A Prince's Pride

 *Aaron*

The Krishan lead us up into the palace. When we visited Rija here for his dinner, we were taken to a side entrance that led up to his rooms. Now, we're being led down a long corridor carpeted in purple. Solid gold pedestals line the hallway, topped with large silver vases inlaid with precious gems. Seeing this wealth here turns my stomach when I think about the Path of the Fallen not too far from here. 

Little as Midoor needs another war, I can't let Sultan Aegor's attack on me and Milo go unanswered. Though I'm not entirely sure what brought this on, I'm expecting it has something to do with what the old woman was telling me. 

Entering his own people into a drawing and watching them murder each other for his entertainment is deplorable enough. But forcing the winner to sleep with him and executing them if they don't produce an heir? Unforgivable. 

Milo, Riley, Piper, Oswald, Exavier, Gavin, and I are led through corridor after corridor until we enter the throne room. I have no idea where Olivia is, but I know better than to ask. At least thirty Krishan are here, not including the dozen that led us up here.

I glance around at the white marble floors, walls, and ceilings. Columns of gold, inlaid with vines of silver connect the floor and the ceiling. Unless they contain a center beam of steel or concrete, they must be purely decorative, as gold is a rather soft metal. 

Sitting upon a dark granite throne draped in scarves of purple and red sits Sultan Aegor Ran. Though I know he’s in his late sixties, Aegor looks good for his age. His skin is tight across his unblemished face and his hair, which is gray and speckled with black, is full. I guess when you don’t put a lot of resources into feeding your people, you can afford medicines to make you look younger.

We're marched before the Sultan and lined up with Riley and Gavin on my left and Milo and Piper on my right. I’m not going to take my eyes off Aegor, so I can only assume our guards are gathered up behind us. In situations like this, Oswald is trained to give me a sign, by clearing his throat, if he thinks our guards can take our captors with minimal losses on our side. I’ll be listening for that sound, but he’s been silent so far.

Aegor stares down at me, a sour look on his face. He turns to one of his Krishan and gives him a slight nod. The Krishan leaves and returns a moment later with Prince Rija in tow. I feel Milo tense up next to me, but I’m not sure why.

“So,” says Aegor, looking at me, “it looks like we have a problem.”

“You can do whatever you want to us, Aegor,” I say, “but please leave the woman alone.”

I don’t know enough about Aegor to know what he’s going to do to us, but I don't want the woman to suffer for telling us. 

"She was just trying to do what's right, telling us about the drawing,” I add.

"Woman?" asks Aegor. "What woman?"

"When we arrested the Emperor," says the Krishan who bound my wrists, "Parina Dotela was talking to him in an alley. She's the mother of Orelia, one of the tributes."

"So you know about the drawing, then," says Aegor, sounding disappointed. 

"You didn't know that?" I ask, feeling my heart drop into my stomach. "Why are we here then?"

"Your husband—” he pronounces the word "husband" with a sneer on his face, "—attacked my son, Rija, in the middle of the street. I brought you here to deport you back to Midoor."

My stomach twists around my heart. If I hadn't mentioned the drawing, we'd be on our way home soon. 

 "But now that you know about the drawing…" Aegor heaves a deep sigh, "I can never let you leave. If you do, you will surely bring your army here."

"This drawing is an affront, Aegor," I say. 

"It is our custom!" he shouts. "I will not allow foreigners to interfere with the workings of my nation. Especially ones who live the kind of lives you choose to.”

He’s obviously referring to us being gay, and Milo shouts, “Hey!” through his gag, though it comes out muffled.

“The kinds of lives we lead?” I ask, enraged. “Look around you, Sultan. You live in luxury, surrounded by wealth, while you have citizens lying in the street, starving and homeless.”

“What should I care for the lives of peasants?” he spits.

“A leader is only as good as the worst conditions his subjects must endure. I would never allow something like that to happen in Midoor.”

Aegor stands and walks up to me. He’s much shorter than he appears when sitting on his throne. He looks up at me, his brows knitted together in frustration.

“Now that you know about the drawing, my original intention was to just have you executed, but I have a better idea in mind.” He turns his head slowly and looks Riley up and down, then sidesteps in front of her.

“You’re a beautiful piece of meat,” he says, his eyes full of lust. I start to move toward him, but a Krishan grabs my bound wrists and pulls me back.

“Get the fuck out of my face,” says Riley.

“You have a mouth on you, don’t you, woman? I want to see your brother punished for insulting me,” says Aegor, his voice quivering with excitement. “What better way than to put you in the arena? And if you win,” he adds, running the back of his fingers down Riley’s cheek, “you will get to see what a real man feels like deep inside you.”

Riley lets out a disgusted sound, then headbutts the Sultan on his nose. He staggers back, holding his face as blood runs down under his fingers, then lets out an enraged scream as he looks at Riley.

The Krishan behind Riley pulls a blade up and puts it to her throat.

“No!” Aegor cries out. “She doesn’t deserve such a quick death. Take them to the dungeons and prepare her for the arena!”

“What should we do with their guards, Your Majesty?” asks the Krishan holding my binds.

“Execute them immediately. But don’t do it here. The floors were just cleaned.”

“No!” I shout, thinking mainly of Oswald and Exavier, but there’s nothing we can do. As we’re led out of the throne room by the Krishan, I look over my shoulder to see Oswald, Exavier, and the rest of my guards being led away through a door off the side of the throne room. 

Oswald’s eyes meet mine. He closes his for a moment and gives me a nod. A goodbye. 

I’m sure I’ll never see him again.

*Milo*

We’re taken out of the throne room and led down corridors and staircases to the dungeons of the Khal Majal. The room we’re pushed into has only two large cells. They put Aaron, Gavin, and Riley in one, and me and Piper in the other. While the others are allowed to roam their cell, Piper and I are chained to the wall with less than a foot of walking room, though they remove our gags and leave us, slamming the door shut.

“Milo, are you okay?” asks Aaron, looking at me.

“Not really,” I answer. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” says Aaron, sounding business-like, hope blossoming on his face as a plan forms in his mind. “One of you need to use your magic to break your chains, then unlock our doors. Piper, can you conjure some weapons or something for us? I don’t really know how that kind of magic works. We’ll fight our way back up to the throne room and, with any hope, we can make it to the guards before they’re executed.”

“Aaron—” Piper begins, but Aaron cuts her off.

“Then,” he says, “we just have to find the Sultan and take him down. I can’t believe everyone living in Sandalia is happy with his rule. If we can gather a following, we can overthrow the government and add Sandalia as an annex to Theo. I think our best bet is to bring in some of our army to protect whoever we put in charge.”

“Aaron—” I begin, but I’m cut off too.

“We’ll have to get word to our forces in the Lower Reach,” Aaron continues. “There’s some Sandalian soldiers there helping us. If they turn on our troops before we can let them know, the results could be catastrophic. Though, we’ve gained a good foothold there, so I doubt we could lose the Lower Reach. Also, the Sultan won’t want to give the order to attack until we’re dead. If we can get to him first, we stand a chance.”

“Aaron!” Riley says loudly. “They’re trying to say something.”

Aaron looks to me imploringly, but with an impatient expression on his face, like I’ve interrupted him doing something important.

“We can’t use our magic,” says Piper. “They put binding cuffs on us. They bind our magic until they’re removed or until the enchantment runs out. We’d be dead by that time.”

I see the hope drain from Aaron’s face as he tries to think a way out of our situation.

“Have you tried to use your powers?” he asks.

“I’ve been trying since they put it on me,” I say. “They told me they were taking us in because I attacked Rija and I didn’t want to cause an incident by refusing. I didn’t even know they’d gotten to Piper until I saw them bringing her to me. They gagged us just before you arrived at the palace gates.”

“What’s all this business about a drawing, anyway?” asks Gavin.

“They hold a drawing every year,” says Aaron, sitting on the bench in their cell, looking utterly hopeless. “Every woman in her early twenties must enter and they draw several names. They fight to the death for the chance to sleep with the Sultan, but are executed if they don’t get pregnant.”

“That’s disgusting,” says Piper.

“And he wants me in the arena?” says Riley, looking scared for the first time.

“I won’t let that happen to you,” Gavin and Aaron say together, though it’s Gavin who walks up and wraps his arms around Riley. Their words sound hollow to me. An empty promise.

“Wait a moment,” says Aaron. I can’t help but think he’s just come up with a brilliant plan, some way to get us out of this, but then he turns to me and asks, “Why did you attack Rija?”

I look to the ground, ashamed. “I went to his room today to get another magic lesson. We were practicing, things got kind of crazy, and…” I pause, aware of the four pairs of eyes trained on me, “and we kissed.”

I look up at Aaron and his face turns stony. 

“He kissed you?” he asks.

“I don’t know. We were so caught up in things and I’m not exactly sure how it happened. It all happened so fast. We were just practicing magic and we were lifted off the ground and…I don’t know.” Aaron turns away from me and I rush to explain. “I’m so sorry Aaron. Right after it happened, I was trying to find you, to tell you. But Rija came after me and he grabbed my arm and—”

“He grabbed you?!” says Aaron, sounding angry again, his eyes turning back to mine. 

“Yes, and I lashed out and I attacked him, telekinetically throwing him into a wall. Minutes later, I was arrested.”

“I’m going to kill that fucking son of a bitch,” says Aaron darkly.

“Aaron, I—” But Aaron glares at me, cutting my words off. He stands and walks to the far end of the cell, looking through the bars. He ignores me when I try saying his name again.

“This is all my fault,” says Aaron to no one. “If I hadn’t mentioned the drawing…” His sentence trails off, unfinished. 

We sit in silence for what feels like hours. I know everyone is trying to think of ways to get us out of this, but nobody seems able to come up with anything. I want to apologize to Aaron again, to make everything right, but I don’t know what I would say.

After a long time, the door opens to our cell room. 

“We’re here for the princess,” says the Krishan who arrested Aaron. “You two, back up against the wall. And before you get any bright ideas, we’ve decided to keep your guards alive for now. If you try to make a move against us, we’ll execute them one-by-one.”

I feel a spark of hope come alive in my chest. Maybe we can still save them!

Aaron and Gavin move to the back wall as Riley steps forward, her head held high. I can see a small bruise forming on her forehead where she hit the Sultan.

The Krishan fits a key into the door and swings it open. Trying to look as dignified as possible, Riley steps through the door.

*Riley*

“Come with me, Your Highness,” the Krishan says to Riley, holding his hand out as if saying, “Ladies first.” Riley walks through the cell door, her shoulders back, her head held high, like her mother taught her a princess should walk.

At the door to the room, Riley looks back at her brother and friends, wanting to see them for the last time, but she doesn’t get a chance. The Krishan pushes her in the back roughly, shoving her into the corridor where two other Krishan await. 

“Right this way, Your Highness,” says the Krishan who unlocked the cell. He walks in front of her as the other two trail behind, leading her to who knows what.

“If you’re going to lead me to my death,” says Riley defiantly, “I should at least know your name.”

“My name,” says the same Krishan, “is Corrlin Thialgot. I am the High Commander of the Krishan.”

“Wow, the High Commander?” says Riley sarcastically. She supposes it should have been obvious that he was different from the rest of the Krishan. The others she's seen wear black capes, while Corrlin's is a deep purple. 

“I must be pretty important for someone like yourself to be escorting me," Riley says as though he’s leading her to a grand ball, hoping to incense him, but it doesn’t work. When he speaks again, his voice sounds level and matter-of-fact.

“I am escorting you because we are aware of how dangerous you are.”

Riley raises an eyebrow. Normally, people underestimate her due to her status as a princess. It's an advantage she's used often, but it clearly won't serve her here. When Corrlin comes to a stop outside a room at the end of a long corridor, he turns to his compatriots and gives a hand sign, his thumb touching his ring and pinky fingers, his index and middle finger held up.

The two Krishan behind her turn and one of them whispers something in Sandalian.

“Listen, Your Highness,” says Corrlin, very fast and very quietly, “I never imagined the Sultan would enter you in the Chariot, this is what we call the fight in the arena. I had hoped you would only be deported. I am a member of a rebellion group known as the Dehaka, or the Peoples’ Shield, in English. I reported Emperor Milo’s attack on Prince Rija, knowing he would be protected by his dignitary status and that you would be deported.”

“Wait, what?” asks Riley, confused. “Slow down.”

“I cannot,” he says, even faster, “we are expected behind this door very soon. We had planned to use this year’s Chariot as a staging ground for a coup, placing our leader as the head of the government. He has many spies placed throughout the kingdom and is in place to seize control. He is a man of the people and will help us.”

“Your leader? Who’s your leader?”

“Prince Rija, of course. He has spent his very young life gaining allies, working against his father. His brothers and sisters do not like their father either. Not even the Trifecton.”

“The Trifecton? What’s that?”

One of the Krishan behind Riley whispers something in Sandalian. 

“There is no time. We have but seconds left. Just know this hand sign—” he does the hand sign again, “—known as the Pecuro, is a hand sign known to the Dehaka. If anyone gives you that sign, they are on your side. I can not keep you out of the Chariot, but you must do whatever you have to do survive.”

The way he says that last sentence, it's almost like he's trying to tell her something.

“Why didn’t you tell us this in the cells?” asks Riley.

“Some walls can hear by magic in the palace. It is not safe everywhere. The Sultan’s sorcerers are powerful. One last thing is—” But he never has a chance to finish the sentence.

The same Krishan behind Riley says something in Sandlian and they turn around to face her again. All of a sudden, Corrlin’s attitude changes. 

“Right this way, Your Highness,” he says, suddenly business-like, and opens the door.

Corrlin leads Riley and the two guards behind her into a small, well-lit room where Riley finds a woman who is covered from head to toe in flowing garments, though a gap in her headdress allows her eyes to be shown.

“Make sure the Princess looks good for her chance in the Chariot,” says Corrlin bitterly. He pushes Riley into the room and the woman leads her to a chair where she sits down.

“Hold still, Your Highness,” says the woman, reaching for makeup on a table with a mirror behind it.

As Riley sits still, allowing her face to be painted, her mind starts racing. If what Corrlin says can be trusted, there’s a rebellion happening in Sandalia with Rija in charge of it. The High Commander of the Krishan and at least the other two Krishan in the room are part of it, which means there are probably more. All of a sudden, Riley’s skin chills and gooseflesh erupts over her as she remembers what Corrlin said about the walls being able to hear.

Milo told them Rija kissed him, or that they kissed each other at least. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Milo kissing a man who wasn’t her brother, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. If the walls can hear, and the Sultan knows his son kissed another man, what would happen to the leader of the Dehaka?

Even more questionable is why Corrlin told Riley all of this in the first place. If he was hoping to make an alliance with Midoor, talking to Aaron or Milo would’ve made more sense. If that is what the Dehaka wanted, however, wouldn’t they have found a way to get a message to them before now?

“All done, Your Highness,” says the woman. Riley looks at her makeup. It’s been applied with a light hand, accentuating her features, but distorting none. She looks pretty, but utterly recognizable.

“Just one last thing,” says Corrlin. “His Majesty has ordered that you wear this during the Chariot.”

The woman walks out of sight for a moment and returns with the emerald green dress the woman in the dress shop gave to Aaron.

Riley stands and is about to remove her clothing, when she notices the guards staring at her.

“Can I get some privacy while I change, please?” she asks in a dignified voice.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” says Corrlin. “We were ordered not to take our eyes off you for even a moment until you were in the dock.”

Riley sniffs her disapproval as she disrobes, glad she was wearing undergarments, and pulls the dress over herself with the woman’s help. 

She looks at herself in the mirror and appreciates the beauty of the dress, the way it fits her perfectly. She’s also happy about the slit running up the side. It will make moving much easier, though she won’t kill any of the other girls if she can help it. 

“Follow us,” says Corrlin after Riley’s put her shoes back on. He leads her through the changing room to a small room with two sets of barred walls, each with a gate. Riley steps into the small room, which she assumes is the dock, and Corrlin locks her in.

“In five minutes time, a gong will sound and the electrical lock on the other door will disengage. You must go into the arena or you will be disqualified and executed,” says Corrlin. “But that choice is up to you.”

Riley gives him a nod and he walks away, not glancing back at her. She turns and moves to the other gate, looking out over the arena. Crates, broken down chariots, and stone walls are littered around the arena. High up above, she can see hundreds of people sitting, ready to watch the show. Are they here because they enjoy it, or are they required to be here? If this many citizens knows about the Chariot, why has nothing been done about it?

Off in the distance, surrounding the circular design of the arena, Riley can see the other barred gates, though some obstacles in the arena block everything but the very tops of the doors.

As she scans around, Riley’s eyes land on a bow and a quiver full of arrows not too far from her gate. That would be her best chance at survival.

Every other thought is drowned from her head as a voice booms out around the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the voice of Sultan Aegor Ran calls out, “Let the 97th Chariot Games begin!”

*Aaron*

We’re sitting in the stands around the arena, looking down. From this distance, I can’t tell which of the rooms I heard someone call a dock Riley stands in.

“This year, we have a special treat,” says the Sultan. I can’t tell where he’s at, but it’s clear he’s using the technology we sent him to magnify his voice throughout the arena. “Princess Riley Heris of Midoor is one of the tributes. She and her brother are here as my honored guests.” 

A cheer erupts through the arena, though I can tell not everyone in the crowd is cheering. Surely, hopefully, most of them don’t enjoy this sport.

“We also have another special guest. Someone who made Princess Riley’s participation in these games possible.”

From one of the docks, a Krishan comes out with a woman, her hands tied behind her back, and a bag over her head. They walk into the middle of the arena where a raised dais stands and he pulls the bag off the woman’s head.

One of the tributes screams, probably Orelia, the daughter of the woman from the dress shop, for it’s her mother who stands on the dais. 

“This woman, Parina Dotela, told the emperor about these games, making her a traitor. She will die for this.”

“No!” shouts Orelia, but it doesn’t matter. In one fluid motion, the Krishan slits Parina’s throat and pushes her body over to land on the dais. Orelia starts sobbing, calling her mother’s name, and saying something in Sandalian. 

To me, it feels as though Parina’s blood, now spreading over the dais, is soaking into my skin. Her death is my fault. All of this is my fault.

When the Krishan who killed Parina is back to safety, the Sultan begins speaking again.

“Now, onto the real fun. Tributes, when the gong sounds, your gates will unlock. Get to a weapon, fight, kill, and rise to glory!”

A pregnant pause stretches throughout the arena until a loud gong rings out. The tributes push their way out of their dock and start running. My eyes find Riley instantly and I see her bend down to pick up a bow and arrows, but that’s not what catches my attention. She’s wearing the emerald dress Parina gave to her.

Orelia runs past all the weapons and the obstacles, mounting the dais. She flings herself upon her mother’s body, weeping and crying in agony. Riley is the second to reach the dais and the other tributes surround it, both looking scared of each other, but determined. There are twelve women in all.

“Stop!” Riley yells. The way the arena is set up, her voice echoes up to us so we can hear every word. “Stop! We shouldn’t be fighting each other. I have no quarrel with any of you. Our fight is with your Sultan and his sick, demented games. Our fight is with the Krishan, who uphold his evil laws. 

“Don’t turn your weapons on each other. Turn your weapons on them. Join me, and together, we’ll fight our way out of this place!”

The tributes turn and look to each other, unsure what to do. A tall, dark-skinned woman, who's holding a long sword in her left hand and a short one in her right, breaks out of the circle and climbs the steps to the dais, ignoring Orelia, and looking at Riley.

“Do you know what happens when a tribute refuses to fight?” ask the woman. Riley, not looking as confident as before, shakes her head. “They kill your whole family. I have a five-year-old daughter. What about her?”

“Exactly,” says Riley, sounding confident again. “Do you want your daughter to grow up in a world like this? To one day be a participant in the Chariot? Think of her. What would she want you to do?”

The woman looks down at the swords in her hand. I can’t see her face, but when she looks back up at Riley, Riley’s face breaks into a smile, as though she believe she’s gotten through to the woman.

“She’d want me to come home,” says the woman. Before Riley can do anything, the woman swings her sword down, driving it into the back of Orelia's neck, ending her crying abruptly. As Orelia’s body slumps over Parina’s, the woman looks up at Riley and holds her sword up in an offensive stance.

“And I’m not going to let you stop me from getting home.”

The woman lunges at Riley, who bends and thrusts her bow up, catching the woman in the face. As she falls down, she sweeps Riley’s legs, knocking her off balance. 

Riley doesn't have a chance to move as the woman walks up, grabs a fistful of Riley's hair, and drags her off the dais, screaming and kicking. 

My heartbeat quickens as I see my sister being dragged across the ground. The circle of tributes break ranks, splitting apart, as Riley and her captor approach. Riley finds a foothold and is able to push herself up, but the woman uses Riley's momentum to throw her off balance, throwing her into the corner of a ninety degree well erected in the middle of the arena.

Many in the crowd cheer as the woman advances on Riley and hunches down, blocking Riley from our view. She holds Riley's hair, saying something to her. I see the woman’s arm jerk toward Riley quickly.

When the woman stands and starts walking away from Riley, I feel a scream tear from my throat, though I can't hear it. As I look down at my sister, her face contorted in pain, the front of her dress soaked in blood, it's as if all the sound has been driven from the world. 

Riley falls forward, her body pressed against the ground. She digs her fingers into the dirt floor of the arena and pulls herself forward once, then twice. She reaches out, as if asking someone invisible to take her hand, then her arm falls and she goes still.