A Prince's Pride

*Aaron*

I stare out into the sheer wall of white before me. I doubt I could see a person two feet away in this snowstorm. Fear eats away at me like a parasite, feasting on any morsel of courage I dare to summon. 

"Your Majesty," says General Braid behind me. 

I turn to see her standing next to Sir Oswald. Surprisingly, he hasn't raised any objections about me entering the storm. Does he know it'll do no good, that I will insist I go? Or does he think I will perish and it won't matter?

Honestly, both are probably true. But my soldiers need to eat. 

I haven't told many people this. In fact, only General Braid knows. But I've given orders for the siege on Rullox to start, with or without us. Even now, the bulk of my forces must be advancing on Rullox. It's my hope that, when the storm dies, we'll be able to march into the city and begin preparations to move on Luxom. 

"What is it, General?"

"We've secured the tether and we're ready to move out on your command. Here is your belt." 

She holds a leather belt out to me that was designed for climbing the mountain. We've fixed several ropes to a stake in the cave floor. Three parties are going out, five people each, one party on each rope. If we need to get back, we can use the rope to return safely. 

"We should leave at once," I say. She and Oswald nod. 

It only takes twenty minutes to gather the hunting parties. Each of us carries a bag with a small amount of food, water, and a compass. 

On my command, we enter the flurry of snow. 

The ice crystals outside the cave's mouth streak down upon us. If they were cutting my skin, I would not be surprised. I want to wrap my cloak tighter around my body, but as I’m holding one sword in each hand, this is impossible. I've ordered everyone to keep their weapons at the ready. In this storm, anything could come upon us. 

Just a few yards from the cave, I look back over my shoulder. I can see Oswald behind me, but I can't see the cave, the soldier behind Oswald, or the two other hunting parties. Oh well. For good measure, I look to my waist and see the rope strung through the clip on my belt. 

I have to weather the storm, both figuratively and literally, so I turn back and force my numb body to move through the snow. Ahead of me I can see Gabriella, the soldier who spoke up in the Command Tent. I didn't want her to come, but she insisted. The only person I forced to stay back was General Braid.

If I die in this storm, someone needs to lead. 

We keep moving, the soldier at the front guiding us through the woods. I can tell Gabriella is trying not to make noise, though that's pointless. I doubt even a dog, with it's keen ears, could hear us over the howling wind. 

Each step is grueling, the cold seeping through my cloak and into my very bones. I’m clenching my jaw shut to stop my teeth from chattering as I look around. We walk for what feels like hours, though I know it hasn’t been that long. We haven’t seen a single animal, which is odd. Even in a storm like this, there should be something. I know for sure these woods are home to several types of deer. I keep my eyes peeled, looking out for any sign of animals—tracks, droppings, anything. Mostly, I keep my eyes on Gabriella ahead of me. 

When she comes to a stop about thirty minutes later, I know why immediately. There's a rumbling, something that’s shaking the very earth beneath us. The ground gives an almighty lurch and the rumbling grows to a roar as the ground quakes beneath us. As if Mother Nature wishes to give me a preview of our impending doom, the fog and sleet lessen just enough for me to look up the sheer shyward slope of the cliffside I didn’t know we were walking next to. 

The snow on the side of the mountain looks like it’s vibrating. As it shakes loose, a billow of snow bursts into the air, forming a cloud that roils down the side of the mountain, heading straight for us. I feel the rope jerk sideways and am knocked off my feet. I’m sure the lead soldier is trying to flee. I don’t blame him. I feel him tug harder, pulling the rope taut. We must have reached the end of its considerable distance. 

Laying on my back, I look up at the avalanche and am surprised at how quickly it’s moving. There’s no other choice. If we stay here, it’ll pile on us. I swing my sword down, severing the rope and watch as it disappears, slipping through the clip on my belt. Gabriella yells something, the lead soldier’s name probably, and she runs off into the snowstorm after him. She’s swallowed by the swirling white in seconds.

As I climb to my feet, I look around for Sir Oswald.

“Your Majesty!” he yells, but it sounds like a whisper through the tumult of the wind. 

I look toward his voice and see him. I know we need to run, but why is he running toward me? I expect him to grab me, to pull me out of harm’s way but instead, he shoves me backwards as hard as he can, just in time to stop me from being crushed by a massive tree that must have been unearthed by the snow rushing down the mountainside. I stand, intending to check on him, but I don’t have time. 

The avalanche is upon us. 

I scramble up and start running as the avalanche reaches me. It crashes into my legs, threatening to knock me down. As I try to run, the snow gathers around my legs and I’m forced to pull my legs free repeatedly as it hardens like stone around them. Still, I run as fast as I can, not realizing until now that I’ve lost one of my swords. 

The wind howls, the ice pelts my face, the snow churns noisily behind me, but I keep running as fast as I can. I don’t know if I’m heading toward our cave or Rullox or back toward Midoor. I don’t know where Gabriella, the lead soldier, or Oswald are. My only thought at this moment is getting away from the snow trying to murder me.

When the avalanche has piled the snow up so much, I’m wading through it waist deep and I’m sure I’m going to die. It keeps piling, eventually overtaking me entirely. I’m swept up into its current and I let myself go, knowing that fighting the snow is futile and I let the wave of snow carry me down the mountainside.

*Six Months Ago*

*Aaron*

Sitting across from Lady Perania, I smile blandly as she giggles at something I said. I don’t even remember what it is, and I’ve just said it. I look to Milo, who is serving my family tonight and see him roll his eyes. I always love him rolling his eyes. It’s like a reversal of roles. 

“Yes, Aaron sure is hilarious, isn’t he, Milo?” asks Riley, glancing up at him. We’re sitting on the same side of the table, which isn’t normal, but my father says it’s polite to sit on the opposite sides of a table from a lady you’re courting.

My father smiles indulgently and looks between Riley and Milo. There’s something odd about his smile, but I don’t know what it is.

“That runs in the family line,” says Father, sitting at the head of the table as always. “We Heris men are very funny. It’s how I won over Elaine, after all.”

My mother looks at him, one of her eyebrows raised.

“You think so, Theo?” she asks. She’s the only one allowed to call to him Theo. It was his mother’s pet name for him and he feels weird about anyone else using it. “I seem to remember things differently.”

“Oh, ho!” says my father with a hearty chuckle. “Our marriage may have been arranged, but my humor is what made you love me.”

He says it with such confidence. Such surety.

“I can’t deny,” says my mother with a smile, “that it was one of the qualities I like most about you. What was that joke you told me when we first met?”

“Ah, yes,” says Father, setting his roll down on his plate. 

Here we go again. I’ve heard this joke so many times in my life, I could recite it impromptu.

“A king, a merchant, and a beggar enter a bar,” begins my father. “The king walks up to the bar and asks for the bartender’s finest ale. The bartender, delighted to see the king, pours him a drink, charges him ten gold crowns, and moves down the bar. 

“The merchant orders a drink: asking for the finest ale of the bar, such as for a king. The bartender pours him a drink and charges him one gold crown, then moves down the bar.

“Finally, the bartender reaches the beggar and asks him what he wants. The beggar thinks for a moment, then says he’ll have what the king is having. The bartender pours him a drink, charges him 1 silver crown, then walks away.

“As they try their drinks, the king mentions how his tastes sour, like something for a peasant. The merchant tastes his and says it’s normal ale. The beggar tastes his and says it’s the best ale he’s ever had.

“Curious as to why their drinks are different, the king orders them to switch drinks, but nothing tastes different between them. When the bartender returns, the king asks the bartender why their drinks taste different to them each. 

“The bartender responds, ‘One woman tastes sour to one man, while the other will taste nothing but peaches.’”

I laugh, but my father and I are the only one who laugh at his joke. I understand the meaning, though. The beggar thinks the ale tastes amazing because he has very little and the ale is good because he probably hasn’t had better. The merchant is used to the mediocre ale served at the bar because he can afford it. The king thinks the ale tastes bad because he’s used to rich wine and expensive things. 

It’s a lesson he’s trying to teach me about how the things in life I think are lesser may mean more to my subjects than I think they do. For instance, a month’s worth of grain is little to me. I’ve always been fed. But to those living outside the city, those we call countrites, a month of grain is life itself.

My father does this a lot. I realized a long time ago that most of his jokes were simply stories to make me a better king. They weren’t really jokes at all, but lessons he was passing to me in front of everyone. This, even, had its own purpose. He told me in secret that a king must be able to speak in code to everyone. This is our code, jokes.

I wish he understood my feelings as much as he understood this. What would I give for him to know that Milo and I are in love? What would I give for him to accept us for how we are?

I know the answer immediately. I’d give everything. I would happily give up my crown, my throne, my title, and everything else that makes me, me for Milo. But I know he doesn’t want that. He knows how much I want to be king. It’s strange, the things you would do for love. I know I’d be happy giving up this life for Milo. To be with him. To marry him. To love him for the rest of my life. But he wants me to be happy, which makes him happy. 

How am I supposed to become king, which is what I want, when I know I can’t have Milo, which is what we both want, when becoming king may stop us from being together, which we both don’t want?

“Are you okay, Aaron?” asks Riley, looking at me. 

I’ve only just realized that I’ve been looking at Lady Perania for several moments without saying anything.

“I am feeling fine,” I say, making sure to slip into my Prince of Midoor role again. “I have been feeling exhaustion from today’s training out in the yard. Please, forgive my rudeness, Lady Perania.”

Honestly, I couldn’t give a damn about being rude to Lady Perania. She’s just another woman my father has lined up for me to judge as my future wife. 

I glance up at Milo and catch him looking at me longingly. What I wouldn’t give to have him sitting in Lady Q’noia Perania’s place right now. I know that marrying outside of Midoor is my father’s wishes. Marrying Ladying Perania would strengthen the ties between Midoor and the Southern Tribes. 

But I just can’t do it. I love Milo and I refuse to marry anyone but him. 

“Lady Perania,” I say before scooping a spoon of mashed potatoes into my mouth. She looks at me with intense interest as I swallow my food. “What was it I just said?”

Q’noia looks stunned and doesn’t speak for several seconds.

“You just said something rather amusing, Your Highness,” she says, smiling.

“Okay,” I say. “But what were the words? You can paraphrase if you want.”

“I—” Lady Perania looks between me and my father several times before glancing once at my mother and sister each. “I don’t recall—”

“Milo,” I say, cutting her off, “what was it I said?”

“You made a joke comparing Lower Reach soldiers to cattle, referring to how they follow instruction without knowing why, Prince Aaron,” he says. 

He isn’t grinning, but I can see the muscles in his face straining from the effort he’s making not to. 

“Well,” says Lady Periania, “it’s a servant’s job to—”

“And you would want me,” I say, cutting her off again, “to marry a woman who listens to me less than a servant?”

She doesn’t say anything as she gazes at me.

“Q’noia, let’s be frank,” I say, “I don’t want to marry you and I don’t think you want to marry me. Instead of sticking to old traditions, where marriage is the only way to forge alliances between nations, let’s just be friends. Let’s be allies.”

“I think that would be agreeable,” says Q’noia. “I will speak to my mother when I return to the Southern Tribes. If nobody else has need of me, I think I will retire.”

“You are welcome to leave,” says Father.

“Ashan dehara,” says Q’noia as she stand. Her guard follows her out of the dining hall.

“Really, Aaron,” says my father, once the doors have shut. “If you would just pick someone to be with, we could end all of this. Tell me: who do you want to marry. No matter who this is, I will not object. I will help you and support you.”

For some reason, my mother shoots my father a strange look, almost like a warning. My father looks to Milo, a sad expression on his face. I can’t read what he’s thinking.

Milo, to his credit as a servant, does not notice. He’s standing, straight backed, facing the dining hall doors with his hands clasped behind his back.

My father looks back to me and says, “I love you, son. I will stand by you no matter what. But you must choose a spouse. It is…expected…of you.”

“What your father is trying to say,” says my mother, “is that we love you. We want you to be with the person you love. We will wait until you’re ready. Until you…” she pauses, gazing at me, “...until you find that person.”

***

Later that night, I enter my room, closing the door behind me, to find Milo straightening my pillow. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing, though he’s punching it rather hard. 

“Does the pillow owe you money?” I ask.

He looks up at me, his mouth downturned in a frown.

“Q’noia?” I ask, already knowing what’s on his mind.

“Not her specifically,” he says, putting the pillow in its rightful place. He sits on the side of the bed and I walk up to him. 

“Then what?”

He looks up at me and I can see the hopelessness in his eyes.

“It will never be me,” he says. “Not really.” I start to object, but he cuts me off.

“Don’t, Aaron. Please, just…don’t.”

I move closer to him, pushing my legs in between his and wrapping my arms around his head, pulling him into me.

“I don’t care about being king consort,” he says, almost out of nowhere. I pull back enough to tilt his head up so he’s looking at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I love you, Aaron. I love being with you. It sounds sappy, I know, but you…complete me. Without you, I’m just…hollow.”

“I feel the same way,” I tell him. I bend down and kiss him, he kisses back. Everytime our lips touch, I feel electricity shooting between us. Primal, raw, powerful.

When we break apart, he says, “I want to be with you, but—”

“Don’t!” I say, cutting him off. I know what he’s going to say, and I won’t have it.

“But—”

“No, Milo.” I drop down to my knees and look up at him. I take a deep breath, then speak.

“Listen,” I say, “if you don’t want to be with me—don’t interrupt me, please—if you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. I love you and I want you to be happy. But I want to be with you. You’re everything to me. I have to play this game, play the part of the prince looking for a suitor, for my father. But it isn’t real.

“You make me feel more alive. More like myself. I’m always surrounded by people who treat me as His Royal Highness, Aaron Herris, Prince of Middor. You don’t do that. You don’t see the crown, or the title, or the riches. You see me. And that’s just one of the reasons I love you.”

“I can’t do this, Aaron,” he says. “I can’t sit by and serve you food while I watch your father force you to court women—court anyone who isn’t me. What happens when he forces you to marry someone? What happens if he finds out about us and exiles me or executes me?”

“That won’t happen,” I say, clutching his hand. “I won’t let it. If he tries to exile you, I’ll leave with you. If he tries to execute you, I’ll figure out a way to free you.”

He smiles, but it’s not a full smile. It speaks of sadness.

“I can’t give you the same things a queen can,” he says. “I can’t bear children.”

“I want children someday,” I say, “but I’d rather it be with someone I love than someone I’m forced to marry. We’ll figure this out, I promise. One day, you will be king consort and will rule Midoor by my side. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

He shakes his head, looking deep into my eyes. I push myself up farther so we’re eye level, then put my forehead against his and place my right hand on his left ear.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “This is a school child thing.”

“It’s serious,” I say. “It’s a mind promise.”

I know it’s silly. This tradition stems from an old ritual people used to do where they linked pinkies together. A pinky pact, I think it was called.

He smiles and places his right hand on my left ear, looking me in the eyes.

“Milo,” I say, “I promise to you that we will marry, here, in the palace. I promise that you will be my one and only and that I will do everything in my power to keep you by my side and make you my king consort.”

“Okay,” he says, “but you have to promise something in return.”

That is the way the mind promise words, so I nod.

“You can’t ever give up on being king. Even if it means letting me go. I love you, Aaron, but being king is something you’ve wanted forever. I won’t stop you from that. If we’re discovered and I have to leave, let me. If I’m exiled, don’t come with me. No, don’t interrupt me—” he adds, when I try to speak. I close my mouth as he starts to speak again, “—Midoor needs a king like you. I can’t let my own happiness sacrifice the good fortune of the people of Midoor.”

Those words. What he said. It solidified what I’ve always known. Milo would make a great king. I want to argue. After all, if my father were to discover us, he could exile Milo. I would want to go with him. But Milo is right; I can’t abandon my people. If he were exiled, I would wait. I would wait to become king, have him return to me.

“Do you promise?” he asks.

I nod my head. He does the same. 

Almost autonomously, I lift my face and press my lips into his. He wraps his arms around my head and pulls me closer into him. I rise as he pulls, guiding me to lay on top of him. I kiss him, hard and passionate, wanting to convey everything I just told him back into this single kiss. 

I can’t help it. When we’re like this, so connected, so joined, my sex drive skyrockets to unbelievable lengths. Not that it matters; his does too. As I push my already hard cock into him, I feel his press into mine. 

We lay on my bed, dry humping, for what feels like eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms.

*Present Day*

*Aaron*

Why am I so warm? The last thing I remember is the avalanche collapsing on top of me. I should be frozen, encased in ice and snow. Maybe my nerves have frozen and I’ve barely attained consciousness.

“What…avalanche…Milo…magic.”

I hear disjointed words as my body feels like it’s coming to life. I can’t make out much, but I can hear a fire crackling nearby and Milo’s name rings in my head. Wherever I am, someone is talking about him. 

I put all of my effort into returning to consciousness, but it’s so hard. I feel as though I’m underwater, about to black out, but I can see the light above. If I can just reach it, just break the surface.

“...snow…mountain…Zannir…Rullox…”

I fade back into unconsciousness and experience nothing but blackness. No dreams, no words, no thoughts.

When I come to next, my eyes snap open and I realize I’m in a cave. A fire close by casts warmth and light upon me, but I feel warmer than a fire should make me in this cold. 

I sit up too quickly, sending a nauseous wave crashing over my body. I sit forward, my face cradled in my hands, and feel something hard press into the flesh there, but I don’t care.

“Your Majesty?” says a voice to my right. I don’t recognize it. 

“Is he okay?” says Sir Oswald. 

Sir Oswald?!

I force my eyes open and look to him. There he is, sitting beside a fire in the cave, looking whole and healthy.

“Oswald?” I ask. “You’re okay?”

“I am, Your Majesty, but please don’t move.”

He doesn’t need to tell me that. I’m so weak, I’m not sure I’ll ever move again. I look to the other person in our cave. She’s a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her soft, round face gives off a motherly vibe as she smiles at me.

“It’s good to see you awake, Your Majesty,” she says. “I’m Corrine Malta.”

“Malta?” I echo. I know that name. She’s a messenger, tasked with sending messages between Midoor and our forces here.

“Yes, sire,” she says. “I came to bring you a message from King Milo and I found you in the snow. Well, I saw your arm, anyway.”

“I was able to follow the path you took,” says Oswlad, “and I found Messenger Malta digging you out.”

“We brought you back to this cave so you could rest and recuperate. You should really squeeze that crystal thing,” she says, pointing to my open palm. “King Milo made it for you.”

I look down at the hard thing in my hand and realize it’s a crystal with a bright red center, surrounded by a yellow glow. I close my fingers over it and feel warmth spread throughout my entire body. Only now that it’s stopped do I realize my teeth had been chattering.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Here,” says Malta, holding out an envelope to me. It’s sealed with wax bearing the Heris Family Crest on it. I rip it open and find a letter from Milo.

 

Aaron,

I hope you’re doing well. I don’t mean to spare the niceties, or whatever the proper term for it is. You know what? I’m not going to write this like a royal, I’m just going to tell you what’s going on.

I have magic. I tried to make the Sun Kissed Rose bloom with my powers, but it didn’t work. Piper discovered it when I was in the infirmary after taking Elaine’s medicine. I helped her to create the phials Malta is going to give you. The ones with yellow will warm you when you squeeze them. The ones with black will explode when they’re thrown. Be careful with the black ones. We didn’t test them and I don’t know how powerful my magic is.

I want you to focus on taking the Lower Reach, but you have to know something. Elaine is getting worse. I don’t know why and I don’t want to explain in this letter. But the medicine is the key to making her better, I’m sure of it. I’m working on finding out the helpers of the Red Hand. They seem to be under our very noses.

More importantly, I know who’s been making those handprints all over the place. I’m not going to tell you in this letter, but you won’t believe it. I don’t know why it’s taking so long, Zelda is working on curing your mother as we speak. Take the Lower Reach and return home. I have things handled here, but I need you. I know how you are and I know you’re going to be worried about me, but I’ve got this.

I want you to know that I’ve been trying to get closer to Piper. She’s a bit like Corianne, actually. 

I’ll send you more phials when we can make them. I can’t wait to see you again.

I love you!

-Milo

 

To an ordinary person, this would look like nothing more than a letter, but I know better. This letter is riddled with code. I go line by line, trying to understand it.

Him mentioning the Sun Kissed Rose is what tipped me off. That’s our code, in writing, for hidden messages, so I know what that means.

He has magic? I don’t think that’s a code, but I’m taken aback. I can’t focus on that right now, and it doesn’t matter to me anyway, so I move on. I’m glad to know what the phials do, though I’ve only seen the warming ones. I’m looking forward to trying out the exploding ones. We’ll have to be careful who we gives those to.

In the next paragraph, he mentions he doesn’t want to explain something in the letter, which means there’s something hidden there. I only have to wrack my brain for a moment before I remember. Saying “I don’t know why” means the next line will have a lie in it, usually the opposite. If I’m correct, the medicine is what’s making my mother ill. 

That doesn’t make sense. Zelda is giving the medicine to my mother. Zelda is the woman who helped birth me. She would never turn on the Royal Family.

The next paragraph mentions Red Hands “under our very noses.” This obviously means that there are Red Hands working within the palace, something we already suspected. He must have found a way to root them out.

When I get to the next paragraph, I’m stunned. He mentions who’s been leaving handprints everywhere. This is clearly a nod at the Red Hand, and the person who’s leaving the prints? Could that be their leader. Next is a line about not saying it in the letter, meaning the next sentence is a clue. It’s about Zelda. It mentions that he doesn’t know, which means the next part is a lie and says Zelda is working on a cure for my mother.

Milo wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true. He wouldn’t accuse her like that. Just before that, he mentioned the person leaving the handprints. He said I wouldn’t believe it, and…I don’t. But I trust him.

Until I have evidence of other proof, I have to believe that Zelda is the leader of the Red Hand.

“Are you alright, Your Majesty?” asks Oswald.

I look to him and try to arrange my face into a neutral expression. Malta is looking at me curiously, but I can’t tell her what I read in the letter. Instead, I throw it into the fire and watch as it curls.

“It’s sensitive Crown information,” I say, knowing that will prevent further questions. I sit and stare into the fire, though I hold the warming phial in my hand. I don’t know how, but I can tell Milo made it. When I clutch it, it’s like a part of his electricity is shooting through me, and I need that strength.

Zelda has served my family for years. She helped my mother through the birthing process of not only me, but Riley. She stood by my side when I wanted to marry Milo. In fact, the only decision of mine she hasn’t been entirely on board with was making magic legal.

How could she be the leader of the Red Hand? How long has she worked to get where she is? Being on the Small Council of the king is no small feat. This is a plan she must have been working on for decades. 

“Do you want to know how I found you?” asks Malta, grinning.

I look at her. Milo said he has things under control in Midoor, that part of his letter wasn’t written in code. I have to trust him. My focus should be on here, on taking the Lower Reach.

“Yes,” I say.

“I was given general directions to the location of your cave,” she begins. Beside her, Oswald looks like he wants to speak, but he doesn’t say anything. “I looked at a map and saw that following the base of Mount Mono was the fastest way to reach it. I saw your arm poking out of the snow and started to dig you out. When Sir Oswald joined me, we got you out and carried you into this cave.”

“Sire,” says Oswald as soon as she finishes. “I wanted to give you time to read King Milo’s letter but you should know that this cave—”

“—oh, yeah!” Malta shouts, cutting off Oswald. “Your Majesty, this cave leads right up into Luxom. It’s the evacuation tunnel used by King Zannir. He hasn’t used it, though, for some reason.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, ignoring Oswald’s outrage.

I know he’s upset that he was cut off, but messengers have a weird sort of authority in Midoor. They’re specially trained not to give away information, even under torture, and have a higher security clearance than even Oswald. In fact, only Commander Delgara, Cara, Milo, and I have higher clearance than they do. 

They even supercede the Small Council when it comes to classified information. Unless one of us send correspondence, the messenger knows the entirety of the information so they can destroy documents but still relay information upon request. For this reason, I know Malta has no idea what was contained in the letter Milo sent me.

“I found it,” says Malta, proudly. “I tried to take cover from the storm behind some trees near the entrance and found it. It’s completely invisible from the outside. You have to crawl to get in here. Pulling you through wasn’t easy, Your Majesty.”

“What is our position with Rullox?” I ask Oswald directly. “What’s going on with the storm?”

“Sire, you’ve been asleep for two days,” says Oswald. “We used the phial to keep you warm. Piper Dylan told Messenger Malta what the phials do, and she has them all with her.”

“And Rullox?” I insist.

“We’ve taken the city,” he says. “Captain Rill led his forces in when the snowstorm hit. It was actually easier than he expected.” I feel a slight bit of relief until Oswald speaks again. “It appears that King Zannir has pulled the bulk of his forces into the mountain. They’re defending Luxom with everything they have.”

“Why hasn’t he fled through this tunnel?” I ask.

“He can’t,” he says. The entrance up ahead appears to be blocked. The earthquake must have collapsed part of it. Large boulders block the way. Our forces are entrenched in Rullox, awaiting your orders. Currently, General Braid is commanding on your orders, or so she says.”

“She is,” I say. 

“What are your orders, sire?”

“You say I’ve been here for two days?”

“Yep,” says Malta. “We’ve been pouring stew into your mouth every few hours. Once we took Rullox, we were able to get food easily enough.”

“So Rullox isn’t far from here?”

“It’s a ten minute walk from the entrance of this cave,” says Oswald. “Should we take you there?”

“No,” I say, a plan forming in my mind. “General Braid has orders to attack Luxom if I didn’t come back in three days. Malta, hand me the bag with the phials.” She hands it over and I start digging through the small crystals. “Let’s climb through this tunnel and sneak into Luxom.”

“But, sire,” says Oswald, “the tunnel is blocked.”

I hold up one of the black and red phials. The firelight dances through it, making it shimmer.

“I think I have a way past that.”