Javier knelt beside her, his long black hair swaying as he gently helped her to her feet, his dark eyes flickering with concern. His brown tunic was simple, but his steady grip was firm, like a soldier's. "Tell me where you live so we can get that wound treated," he said, his voice calm but urgent, his brow furrowed as he glanced at the gash on her leg, blood trickling down her shin like a crimson thread.
Rya winced, her small frame trembling as she steadied herself. "In the castle," she said softly, her green eyes meeting his. The words hung in the air, and a sudden realization struck Javier like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened, his hand freezing on her arm.
"You're… the princess?" he said, his voice loud enough to carry across the garden, cracking with disbelief. The word "princess" echoed like a thunderclap, and every child froze, their faces paling as if they'd seen a ghost. The Runevale and Namesh heirs stared, their mouths agape, the memory of Rolland's head rolling across the throne hall floor flashing through their minds. To speak out of turn in Nyxelene's court was to court death, and now the princess herself was hurt—here, in their midst.
A wave of panic swept through the garden. The children scattered like leaves in a storm, their fine cloaks flapping as they fled toward the rosebushes and shadowed paths, desperate to distance themselves from the scene. The Namesh children, their silver-embroidered tunics catching the wind, were especially terrified, their eyes darting nervously. They whispered among themselves, their voices trembling with relief that Michael, a Runian, had made things worse. His involvement might dilute their punishment—surely Nyxelene wouldn't execute foreigners and her own subjects for a child's scrape. They clung to that hope, their footsteps fading into the garden's gloom.
Javier turned to Michael, who stood nearby, his blonde ponytail bouncing as he rocked on his heels, his sapphire eyes glinting with impish defiance. "Michael," Javier said, his voice shaky but firm, his hands clenched into fists. "You're the one who hurt the princess with your stupid prank. It's only right you take her to the castle and fix this."
Michael's grin faltered, his missing tooth flashing as he pointed an accusing finger. "You traitor!" he shot back, his voice sharp with mock outrage. "You're just scared of the queen—admit it!"
Javier's dark eyes narrowed, his braid swinging as he stepped closer. "Who isn't scared of Nyxelene?" he retorted, his voice low and biting. "I don't see a reason to die for your idiocy. I told you a hundred times to stop with the cockroaches, but you never listen. It was nice knowing you, brother." His tone was half-serious, half-teasing, but his pale face betrayed his fear of the queen's wrath.
Rya, still clutching her throbbing knee, let out a small, unexpected laugh, the sound soft but bright against the garden's tension. The boys' bickering was oddly comforting, a flicker of warmth in her cold, lonely world. She wiped a tear from her cheek, her green eyes glinting with amusement as she watched Michael squirm. For once, the prankster was in trouble, and it felt good to see him in a bind.
She took a shaky breath, her voice steady despite the pain. "If you take me to my room now, my mother won't notice," she said, glancing at Michael. "She's busy with the Namians in the throne hall." Her words were a lifeline, a chance to avoid Nyxelene's icy gaze.
Michael's face lit up like a thief pardoned from the gallows, his sapphire eyes sparkling with relief. He knelt before her, his back to her, his patched tunic stretched tight across his shoulders. "Hop on," he said, his voice brimming with newfound purpose, his ponytail bobbing as he braced himself.
Rya hesitated, her green eyes narrowing, but the pain in her knee and Michael's earnest grin won her over. She climbed onto his back, her small arms looping around his neck, her bloodied knee carefully angled to avoid his clothes. Michael stood, his steps steady despite her weight, and set off toward the castle, Javier trailing behind, his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes scanning the path for trouble. The garden's roses seemed to watch them go, their petals trembling in the wind, as if whispering warnings of the dangers within Runevale's walls.
The castle's corridors were a labyrinth of cold stone, their walls adorned with tapestries depicting Runevale's heraldic victories, their threads glinting in the torchlight. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and iron, and the distant echo of the throne hall's tension lingered like a ghost. Michael carried Rya to her room, a small chamber high in a tower, its narrow window overlooking the stormy gardens. The maid who met them, a nervous woman with graying hair, gasped at Rya's bloodied knee and set to work with trembling hands, cleaning and bandaging the wound as if her life depended on it. Her eyes darted to the door, as if expecting Nyxelene to burst in at any moment.
When the maid left, it was just Rya, Michael, and Javier in the dimly lit room. The single candle on the bedside table flickered, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Rya sat on her narrow bed, her bandaged knee propped on a pillow, her gray gown stained with dirt and blood. Michael perched on a stool, his legs swinging, while Javier leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.
"So, who are your parents?" Rya asked, her voice soft but curious, her green eyes flicking between the boys. She wanted to know who had raised such an unlikely pair—one a reckless prankster, the other a weary protector.
Javier straightened, his dark eyes glinting with pride. "My father is Lord Orin, commander of Runevale's army and leader of the execution squad," he said, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made Rya's breath catch. Orin's name was a blade in Runevale, his one-armed silhouette a symbol of slaughter. "I aim to be like him one day," Javier added, his jaw tightening with resolve. Rya's eyes widened, shocked, but Michael just nodded, as if he'd known this all along.
Now it was Michael's turn, and Rya leaned forward, her curiosity burning. Who could have birthed such a headache? Michael grinned, his missing tooth flashing. "My dad's that old geezer Ramius," he said casually, as if naming the kingdom's genius strategist was no big deal. Rya's jaw dropped, her mind reeling. Ramius, the golden-haired mastermind who'd outwitted Namesh's generals, was Michael's father? The contrast was almost laughable.
With introductions done, Michael's grin widened, his sapphire eyes sparkling. "I'll come play with you sometimes, Rya," he promised, leaning forward on his stool. "We'll have fun!"
Rya's smile faded, her heart sinking. "I don't think that's possible," she said, her voice heavy with disappointment. "My mother doesn't let me leave my room or see anyone." She looked down, her fingers twisting the hem of her gown, the weight of Nyxelene's control pressing against her chest.
Michael waved a hand, undaunted. "Don't worry, Rya," he said, his voice brimming with confidence. "We'll talk to our dads and get them to put in a good word for you. Right, Javier?" He glanced at his friend, his grin daring him to agree.
Javier sighed, his dark eyes rolling. "What do you mean 'we'?" he said, his voice sharp with exasperation. "Didn't you hear her? The queen won't allow anyone to see her. Next time you make a plan, leave me out. I'm not risking my neck to test Lady Nyxelene's patience." He shook his head, his braid swaying, but a faint smile tugged at his lips, betraying his fondness for Michael's audacity.
Michael ignored him, turning to Rya with a solemn nod. "Don't worry, Rya. I'll come see you soon. From now on, we're best friends forever." He extended his pinky, his sapphire eyes bright with sincerity. "Right, Javier?"
Javier snorted, pushing off the wall. "Suit yourself, idiot," he said, but his tone was softer now, almost affectionate. Rya smiled, a small, genuine curve of her lips, as she hooked her pinky with Michael's. The gesture felt like a spark in her shadowed world, a promise of something brighter.
As Javier and Michael left, their bickering voices fading down the corridor, Rya lay back on her bed, her bandaged knee throbbing faintly. The candle's flame danced, casting fleeting shadows on the stone walls, and the storm outside rumbled, a reminder of the dangers beyond her room. She was Nyxelene's daughter, a princess in a cage, but Michael's reckless kindness and Javier's grudging loyalty had cracked that cage's bars, if only a little. She clutched the crumpled flower in her pocket, her green eyes glinting with resolve. She would hold onto this friendship, no matter what her mother's wrath might bring.
****
The mansion of Ramius stood on the edge of Runevale's capital, a grand but weathered structure of dark stone, its spires piercing the stormy sky like jagged teeth. Inside, the study was warm, its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books and maps pinned with strategic markers. A fire roared in the hearth, its flames casting a golden glow across the room, dancing on the polished wooden floor. The air smelled of aged paper and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the castle's cold austerity. Ramius sat in a high-backed chair, his golden hair catching the firelight, his sapphire eyes glinting with amusement. He held a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily, his crimson cloak draped over the chair's arm.
Michael stood before him, his blonde ponytail slightly askew, his patched tunic smudged with garden dirt. His hands were clasped behind his back, but his impish grin betrayed his excitement. "So, Dad," he said, his voice bright with determination, "I want to play with the princess. Rya said the queen won't allow it, so I'm asking you to help."
Ramius paused, his wine glass halfway to his lips, his brow lifting in disbelief. "Hmm? You want to play with the princess?" he said, his voice low and laced with curiosity. He leaned forward, his sapphire eyes narrowing, as if trying to decipher his son's audacity. "That's… unexpected."
Michael nodded, his grin widening. "Yeah! She's nice, even if she screamed about the cockroaches. I promised we'd be best friends, so you've got to talk to the queen."
Ramius let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the sound filling the room like thunder. He set his wine glass down, his fingers tracing its rim. "Strange," he said, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. "You're too young to have fallen in love, but this reminds me of the old days." He leaned back, his eyes distant, as if peering into a memory. "The gap between your mother's status and mine was vast—a noble lady and a lowly strategist. They said I couldn't marry her, that the court would never allow it. But who were they to stand in the way of my romance?" His smile turned sly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I climbed through her window every night, risking death, until I got her pregnant. They had no choice but to approve our marriage."
Michael's eyes widened, his mouth falling open. "So… I have to get Rya pregnant?" he asked, his voice thick with confusion, his ponytail bobbing as he tilted his head.
Ramius nearly choked, his wine glass slipping in his hand, a splash of red staining the table. "What? No!" he sputtered, his face flushing as he coughed, half-laughing, half-horrified. "Gods, boy, that's not what I meant!" He wiped his mouth, shaking his head, his sapphire eyes glinting with amusement. "You're too young for that nonsense. If you were to attempt that, it won't be only your head that flies, but mine too, and I quite like my neck."
Hey everyone! Thanks for diving into Chapter 6! I've been writing this one with a cozy cup of tea by my side, battling a rainy day that's perfect for storytelling. Random thought: what's your go-to comfort snack when you're lost in a book or writing something? Mine's popcorn—salty, crunchy, and way too easy to eat a whole bowl! Drop your favorite in the comments; I'm curious! Hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!