Chapter 1
Father. Serissa. Briar.
Mother…
Dead.
They were all dead.
Who knew how many more were cut down fighting and trying to escape. And the blood… God, there was so much blood. He could still smell it, the screams ringing fresh in his ears. Flesh tearing open at the seams. Skulls crunching…
His fingers were frozen around Dancer’s reins as they galloped past the outermost gate, tearing down the muddied dirt road. The heavy rain obscured the moon, rendering them nearly blind in the late hours of the night. He glanced back finally to where Percy had fallen behind ever so slightly. His husband had barely trotted on a horse, let alone ridden one at full speed. A horrible tightness formed in his stomach as he noticed just how precarious Percy’s balance was.
But they couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down. It was almost certain that Kaiden had sent a group of his men to hunt them.
Suddenly Ser Donal veered off the path, into the slick grass. He bade Dancer to slow slightly, controlling his gallop more; he’d rather die than let the stallion break a leg on this questionable terrain. Squinting through the downpour, he could barely make out the treeline they were approaching. They whizzed through it, finally able to slow to a driving canter. He remained lifted in his seat, hoping Percy would do the same, as the horses took small leaps over fallen debris.
They pressed on, navigating through the woods set before them at arguably dangerous speeds. Ser Donal led the front, followed by Philip and Dahlia, then him, and Percy brought up the rear. He didn’t know how long they continued riding, but eventually the horses began to slow. Except for Dancer. The young Arabian was finally being afforded the opportunity to use his breed’s natural gifts, as he began to overtake the group.
“We need to stop,” Philip called to him and Ser Donal.
“Not until we clear these woods,” the old knight shouted over the beating rain. “We have no line of sight.”
“But Dahlia–”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted, her voice hoarse and exhausted. “Keep going…”
So they did.
Finally they popped out on the other side of the woods, surrounded by nothing but half-dead grass and darkness, and halted. Dancer’s nostrils flared as he shuffled his hooves anxiously. Steam emanated from the horses, their bellies expanding and contracting with hard breaths. He was now able to take stock of everyone.
Somewhere along the way, Ser Donal had lost the cape attached to his armor. They were all horribly waterlogged, hair plastered to their faces and clothes sticking to their skin. Dahlia pressed herself tightly into Philip, who had one trembling hand wrapped around his reins and the other around her waist. Percy had a cut across his cheekbone; from the massacre or the woods, he didn’t know. And Oliver…
His heart dropped into his feet.
“Where’s Oliver?” he threw out, dread welling within his stomach.
“I… I couldn’t find him. There wasn’t enough time,” Ser Donal explained breathlessly, his voice low with a similar tone to Aryn’s. The old knight turned his horse towards Dahlia. “Princess, I’m so sorry… You two were the priority, I tried looking for him but–”
“It’s all right, Ser Donal,” Dahlia reassured. “There was nothing more you could do…”
“We need to get out of this rain,” Percy finally spoke up.
“And go where?” Philip pointed out frustratedly. “Those bastards are looking for us. We can’t stop at an inn, not with these obvious clothes.”
Tense silence fell over the group as the horses shifted their weight expectantly. They were sitting ducks…
“I might know a place,” Percy offered hesitantly. “If my direction serves me right, we need to head northeast from here.”
“Then let’s go,” Philip concluded.
Gathering their mounts, the group took off once more, Percy in the lead. The terrain before them consisted of small rolling hills, and they had to be extremely careful not to accidentally guide their horses right into the multitude of burrowing holes littering the thick grass. Finally the earth flattened, and up ahead were the signs of dim firelight. Dancer’s legs were stained with mud as they quickly trotted through one of the largest puddles Aryn had ever seen. These were… crop fields.
The silhouette of a wide building grew closer and closer, and he soon realized they were on a farm. Soft light filtered out from the various windows of the farmhouse, and he ached horribly to be a guest of its warm, dry interior.
“Let me go talk to them first,” Percy stated, stiffly dismounting his horse.
Aryn took the reins from him without a word, watching after him nervously. The rest of them sat atop their horses and waited. After a few moments, the front door to the house opened, revealing a weathered, older man. It was hard to see in the dim light, but Aryn spotted a look of familiarity on his face towards Percy, and as they continued speaking, his wrinkled expression darkened.
Percy strode back over towards them, taking his horse’s reins.
“He said we can put the horses in the barn over there,” he explained. “Then head inside.”
Following Percy’s lead, they stowed the beasts in the barn and headed back to the main house. The old man was stood in the doorway waiting for them, a look of apprehension in his eyes.
“Come in. Quietly,” he added gruffly. “My family’s asleep an’ I don’t intend on frightening ‘em.”
They slunk inside, carefully removing their muddied boots. The old man took one last cautious glance outside before closing the door behind them.
“We cannot thank you enough, sir,” Philip piped up softly, his voice low. “If there’s anything we can do to–”
“When first light breaks, ‘yer to be off my property,” he grumbled. “Only reason I’m puttin’ my family at risk for you lot is ‘cuz Percy trusts ya. And I don’t believe in leavin’ pregnant women in harm’s way. Even if ya are a bloody Stewart.”
The farmers. Aside from those who had been sent off to war, they were the ones who’d been affected the worst. Their shares extorted, livestock seized, all for the “good of the Crown…” Aryn was hardly surprised at the old man’s hostility. He saw Philip’s expression shift; his brother did not take kindly to his character being challenged.
“I am truly sorry for the strife our father has caused your family,” Aryn chimed in, placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder to quell him. “This is your home, your land, and we will follow your rules. First light, we promise,” he appeased.
The farmer’s eyes narrowed at him, flitting between him and Philip. His lip curling slightly, he grunted, and left it at that.
“I’ll scrounge up some old clothes for ya. If ya want a bath, draw it ‘yerselves. Fire’s still burnin’ plenty hot to boil it.”
“Thank you, Josiah,” Percy murmured. “I’ll get them situated.”
“Percy?”
A feminine voice called out quietly from the hallway, and they all turned their heads in unison to spot a young woman dressed in a simple nightgown, a candlestick in hand. She seemed a bit younger than Dahlia, maybe seventeen or eighteen years of age, with light brown hair and eyes and a round, youthful face.
“Isabelle, get back to bed,” Josiah ordered. “This is no business fer you to be knowin’ about.”
With a disbelieving sigh, she set the candle down on a small table against the entryway wall and… hugged Percy. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her in return, if only briefly.
“What’re you doin’ here?” She pulled back and held his face in her hands. “And what happened to ‘yer cheek?”
“Isabelle.”
“Izzy, your father’s right. You should listen to him,” Percy encouraged gently.
Izzy?
It was then that she glanced over to the rest of them, eyes widening.
“You’re… you’re the princes, aren’t you? A-and Princess Dahlia. Percy what in God’s name have you gotten into? We don’t see you fer almost a year and then you drag this onto our farm? In the middle of the night?”
Her attitude towards them was rooted more in wonderment as opposed to the hostility of her father, especially as her gaze drifted over Dahlia.
“Isabelle they’re stayin’ here for the night an’ that’s it. Leave it alone,” Josiah warned.
“Goodness, ‘yer soaked through the bone,” she exclaimed quietly, fussing with the hair that was plastered to Percy’s face. “Pa, we got extra clothes, right?”
Izzy, huh?
“I was fetchin’ em before you stuck ‘yer nose where it shouldn’t be,” he grumbled. “Now that ‘yer up, I s’pose you could make ‘yerself useful an’ set up five beds by the fire.”
“Yessuh,” she conceded, finally removing her hands from his husband. “I’ll see if we got anythin’ fer that cut, too.”
As she turned to leave, she stopped and curtsied deeply towards the rest of them, the motion awkward and alien to her. With that, her bare feet padded back down the hallway, disappearing into another room.
Dry clothes. He just wanted dry clothes.
Philip guided Dahlia over to the fireplace, pulling out a stool for her to sit on. She was trembling; from the cold or exhaustion or fear, he didn’t know. Probably all of the above. The sword his brother had been gifted with was still sheathed around his waist, whatever blood had been spilt on it now washed away with the rain. He could see it in Philip’s eyes, that haunting feeling he had become intimately familiar with. It was funny, in some dark, twisted way, that he of all people had killed a man before Philip had.
He flinched as something pulled at him. Carefully, Percy removed the bow and quiver from his back, placing it by the door. There was something dark within his emerald eyes as well.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Percy asked in a hushed voice.
“I’m… alive. Not hurt. Yeah, I’m fine,” he murmured distantly.
Frustration flashed across his freckled features. “Aryn you saw your father’s head in a box–”
“Can we please not talk about this right now?” He wrapped his arms around himself, voice wavering. “I just… want to sleep.”
That was a lie. Physically, he was exhausted. But every time he closed his eyes, even blinked, he saw them. Serissa’s throat opened, like a lamb being slaughtered. The light leaving Briar’s eyes as the boy faced him, clueless… They had died for him. Whether they wanted to or not.
“You’re innocent, Aryn.”
No, they were innocent. Serissa’s biggest worry in life before tonight was winning him over, what dress she thought he’d find the prettiest. Briar’s was how clean the stalls were, how shiny he made the horse’s coats. Poking Dancer’s eye out with a pitchfork…
He saw the arrow sink into the man’s eye before his lifeless body joined Briar’s in the mud.
“Aryn…”
Strong hands grasped his shoulders.
“Hey… Look at me.”
He lifted his blue eyes heavily, meeting Percy’s. Tears mixed with the rain on his face before he was pulled into his husband’s chest.
He expected Percy to say something, like he always did, but he remained silent. They simply held on to each other.
“I uh–”
They tore away from each other abruptly as Isabelle announced her presence, a dense pile of clothes in her arms. A soft blush burned at her cheeks, but she left the matter alone.
“I’ve got some dry clothes fer all of ya. A-A comfy robe of mine for the princess, too. She must be feelin’ somethin’ miserable right now, adding the babe on top’uh everythin’.”
Composing himself, Percy softened his expression, managing a small smile as he took the bundle of cloth from her.
“Thank you, Izzy. That’s very kind of you.”
She giggled. It set the back of his neck on fire.
“They got you talkin’ fancy now too, eh?” she teased, turning her attention towards Aryn. “This boy’s mouth used to be so foul that he’d make my pa turn red, d’y’know that?”
“I’m aware,” he answered back quietly with a tight, terse smile.
An awkward air settled over the three of them as Isabelle’s gaze shifted between the two, that blush rising on her cheeks again.
“Well, I’ll go grab some blankets fer you all, get ya set up for the night.”
“Thank you, Izzy.”
With a nod, and another curious glance at Aryn, she headed back down the hall.
“We uh…” Percy started awkwardly. “Well, I worked for Josiah last summer, fixing things around the farm. And Izzy and I–”
“I don’t need to know,” he cut off, taking the top half of the pile from Percy and carrying it over to Philip and Dahlia.
Philip accepted the clothes with a thankful nod and subsequently began removing his soaked garments. Heading back to Percy, he grabbed a set and tucked himself into the little storage area by their kitchen to undress. He loved his brother deeply, but he still didn’t want him, or Dahlia for that matter, seeing the part of him that his scars revealed. That was a whole other bag of worms none of them had the energy to dive into right now.
He peeled his waterlogged clothes from his body, tossing them to the floor. They had no use for them now, not when they were a blatant indicator of their class. They needed to be as invisible as possible going forward. He pulled on the undergarments and pants he was given but forwent his shirt for now; he wanted to dry his skin by the fire a bit more.
Upon returning, Percy had already changed, following the same idea. The scar on his shoulder caught the firelight far more than the rest of his skin, but now there were new cuts that had sprung up. One along his side, another gracing his upper chest, close to the base of his neck… And there was the shadow of crusted blood beneath his chin that the rain didn’t quite reach. Dark red was caked beneath his fingernails…
How many people did you kill to get back to me?..
Not people. Monsters.
“You didn’t tell me you were hurt,” Aryn pointed out softly as he approached.
Percy shrugged. “To be honest, I kinda forgot about them. Couldn’t feel them until now.”
“They need to be cleaned–”
“Aryn, I’m fine. Just… leave it be.”
He knew it was most likely due to the sheer exhaustion, the multitudes of horrors replaying in Percy’s mind as well, but his short tone struck a nerve within him.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Izzy cleaned them for you,” he snapped grumpily, regretting the words the second they left his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
The shift in Percy’s tone sent a shiver down his spine. But he couldn’t stop himself.
“What? As if she’s not awfully familiar with your anatomy–”
Suddenly he was being pushed into the dark kitchen, towards the shielded storage area, before his back met the wall, fingers gripping his chin. Emerald eyes blazed with a certain fierceness as their bare torsos pressed together tightly.
“Izzy is my friend. An old friend, who yes, I may have fooled around with. Because I was younger, and confused, and stupid. But you are my husband. Do you think I’d kill for her without question? Sacrifice my own life for her in a heartbeat?”
His own chest heaved with quick, deep breaths, lips parted slightly as he stared right back at Percy.
“No.”
Percy’s other hand came to grasp the ring that hung around his neck, putting tension on the chain.
“There is no one else in this world, no one, that I would do the things I did tonight for. So stop acting like a jealous brat.”
“Or what?”
“Do you want me to fuck you in this kitchen?”
Their mouths hovered dangerously close together, Percy’s green eyes burning into his soul as he tilted his chin up further.
“Here you go, Your Highnesses.”
Isabelle’s hushed voice found their ears from the main room, and they froze. Dangerous thoughts danced across both their faces before, reluctantly, Percy began to pull away. But Aryn caught his mouth with his own with a rush of exhilaration coursing through his veins. Their time painfully limited, they kissed each other so fiercely that his lips hurt when Percy pulled away.
They exchanged one last provocating glance before Percy strode from the kitchen. He stayed against the wall, eyes staring at the ground as he collected himself, savoring a brief moment of solitude as the others conversed quietly by the fire.
Eventually he made his way back to the group, throwing on the simple shirt he’d been given. An array of blankets were arranged on the floor, folded over themselves to allow for some sense of padding. Dahlia was already lying down, one hand under her head with her eyes closed. Whether she was actually asleep was questionable. Philip lay beside her, an arm wrapped around her waist and his sword close by to his right. Ser Donal was still up, now stripped of his armor and drying his boots by the fire. He knew the old knight wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight. Not until they were far away from here.
Percy had acquired a small paring knife and a tiny pail of water, cleaning the dirt and blood from under his nails. The cut on his cheek still threatened to bleed, as most head wounds did, but the oily sheen of animal fat that had been carefully smoothed across it sealed it shut well enough. Same went for the rest of the slices in his flesh he now sported.
“I did it myself,” he murmured quietly without turning, sensing Aryn’s suspicious eyes. He patted the makeshift bed he sat on. “C’mere.”
He hesitated, blue eyes flitting towards Ser Donal. But the knight was already looking at him, a warm, knowing look in his grey eyes. It was then he realized his ring was hanging outside his shirt.
“W-We–”
“Son, I’ve known you your whole life. Do you really think me that dense?” Donal stated, busying himself with cleaning his sword. “Now sit with him before I smack you upside the head.”
Face reddening, he weaved his way over to Percy, gingerly plopping down next to him.
His entire body ached, his bones frozen and wet. The fire, however large, didn’t seem to cut through the icy dread that now creeped its way into his chest as they stilled. He flinched softly as Percy placed a blanket around his shoulders, but he just as quickly allowed himself to melt as his husband wrapped a muscular arm around his back, pulling him in close.
He fought back tears as a careful, tender kiss was placed to his forehead.
“I won’t be able to sleep,” he whispered, eyes closed tightly with a furrowed brow.
“I know,” Percy whispered back into his hair. “I’ll stay up with you.”
“They massacred them, Percy–”
“Shh…”
A hand cupped the back of his head as he was pulled into Percy’s chest. Tears burned in his eyes, pushing their way past his eyelids. A clawed hand wrapped around his heart and squeezed, wrenching a sob from his throat.
Gently, Percy rocked him. Just like he had in the Dragon’s Nest, pulling him from a waking nightmare.
But unlike the shadow that oppressed him then, the monsters in their new nightmare were real. And they wouldn’t rest until all of them were dead.
“When rivers of blood flow and fires blaze across this kingdom. When bodies line the streets and crows feast on the corpses. When heads roll from their shoulders and line the walls of the castle they once thought so safe…”
His mother’s ghostly words invaded his mind, the haunting dream he had had in that field pervading his thoughts.
“...Then you will truly find yourself.”
Only now he had never felt more lost.
