Bodyguard (Mordecai and Lenaara)

[Lenaara]

With a scraping sound the golden coins were moved across the table. One after the other the coins joined those identical to them in a pile on the other side of the table. A plump finger was moving them, and with each movement the ruby which adorned the golden ring on the said finger glowed from within.


The plump finger belonged to an equally plump man dressed in expensive imported silk cloth. The cloth clung to his body, stretching, nearly falling apart at the seams. Red and emerald colours were tastefully matched to not overwhelm one another, and a thick golden chain rested against his broad chest. His one hand held a leather pouch which rested against his lap, and from that pouch he took out the golden coins. It seemed that he took careful count of the coin as if he was afraid to lose at least one due to his negligent counting abilities.


Another coin joined the pile.


On the other side of the table, in front of the plump man, sat a woman. With a straight back she waited patiently, her hands folded on her lap. Unlike the man who was covered in expensive cloth, jewels, and gold, the woman was dressed travel-ready. Everything about the woman screamed foreign. Deep purple, gold, bronze, these colours stood out amongst the richly decorated office of the merchant before her. The shirt that the woman wore was of deep purple, it reached to her thighs, and on the waist was set by a wide cloth belt; sleeves were wide and ended just below her elbow. From underneath the sleeves leather bracers peeked out. On the woman’s shoulders rested a sheepskin collar tied in the middle with a thin rope, white fur at the neck of the collar hugged the woman’s neck tightly. The dark purple – almost black – pants were straight, and two long thin golden lines went through the fabric of the pants, parallel to her leg, in front of the pant leg and behind it. The tanned brown leather boots with no heel were weather worn and covered with mud on the sole.


Bronze and golden embroidery covered the woman’s clothes, unlike those of the merchant’s, which were plain coloured with no pattern whatsoever. The embroidery weaved through the bottom of the wide sleeves in various patterns, the collar was decorated with similar embroidery as well; the leather bracers and boots were also decorated, but not as heavily as the coat was.


She was olive skinned and tall. Long dusty brown hair was loose and straight, high cheekbones, defined jawline, almost grey eyes – the woman’s facial features, skin colour, colour of her clothes and the embroidery, everything indicated her origin – Izmar.


“Ah, nearly done, nearly done, my dear. You see, with today’s economy you must not lose any coin. Taxes, oh heavens the taxes, are so high as of late—ah, one hundred sixty seven,” he moved another coin towards the pile.


“I understand,” the woman replied from the other end of the table.


“Two hundred. That’s that, precisely counted if I do say so myself. As we had agreed all troublesome incidents were taken into account, as well as your behaviour, of course. Not saying that there was anything wrong with how you had conducted your duties, but, ah, my wife was most displeased at learning of our journey.”


“Displeased? Nothing had occurred,” the woman raised an eyebrow.


“I know, I know, but how should I explain it to my wife? It had caused such a ruckus last night, you won’t believe it!” the man’s plump cheeks had flared up and changed their rosy colour to a dark red.


The woman raised from the chair, one hand leaned against the table while the other one reached out behind her towards the short spear that leaned against the back of her chair. The merchant also leaned out of the chair, both his hands resting against the edges of the table, his bulging stomach nearly ripping the golden vest made from an expensive imported cloth. The cloth strained at the seams when the merchant took a deep breath and – and then both of them froze, hovering above their seats by mere inches, not moving whatsoever.


Loud knocking echoed throughout the merchant’s house. Metal against wood, the knock was heavy and persistent. A knock that would belong only to one group in the city – the guards, as only they wore iron reinforced gauntlets.


Both the woman and the merchant moved in unison. The merchant moved the coins in one sweep motion back into the leather pouch, tied it, and put it onto his belt. He moved out of her chair, opened a drawer in his table, and took out four more pouches. Each of the pouches was then put into the hidden pockets under his silk shirt. The woman, in the meantime, reached down and grabbed a pack from under her chair, swung it over her shoulder, and then pressed her spear to her side, darted downstairs soundlessly fast.


Their attempted escape was a failure.


The guards did not wait for the door to be opened. In fact, they kicked it down. The metal hinges on the door did little to stop the guards from advancing. At that time the merchant was one foot out the window, his face red and sweaty, with the woman right behind him. With her back to the merchant she stood battle ready facing the guards.


There were at least half a dozen of the guards, armed to the teeth. It was, obviously, pointless to fight them or run away. Both the merchant and the woman realised that, and both had moved away from the window. The spear was thrown on the ground, as were the leather coin pouches.


It was cold, very cold for this time of year. The rain had just stopped pouring down, filling each gap in the road with a puddle of muddy water. A cold breeze was coming from the direction of the harbour not far from this part of the town but even the tall buildings were not enough to block out the northern winds.


People moved along the road slowly as if trying to preserve as much energy as possible. Most thin and fragile, the people were hugging their coats close to their bodies, shivering under the woollen and fur collars. Only the children were active. They ran around, stomping their feet against the puddles making the muddy water fly everywhere. Women dressed in old dresses, the bottom of their skirts covered in dirt and old stains, ran after the children, scolding them.


“Ah, how dare you, little shit!” a woman squealed. Dressed in tastefully matched and colour coordinated clothing this woman would pass for a wife of a rich merchant, nothing more, as the nobility lived more to the south of the harbour town, beside the royal castle. With a grimace the woman reached out and grabbed her teal coloured skirt. Lifting it, she had pulled the child beside her closer, and as if the child was a trouble making cat, showed the dirtied skirt to the child while still holding a firm grip on his thin arm.


“Rat, d`you realise how much `tis cost?” with a face distorted by a grimace she squealed at the child, her face red with rage. The grimace did not do the woman justice as it showed every possible wrinkle that the woman had, her upper lip flared up showing off yellowing teeth.


What happened next Irene did not witness. One of the guards held her forearm, while others had circles the horse on which sat the plump merchant. The trip to the main castle south of the harbour was quiet, none of the guards talked and they ignored the merchant’s attempts to ask for justice, fair trial, real authorities, the King’s presence, witnesses, and whatnot. It would have been amusing if not for the fact that the merchant, for his illegal dealings with the neighbouring nation, would be hanged soon after the verdict of the Judge would be given, and Irene, as his bodyguard, would join the plump man on the scaffold with a noose around her neck.


The merchant was put into a separate cell and soon was led out of it by an escort of two guards. Where he was taken Irene could not see as she was placed in a separate cell on the other end of the corridor. The cells were located just under the castle, the castle that the royal family sometimes occupied at this time of the year. Whether or not the royal family occupied the castle now Irene did not know, she could not see much of the castle as both she and the merchant were led in the basement dungeon shortly after they arrived through the main gates of the castle.


Upon arrival their belongings were taken, including her spear and the travel sack, and the merchant was stripped of his jewels and coin.


The walls in the dungeon were damp and stank, the floor was covered with half rotted hay, and she could hear water dropping from the ceiling and landing in a bucket. The woman leaned against the damp stone wall of her cell, wrapped one arm around her stomach, and her other hand pressed the fur of her collar closer to her neck.


@Mordecai

 

[Mordecai]

The crowned palace of the kingdom of Elpreza, Prizlea Palace, sat like a little gem on the lonely hill. The extensive gardens stretched for over a kilometer out to either side of its stone walls, putting a buffer between its own grandeur and the poverty of the town below. It was old, over one hundred years old in fact, but not a single brick nor stone showed its age. It was groomed within an inch of its life: the gold filigree gleaming in the damp light and the marble detailing buffed until it shimmered like it was glossed with water. If the palace was an example of all that was beautiful in the world, the gardens must have divined beauty from the heavens. Flowers, like a carpet, swept out in neat rows that were dyed with colour. From all across the globe, ships sailed to the ports of Elpreza, bringing with them trees and flowers that could be added to the renowned gardens of Prizlea.


It was no wonder that the royal family had twenty-two gardeners on their payroll. Round the clock, these women tended to their gardens: watering, pruning, plucking weeds, all so the four members of the royal family could take lovely strolls whenever they saw fit. It was an astronomical expense for a breathtaking display of money and power, though the prince rather enjoyed being out amongst the flora. Strolling alongside his life-long adviser, the crowned prince Sharlemange de Lovell, occasionally nicknamed Shar, moved through the gardens at a snail's pace. The two men, the prince in his early twenties and the adviser, an older man with his blue eyes set deep into a nest of wrinkles, strolled slowly, but deliberately, through the fields.


“Your father has requested your immediate removal from the kingdom, your highness. With tensions mounting in the far West, threatening to spread all through the Kingdom and the royal city, he is looking forward to your future safety. You are set to go stay with our allies in Asangrado.”


Shar considered these words carefully. His eyes, the colour of two copper pennies, angled upwards and his hands laced behind his back. Looking at the sky, he’d swear it was seconds away from a downpour, but it had been that way for days without a single drop.


Handsome might have been a stretch, but he was agreeable enough. He had a strong jaw and a pair of absolutely stunning, root coloured eyes. He was of average height and weight, with nothing incredibly remarkable about him at all. In fact, he probably would have just faded into the background had it not been for the jewel encrusted crown placed upon his mess of curly brunette hair. The forest green of his tunic and cape complimented his olive skin-tone, coordinating with his brown jodhpurs. Everything down to the buckle on his belt and the zipper of his knee-high riding boots were polished and not a piece of fabric had a crease in it. Everything about him looked quite stately, though romantically subtle, as if to display his wealth, but not flaunt it.


“I see,” Prince Shar finally responded to the owly-faced adviser, who went by the name of Katar, “Asangrado is hundreds of kilometers away and there are plenty of hostile territories between here and there. It doesn’t seem logical then—“ Prince Shar tried to argue as diplomatically as possible. In truth, he had no interest in venturing hundreds of kilometers to some second rate nation on his father’s whim, but he was much too ambassadorial to outright refuse.


“Your highness, if I may,” Katar truncated his protests, “The king had found you a guide to keep you safe during your travels.”


“A guide?” the prince scoffed, resting a hand on the hilt of the broadsword hanging from his belt, gripping the cool metal hilt with some annoyance.


“Yes, a guide. We had her arrested earlier today.”


Such words didn’t help to settle the prince’s worried mind. Arrested? What did they take him for? Some kind of fancy baggage that could be shipped about from country to country under the likes of an arrested person? It was simply disgraceful. Had Shar had any more guts to him, he may have marched up to the King himself and demanded he remain in the royal city, but the King was a cruel, solitary man and Prince Shar dared not challenge him.


With a sigh that came from deep within him, the young man stole his cloak further around himself. It was cold for this time of year. A breeze whipped past them and pulled at his hair, blessing his cheeks with a pink tint. Winter was on the near horizon—he could smell it in the air. It was cold and brisk, and in a month’s time, these gardens would be blanketed with more snow than he would ever hope to see in his lifetime.


“Very well,” Shar clicked his tongue, deciding the arguing was a moot point. One way or another, his father would ensure he made the trip, whether it was of his own free-will or bound in the back of a carriage. It would just be causing his own self trouble if he put up a fight. “Where is this… guide?”


Relief flooded Katar’s expression. For once, the meddlesome prince of Elpreza didn’t put up a fight. Normally, it took more time and latitude to get the royal prince to agree to anything, especially when it came to matters of travel, but the young man seemed to be coming to his senses.


“She’s in the lower prison C, your highness. We have her belongings that were stripped from her in the council room. She has not exactly agreed to take you anywhere at all, sire, but after hearing the terms, I’m most certain she’ll agree.”


Terms was just a fancy way of telling people ‘do this or die.’ Prince Shar raised an eyebrow.


The king, his father, must truly be desperate for soldiers, then. Never before had he been escorted by someone so foreign, but with every able-bodied man sent to the fringe of the kingdom to quell the voices of the revolt, it would seem that his father was running out of other options. The rebels were gunning for the royal family’s heads to be put on stakes and it was only a matter of time before the riots would appear on the well groomed lawns of Prizlea Palace. That didn’t mean Shar was thrilled with the idea, but he would go along with it for now, if only to save his own head.


The pair made their way back to the palace, through the mess of corridors, hallways, and stairways before descending into dungeon C. It was a dank space—meant for enemies of the crown to spend the remainder of their pitiful life to rot.


“You,” the advisor said, coming to a brisk halt in front of the young woman’s cell, “We would like to present you with an opportunity to get out of this cell, if you’re so inclined to take a listen.”

 

[Lenaara]

The woman sat on the damp floor. Most of the hay was scooped from the all over the floor of the cell and laid down in the middle of the cell at the farthest wall. The woman sat on the small pile of hay as to avoid the dampness of the cell’s floor from seeping through her travel worn clothes. Sitting cross legged she had her wide cloth belt untied and held in one hand while the other hand held a thin golden coloured thread. Weaving in and out of the belt the woman was embroidering a complex symbol at the edge of the belt’s surface using a sharp piece of thin metal resembling a needle.


Irene had heard the two men behind the main door leading towards the dungeon moments before they entered it. Their steps were too light to be those of a guardsman or an executioner as they were not clad in the metal of their armours. Even so they did not light their footsteps in order not to be heard. Thus, Irene had visitors of an ambassadorial kind, the kind which would give her an offer of `work for us or get hanged`. Typical.


Upon hearing the words of the older man Irene had stopped embroidering her belt. Her hands pushed the small needle into a hidden pocket in her left leather bracer, pulled the cloth belt closer to her face, bit the thread, and then began wrapping the belt around her waist.


“Your Highness, Your Excellence, I had not known I would be receiving such important visitors, thus pardon my appearance,” Irene pressed her hands against her lap and stood up. A clacking sound of something small could be faintly heard when Irene moved her long braid behind her back, the sound belonged to a hair tie that held the braid in place.


“As you can see I am not able to leave the cell so I’m in no position to decide whether or not to listen to your proposal, Your Excellence. I am willing to listen, however if the proposal includes my current client I am going to decline it regardless.”


The woman moved closer to the bars of the cell, which took only a couple of steps as the cell was rather small. Once beside the bars she was lit by light coming from a nearby torch. The light did not do the woman justice – despite her age, which seemed to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, she already had faint fine lines at the corners of her nose and eyes; a faint scar could be seen coming up her neck and ending right behind her ear, the light made the scar look far bigger and wider than it actually was.

 

[Mordecai]

The walls practically felt as though they were crawling all around him. Moisture gathered up in small droplets before sliding down the rocks, giving the walls an unearthly sheen below the warm, off-orange glow of firelight. Torched hung periodically from the walls, every three meters or so, and provided just enough light to guide his feet by, but not enough to really let his eyes penetrate into the cell blocks. Dozens of prisoners were housed in these dungeons and most would never see the light ever again until they were being dragged out on the corpse cart, as it had been affectionately been dubbed by the soldiers who worked these halls. Hell, Prince Shar didn’t even know one percent of the people who were locked up in them, let alone how or why they got here. Growing up, he had been kept blissfully unaware of the seedy happenings ongoing in the underbelly of the royal palace. It wasn’t until recently that he had any kind of exposure to it at all and while he had trained to be exposed to such things his entire life, he still felt a wave of goose bumps run up his arms as he and Katar stood side-by-side.


The greeting the prison gave was typical: deferential, but not overly warm. Not that Prince Shar had any illusion that this woman had any interest in seeing him standing in front of her, but given her current situation, didn’t have much leverage to argue. “We have no interest in your current client, m’lady,” Katar responded promptly, a hint of boredom playing a note in his tone. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “What we are seeking is a guide, if you will, to take the prince to the city of Asangrado as incognito as possible. In truth, the only reason we arrested you at all was because you have a spotless reputation. If you accept and are successful, you’ll be rewarded handsomely of course. If you decline, you’ll sit here to rot, for all I care.” Katar’s lips folded over his teeth, exaggerating the wrinkles in his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes.


Katar was a brisk man and a list of things he was not, compassionate was the crowning item. It was perhaps the reason why the king had kept him in his advisory for so long. He was ruthless and did not concern himself with thing like the welfare of others. For as cruel as Katar was, Prince Shar was merciful.


“As I’m sure you are aware, there are tensions mounting in the far West of Elpreza,” Prince Shar continued, intersecting Katar’s conversation with the woman, “Therefore, in order to maintain an heir to the throne in the event of something happening to my father, I will be taking up residence in our allied kingdom of Asangrado until the time comes that the war is settled or I must take my claim to the throne as King. Seeing as I have only left Elpreza on sovereignly duties, I would stand out like a sore thumb. I need someone, someone like you, to escort me as quietly and as unnoticed as possible. You will be given access to anything you need if you choose to accept, m’lady: the royal stables, the royal armoury…” Prince Shar’s voice was strong and steady, brushed heavily with the accent of the Elprezaen people. Stepping forward into the low light of the torch, he got his first good look at her. She was pretty enough, but had the hardened look a mercenary would have to her. She looked to be about equal to him in age, perhaps add or subtract a year or two.


Over the years, many people had spoken very highly of her and her services and while the royal family didn’t make it a habit to work with wanted criminals, these were extenuating circumstances. The prince needed to get out of the kingdom as quickly and as quietly as possible—and who were the most quick and most quiet people that travelled between kingdoms? Why, that would be the criminals.


“If you decide to accept, you’ll be paid and allowed to go free once we arrived in Asangrado.”


Prince Shar understood the gamble they were taking, as there wouldn’t be anything stopping her from just turning around and killing him if she felt so inclined, but he was taking the same risk remaining in the palace. It seemed death was an inevitable possibility no matter where he went.

 

[Lenaara]

The woman listened patiently. Standing still and straight her arms were folded over her chest. As both of the men before her explained the situation she looked at the Prince. He was not overly muscular, the clothing that he wore were fairly modest for his status, and his appearance fit a typical description of an Elprezean as did his heavy accent. Judging by his posture he could wield a weapon but not professionally, perhaps enough to protect himself if needed, but his stance was also heavily influenced by his royal upbringing.


“I have no interest in the royal politics of Elpreza,” Irene finally said, “and I have also no interest in the rewards that you promise. Even so, I’m a bodyguard by trade, thus there was no need to come up with a ruse to get me into the palace. You have dealt me a low and cowardly blow. My life for the exchange of the one of a Prince?”


Irene shifted from one leg to another and looked around the cell block.


“This cell block is empty, and it’s a ways down under the palace. You took me in rather quietly, considering me aiding one of the most cunning merchants within this Nation. Judging by this, it is safe to assume that you want the Prince’s escape to be as quiet as possible, thus not many know of this plot. If I decline I die, if I accept I may die on the journey. Your promised rewards are no use to me if I am dead, and you obviously realise that I can turn in the Prince to the nearest group of rebels and leave.”


For a moment she was silent, then she moved her shoulders in a barely visible shrug.


“I will protect the Prince. However, I do not need the royal stables or the armoury, your horses and weapons will be recognized immediately. Additionally, I request a part of the payment now so as to prepare for the journey. I must prepare a horse, supplies, and Prince’s clothing. There is…uh, another matter to be taken care of. The merchant that you had arrested owes me my payment for the duration of me working for him, if he was not hanged yet that is.”

 

[Mordecai]

“Yes, perhaps that is a low and cowardly blow,” the prince laughed, his eyes lighting up with amusement in a way that only laughter could bring. In truth, her words slid off of him like water from the feathers of a loon. Over the course of his life, he had experienced many negative opinions about him swirling about the mouths of others and, in his younger years, those words hurt and disappointed him. As he matured, he realized they truly meant nothing, for everyone had secrets, skeletons, and actions they were ashamed of. He was no different, nor was the woman in front of him. “Unluckily for you, I’m not in the business of honesty, integrity, and honour. My interests lie solely with his kingdom and if takes a few less than honourable acts to ensure its longevity, I will make those decisions,” his tone was flat and diplomatic, though quite sincere, if nothing else. Shar would never be a valiant King, if he survived long enough to claim the title, but he did carry the kingdom’s best interest at heart. He was awkward and a bit blasé, but his intentions were good. In the grand scheme of things, intentions counted for very little and paled in comparison to valiance and bravery, Shar was a modest, thin gentleman who was not cutout to be a Braveheart.


No, he was an owly man with soft features and a keen eye for literature. He preferred hours in the library to hours spent on a game hunt. “And you’re right, you could turn me over to rebels, but how would that look for you when word got out you betrayed a client? If news of you betraying clients started getting spread around, you’d be hard pressed to find work,” he remained her with a pleasant enough smile, his hands resting at his sides and his stance non-threatening. Shar wasn’t all that concerned about her threats, though her probably should have been. They were operating in dangerous times when no one was what they appeared to be. That was the gamble when dealing with war, and prince Shar didn’t have any other option but to trust the woman in front of him, even though his every intuition told him otherwise. His gut writhed with anxiety at the very thought of entrusting his life in her hands. All he could do was swallow the feelings, keep a blank face, and try and ignore the nagging going on in the back of his mind.


Katar seemed pleased with her response, though Prince Shar’s expression failed to change when she made up her mind and agreed. “Your merchant’s debt will be paid. We will also supply you with half of your reward money prior to your trip. You will leave tomorrow at daybreak,” he explained, flipping through the keys until he found the correct one to unlock her cell. The door swung open with a pitiful wail of metal scraping on metal and Shar stepped back so she could exit. “Now, shall we see about your money?”


Prince Shar cleared his throat, “Actually, Katar, I’ll see to it myself, thank you. I believe it is best for me and..” the young man paused a moment, realizing he wasn’t even acquainted with her name, “my bodyguard get to know one another before our departure, don’t you think?”


Katar’s lip folded across his teeth and pressed into his cheeks with a scowl, but forced himself to humbly oblige the prince’s request. Brushing past the two of them with a less than humble bow in the prince’s direction, Katar vanished down the murky halls of the dungeon until only the sound of his boots striding up the stairs could be heard. “Now then,” Shar glanced towards the young woman, “I’m Prince Sharlemange de Lovell of Elpreza, but you are welcome to call me Shar. And you are?” his voice of words was hardly formal, but the situation didn’t call for formality. “And, shall we see about your funds?”

 

[Lenaara]

The woman shifted, her arms crossed over her chest and cocked her head to one side. “You shouldn’t worry about my future job prospects. I’ve been thinking about retiring, anyway. A body can fight only so much after reaching thirty.”


She waited for the door to open and once it was she stepped out of the cell. “I would’ve assumed you’d know my name as well as the names of all of my previous clients before even considering hiring me, Your Highness,” she made a sorry attempt for a bow in the Prince’s direction, it was noticeable that the woman was not used to following proper etiquette before the royalty, “My name is Irene D`jalaver. Before we go I must discuss the details of this job with you, Your Highness. The palace has many ears and I’d rather only the two of us to know the particulars of this job.”


For only a moment Irene eyed the Prince from top to bottom, as if remembering his features, before looking back up. “I will provide the clothes and a horse for you. Royal clothing and mounts would stand out far too much and if any of your servants go on an errand to buy such items for the palace many would get suspicious. You will also be carrying my spear whilst traveling on the main roads, as in this nation a woman is not allowed to carry a weapon. Main roads and towns will, mostly, be avoided; small villages will be our priority as not many people there know of your appearance. Is there anything you’d like to discuss, Your Highness?”

 

[Mordecai]

“Oh, yes, I know your name,” Prince Shar replied, clicking his tongue with amusement, “Of course I’ve been informed of the name you’re known by, but it’s improper for me to simply assume that is what you prefer to go by.” He was not a lot of things—he was not exceedingly handsome, an exceptional ruler, or even especially intelligent, but if nothing else, he was a gentleman. He was always conscious to mind his Ps and Qs, dot his Is, and cross his Ts; he rarely angered and often wore a pleasant smile on his face. Even know, facing possible execution while escaping his home kingdom, Prince Shar was nothing but pleasant. As he turned away to begin leading her away from the cells, he laced his hands neatly behind his back, “Irene, it’s a pleasure. No need to bow,” he dismissed her measly attempt with an amused chuckle. There would be no reason for her continue to uphold formality once they were making a harrowing escape from Elpreza to Asangrado, though he appreciated her attempt at the gesture. Still, he paused a moment when she mentioned the palace having a great number of ears. While he had immeasurable trust for all of the employees in the palace, he supposed he couldn’t argue with her. Afterall, this was her area of expertise.


“Very well,” he responded to her statements, finding no reason to argue with anything she had said, though he had to take a moment to digest the gravity of her words. All of his life, he had grown up wearing the finest silk clothing, riding the finest, most well trained horses in the kingdom, so the idea of roughing it was not exactly appealing to the young prince. All he could do though was sigh and nod agreeably It wouldn’t be permanent, he reminded himself. In a short time, they’d reach Asangrado and he could resume his life as a royal and not have to continue suffering a peasant’s life. After all, how bad could it be living for a few days as a peasant? Mentally, he spent a few moments trying to convince himself this wouldn’t be a terrible trip, but it was difficult. He was sure the disappointment was evident all across his face. “Very well, I’m assuming you’ll need payment now in order to procure such items? That should be fine,” his sophisticated lifestyle forced him to smile, though he was feeling anything but cheerful and optimistic.


There were still a number of things that needed his attention before he were to leave the palace, so it was only natural he was a little bit eager to get going. The faster they got to it, the faster they’d be in Asangrado, and the sooner he could leave the whole ordeal behind them. “If there is nothing else you wish to share with me this evening, we can get you paid and send you on your way until daybreak tomorrow.” If nothing else, he at least had the rest of the evening to enjoy palace-life: enjoy the rich food, the warm bed, and the comforts of being a royal before he had to trudge out the following morning.


Prince Shar had already accumulated a head full of things he wanted to do before departing with Irene the following morning. It went without saying he needed to pack a few small items to bring with him, but he also planned a bath for later in the evening, a nice cup of tea, and an extravagant dinner, things of little luxury he probably wouldn’t be able to enjoy until they reached Asangrado and he could put this whole nightmare behind him once and for all.


“Actually, yes, I do have one question, Irene. How long do you anticipate it taking for us to get to Asangrado?” he inquired. He had gone to Asangrado many times before, but always using the most direct routes and riding on royal horses that demonstrated exceptional speed and stamina. Who knew how long it would take when traveling back roads on thrifty, mangy little animals the serf’s generously described as horses.

 

[Lenaara]

The solitude of the cold and damp cell gave Irene the opportunity to think about her situation. Stuck in the dungeon so below the palace was suspicious, and she was not a known criminal to warrant her such a charming spot beneath the palace. In reality, the female bodyguard was not a criminal at all. Yes, protecting slimy merchants was not the best occupation, but in most nations it would not make her an accomplice. Of course, for a Prince who has not seen the reality of life, Irene seemed like a foreign peasant criminal.


Everything had to be done quietly and without suspicion, surely the capture of Irene’s client was no more than an excuse in order to get her to the palace. Or it was a coincidence, a lucky one at that. Either way, the civil war must have been getting quite out of hand to warrant the heir to the throne to be moved in such a quick manner out of the safe haven of the royal palaces.


“Ten days at least,” Irene said without a second thought, “if you’re taking the main roads. For mere travellers the roads will not be clear like they are for royals, as you must be used to, Your Highness.”


Irene nodded in the direction of the dungeon’s exit, giving the Prince a sign that they may leave and not be worried about being heard.


“Our journey will take no more than twenty days, fifteen if the luck is on our side. The main roads and towns will be avoided, while the paths between villages off to the country side will be preferred. I have travelled to Asangrado twice, both journeys took me five days, but I was taking stops every two days instead of each. My stamina may not be on par with yours, Your Highness, no offence meant. And you will be carrying my spear. Leave your weapons in the palace, the royal seal stamps each and every weapon made by the royal blacksmiths and is recognized even by a blind peasant. If anyone sees you with it, then you will be beheaded on the spot.”


Irene pressed her lips in a thin line for a second. The Prince before her was a man, despite his royal status and a crown, a young man at that, who has never seen war before. Safely protected by the palace walls as if by his mother’s skirt, the Prince was not forged by the reality of this world. He may have read about it or heard stories from his servants, but surely the words `you may get dead` were not as common to him as one thought, and those words would mean no more than an insult than a harsh reflection of reality. Being protected by some strange foreign manlike woman bodyguard whilst on a journey to an alien nation was a complete change of surroundings for the Prince.


“There is still time to change your mind, Your Highness. A royal guard and an escort may be safer for you, for both of us,” Irene’s voice sounded much gentler now, the business like tone that she was so used to vanished.