling his horse back around to the single bandit who held Arlan prisoner. Lea had momentarily forgotten about him in her disputes with the bandit leader. She wasn't sure if they would hurt him. If anything they would take him to her father. She reconsidered; actually, taking him to see the king would be the worst thing they could do.

Her chest tightened as Morto simply nodded at the man behind Arlan, a man who had apparently lost the sleeves of his shirt and coat and hadn't yet replaced them. A second before he moved Lea imagined what he would do–and it wasn't a nice image.

But he did quite the opposite.

Instead of hurting Arlan in any way, the man pressed a finger into a spot on Arlan's neck. After a few moments the boy dropped, unconscious. The sleeveless man clambered onto his own horse and Morto signalled for them all to leave.

They trotted away, leaving Lea with the image of a crumpled Arlan. They hadn't hurt him; they hadn't done anything to him. She'd imagined bandits as vicious, ruthless creatures.

Apparently Morto caught wind of her apprehension. When she met his eyes, he said softly: "Not enough pay for that."