Kings Rising (Captive Prince 3)

‘You don’t think so?’ said the Regent.

‘Damen,’ said Laurent.

‘He wants you to leave,’ said the Regent. ‘Aren’t you curious why?’

‘Damen,’ said Laurent.

‘He has knelt for me.’

The Regent said it in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, so that it didn’t penetrate at first. It was just a collection of words. Even when Damen turned, to see crimson on Laurent’s cheeks like a stain. And then the meaning of those words began forcing out all other thought.

‘I probably should have turned him away, but who can resist when a boy with a face like that asks you to stay with him? He was so lonely after his brother died. “Uncle, don’t leave me alone—”’

Rage; it provided clarity and simplicity, burning away all thought. Laurent’s awful expression, the movement of the white-cloaked sentries at the first scrape of steel—all of that was unimportant, flashed impressions. Damen had drawn his sword and was going to drive it into the Regent’s unarmed body.

There was a sentry in his way. Another. The ringing sound of his sword had triggered a cascade of action. White-cloaked sentries of the Kingsmeet were flooding the hall, shouting orders. Stop him! They were in his way. He would remove them. The crunch of bone, a scream of pain—these were the best fighters in Akielos, hand-picked. They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but killing the Regent.

A battering blow to his head momentarily blackened his vision. He staggered, then righted himself. Another. He was surrounded, held down by eight men struggling to contain him, others shouting for reinforcements. He half tore himself from their grip, and when he couldn’t free himself, he bodily dragged them forward, wielding sheer strength against them, like wading through quicksand, or through a full sea.

He made it four steps before another blow brought him down. His knees hit the marble. His arm was wrenched behind him, and he felt the cold, hard iron before he understood what was happening, the chains on his wrists and legs hobbling him. His movement was totally restrained.

Panting, on his knees, Damen began to come back to himself. His bloody, discarded sword lay on the stone five feet away, where it had been forced from his hand. The hall was full of white cloaks, not all of them standing. One of the soldiers had his hand clutched to his stomach, where blood blossomed red across the white livery. There were six others on the ground near him, three who weren’t getting up. The Regent was still standing, several feet away.

In the panting silence of the hall, one of the kneeling sentries rose and began to speak. ‘You have drawn your sword in the Kingsmeet.’

Damen’s eyes locked on the Regent’s. Nothing mattered but a promise. ‘I’m going to kill you.’

‘You have broken the peace of the hall.’

Damen said, ‘The moment you laid your hands on him, you were dead.’

‘The laws of the Kingsmeet are sacred.’

Damen said, ‘I will be the last thing that you see. You will go to the ground with my blade in your flesh.’

‘Your life is forfeit to the King,’ said the sentry.

Damen heard the words. The laugh that came out of him was hollow and jagged. ‘The King?’ he said, with total scorn. ‘Which King?’

Laurent was staring at him wi

th huge eyes. Unlike Damen, it had only taken one of the Kingsmeet soldiers to restrain Laurent, his arms forced behind his back, his breathing shallow.

‘In fact, there is only one King here,’ said the Regent.

And slowly, the impact of what he had done began to make itself clear to Damen.

He looked at the devastation of the Kingsmeet, the blood-streaked marble, and the gathered sentries in disarray, the peace of its sanctum shattered.

‘No,’ said Damen. ‘You heard what he did.’ Roughened, it came out of him. ‘You all heard him, are you going to let him do this?’

The sentry who had risen ignored him, and approached the Regent. Damen struggled again, and felt the strain on his arms brought almost to breaking point by the men holding him.

The sentry bowed his head to the Regent, said, ‘You are the King of Vere and not of Akielos, but the attack was against you, and a king’s judgement is sacred in the Kingsmeet. Pass your sentence.’

‘Kill him,’ said the Regent.

He spoke with indifferent authority. Damen’s forehead was pushed down to the cold stone, and there was the scrape of metal as his sword was picked up from the marble. A white-cloaked soldier came forward holding it in the two-handed grip of the executioner.