A Knight's Vow

The battle for Steep Reach was supposed to be a simple affair. The royal army had expected to take the city in less than a day. But fate, as always, had little regard for their plans.Kavan had served as a knight’s squire since his early teens, rising through the ranks of the royal guard. Recently, he had been promoted to serve as the crown prince, Casimir Ivanov’s guard, tasked with the sole protection of His Highness. It was a position of great honor, one that Kavan had dedicated his life to, though it also came with heavy burdens.

He was at the prince’s side when a scout, frostbitten and exhausted, staggered into their encampment on a weary mount. The scout dismounted, nearly collapsing as he dropped to his knees before the Prince.

“Your Highness,” the man rasped, his voice hoarse from the cold. “The Jarl of Steep Reach sends word. He will surrender the city to spare civilians and prevent further bloodshed.”

A murmur of relief swept through the gathered soldiers, but Prince Casimir remained impassive, his expression as cold as the winter wind that whipped through the camp.

“It could be a trap,” the prince picks up his wine glass, twirling it gently in the dimly lit tent,“He might wish for me to enter the city alone, only to slay me where I stand. A warning, perhaps, to those who would dare march on Steep Reach in the future,” he mused aloud, not addressing anyone in particular.His lips curled into a sneer as he turned his back on the scout. “No, we will continue the siege.”

Prince Casimir was a man born to lead—proud, fierce, and determined to prove himself worthy of the throne that others coveted. With hair the color of freshly spilled blood, and eyes that glimmered like emerald-flecked gold ore, he had the air of a dragon, a creature of myth and legend.

Kavan, by contrast, was plain—raven-haired, with eyes as dark as the scorched logs in the prince’s hearth.

He had long accepted that he could never truly stand at his, but he had never wavered in his loyalty, never once allowing his status as a commoner, nor his insignificant appearance to get in the way of his duty. His only desire was to serve, to be the Prince’s hands, ears, and weapon, to help him build the great empire he was destined to rule.

“Your Highness,” Kavan started softly, his voice cutting through the air. The prince’s gaze shifted to him, sharp and questioning. “Why not enter the city with a small contingent of knights? We could ensure your safety while still giving the Jarl a chance to surrender without unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Are you questioning my judgment, knight?”

Kavan dropped to one knee, bowing his head in deference. “No, Your Highness. I only wish to spare the lives of those who have already surrendered. But I will obey your command, whether it leads to peace or slaughter.”

The prince’s lips twitched into a small, proud smirk before he turned away, deep in thought. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well. We will send word to the Jarl, we will meet at dawn and deliberate our options. Depending on how those talks proceed, there may be no need for further bloodshed. But be prepared regardless. If things go awry a massacre may soon follow. Ready my men. We march at first light..”

Kavan bowed his head once more. “Yes, Your Highness.”

As he left the prince’s square tent, Kavan made his way to the center of the barracks, where his fellow knights gathered around a fire, drinking, laughing, and partaking in idle chatter. The mood was light, though tinged with anxiety about the upcoming battle.

“The Black Knight returns!” Luciel called out, raising his tankard in greeting. Kavan nodded in acknowledgment. “So, then, what are His Highness’s orders? Shall we march up the hill and set fire to the city? That ought to be enough to snuff out the Jarl hiding in the reach.

“Aye, ye damned fool!” The knight beside him, Resnick, smacked the back of Luciel’s head. “Where is the honor in that? If we fight, we fight with our blades, not with cowardice tactics.”

“Ah, ye bastard! I kno’, oke? Just askin’. I ain’t here suggesting we burn the place to the ground a’ight?” Luciel shook his head. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, Res, good ale ye spilled all over me leg too.”

“T’was you holding yer tankard up in the air like a bloody dunce. Don’t blame me, man. T’is not me fault yer as drunk as a skunk already.”

“Oh, fuck off, Res, you kno’ I can handle more than this.”

“Aye, and you’d be piss drunk somewhere in a bush, neglecting your training.”

Kavan took a seat on one of the rough-hewn logs around the fire, drawing the attention of the other knights Now, with everyone’s eyes on him, he decided that it was as good a time as any to relay the prince’s orders“His Highness has decided to deliberate with the Jarl at first light. We shall accompany him.”

A cheer rose from the men. For a moment, they allowed themselves to hope the bloodshed might be avoided.

“But we shall ready ourselves for battle. In case things go south…” Kavan added, knowing his words worried the other knights. They were right to be worried. Any respectable knight would have been. Killing innocents tainted our blades and weighed them down with shame. We served to protect civilians, not to slaughter them. But if it was His Highness’s will, we’d have no choice.

Silence passed, and the conversation shifted to familiar topics—women, home, and the future—Kavan felt the familiar pang of alienation. He had no interest in their talk of settling down, finding a wife, and starting a family. His life was the prince, and his only purpose was to serve.

“So, Kavan,” Osrin, a burly knight with a booming voice, nudged him with an elbow. “What kind of lass would catch your eye?” His accent was not as heavy as Luciel’s or Resnick’s, but there was still a hint of the east in his pronunciation.

Kavan hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He had spent so long avoiding thoughts of such things that he had almost forgotten how to answer. “Osrin,” he began, “My duty lies with the protection of the crown prince. I do not have the luxury of devoting myself to another. I live to serve the prince and him alone.”

The answer seemed to satisfy some men, but others exchanged knowing glances. One knight, Derrick, sneered openly. “Always going on about the prince, aren’t you? Like a lovesick maiden.”

Kavan’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. It was dangerous to reveal too much, especially to Derrick who has always been bothered by Kavan’s devotion and loyalty.

The other knights fell silent, tension crackling in the air. Osrin slurped on his drink, and Luciel lowered his own, staring at the two of them with bated breath. Resnick and the others kept quiet, but before the air got heavier with awkward silence, Derrick leaned forward. His sneer deepened and contorted his face into something resembling amusement. He enjoyed seeing Kavan squirm.

“You’re not one of us, Kavan. You’re a commoner, no more than trash picked up from the streets. No wonder you follow the prince like a dog—he’s the only one who ever gave you worth.”

The fire reflected in Kavan’s eyes, obscuring his true feelings to those still left watching. He had always known he was different from the others, that he was an outsider in their ranks, and that his pure intentions could be turned vulgar by the offhand remarks of his fellow knights, but he had convinced himself that it didn’t bother him because as long as he had His Majesty, nothing mattered. Not even his feelings. But the words still cut deep, deeper than he cared to admit.

Glancing up, he noticed the prince slipping out of his tent. Seeing it as an excuse to leave, he slowly rose from the log and glanced up and down Derrick’s frame, letting his eyes do most of the talking. Derrick’s face faltered, and Kavan felt disappointed in himself for behaving out of his norm. He’d never raked his eyes over anyone like that before, but Kavan gauged Derrick’s depth, of which he had determined there to be none. As such decided to dismiss Derrick’s words.

“Off to flirt with him?” Derrick called after him, desperately trying to save face and not embarrass himself in front of the others by acting threatened by Kavan. Laughter erupted from the campfire, and Kavan tried his best to ignore it. Digging his nails into his palms as he clenched his fists. He made his way to where Prince Casimir stood, admiring a tree that bloomed even in the dead of winter. It was a rare sight, such a magnificent organism, and Kavan paused to take in its beauty. Its gold petals glimmered in the moonlight, the flower’s center is a deep red and it makes Kavan think that it represents the prince in appearance, regal and beautiful plant befitting for the royal gardens.

“If it pleases, you, Your Highness, we could harvest its seeds,” Kavan suggested softly, stepping closer to admire the tree up close. “ King’s Leaf—a fitting name, don’t you think?”

The prince remained silent, his golden eyes fixated on the tree’s leaves. But when he finally turned to face Kavan, his expression was one of cold fury. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his lips pulled into his mouth as he continued to silently glare at Kavan.

“Your Highness?” Kavan asked, concern creeping into his voice. “Is something wrong?”

Without warning, the prince backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling into the snow. Shocked, Kavan looked up, only to be met with a glare of pure disgust.

“I overheard the men,” Prince Casimir spat, his voice laced with venom. “Is that how you see me? As some kind of romantic figure you’re infatuated with?”

Kavan’s heart pounded in his chest, but his voice failed him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t deny the accusations.

“I trusted you,” the prince continued, his words like daggers driving into Kavan’s chest. “You were supposed to be my friend. But now I see you for what you are. I will not be the object of your obsession. Nor will I let it fester and turn into something ungodly.”

What was the prince assuming? And what was this about obsession? Kavan felt his world crumbling around him as the prince delivered the final blow. “You are relieved of your duties. Derrick will take your place. Stay at the barracks tomorrow. I shall take the other knights with me.”

Kavan could only watch as the Prince turned away, leaving him in the snow, discarded like a broken tool. He had failed. He had lost everything. His very reason for living. Where did things go wrong? And why has the prince not discussed the topic with Kavan, asking for an explanation - or has his opinion never mattered to the prince in the first place?

Later, the evening sky had darkened, the campfires flickering as shadows danced ominously across the snow-covered ground. Kavan sat apart from his fellow knights, the echoes of their laughter a distant murmur in his ears. His thoughts were a tangled mess, each one circling back to the prince’s furious eyes and the weight of his own perceived failure. How could he have let things unravel so quickly? He had spent years honing his skills, dedicating his life to serving Prince Casimir, and now, with a single moment of misplaced trust, it felt as if everything was slipping away.

Hours had passed since Kavan had been relieved of his duties. The prince had been distant, and cold—a stark contrast to the moments they had shared in the past, where a mutual respect, perhaps even a bond, had been nurtured between them. Kavan knew his place; he was not Casimir’s equal, never could be, but he had taken pride in being his sword, his shield, and his protector. Now, with that role stripped away, he felt like a ship without a rudder, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

The knights around him continued their revelry, oblivious to the storm brewing within Kavan. Their talk of women, of dreams, and of returning home, grated on him more than usual. He had no such desires. His purpose had always been clear: to serve the prince, and to protect him with his life. Without that, what was left? Kavan was a commoner, with no home or family to return to. Being dismissed meant being sent back home - the greatest dishonor a knight could receive. But… he had nowhere to go, so where would his feet carry him next? And for who would his skills with the blade serve if he had no one to protect?

Kavan’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Derrick, the knight who had replaced him. The man approached the fire with an air of self-satisfaction that made Kavan’s blood boil. Derrick had never been one for subtlety, his brash nature often rubbing others the wrong way, but now, with the prince’s favor, he seemed even more insufferable.

“You look lost, Kavan.,” Derrick took a swig from his tankard. “Not so high and mighty now, are you? You dipped your toes in water you had no place in, commoner. Overstepped your bounds. It happens to everyone. But to think it’d happen to you.” He laughed bitterly.

Kavan said nothing, his gaze fixed on the flames. Derrick’s words stung, but what hurt more was the truth in them. He had spoken out of turn, and he had overstepped his bounds, and now Prince Casimir was vulnerable because of it. His mind raced, replaying the prince’s cold dismissal over and over again.

It was supposed to be easy, they had all said. A simple siege, with a swift victory. But nothing had gone according to plan.

Derrick continued to gloat, oblivious to the danger in his words. “The prince trusts me now, Kavan. I’ll be the one by his side when we take Steep Reach. Not you. Maybe I’ll even get the glory you were always so desperate for.”

Kavan clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out. He knew it would only make things worse, but the anger, the frustration, was building inside him like a storm waiting to bathe the land in tears, flooding everything waist-deep in water.

A scream pierced the night, followed by the sounds of steel clashing against steel. Kavan scrambled to his feet, suddenly wary of an unknown threat. Knights raced towards the prince’s tent, weapons drawn and ready. Kavan pushed past Derrick and followed them to the source of the commotion, even knowing doing so could result in losing his status as a knight.

When he arrived, it was already too late.