Page 8 of The Crownless Prince

Marcus blinked and Adriana’s hand came into focus in front of his face, a miniature peach tart in her gloved fingers. Forcing a smile, he leaned forward and bit into the offered tart. The crust was perfectly flaky and the fruit delectable, but he scarcely enjoyed it.

“What’s wrong?” She set aside the other half of the tart on the scratchy wool blanket they sat on and tucked a wild curl behind her ear. “Did something happen with your father?”

His shoulders slumped. “He’s meeting with his counselors and general and my brothers more. More knights have moved into the castle, and he’s been in contact with lords sworn to Prince Uldrich Nydellan. But Father and my brothers won’t discuss what’s happening with me, probably because I’d disapprove. I don’t know…”

“What?” Adriana asked gently.

“Peace seems like a more futile dream every day. The things I mostdesire, I can’t have.”

She shifted to lean against him, and he wrapped an arm around her, adjusting his cloak so it protected both of them from the late autumn cold. “What do you desire?”

Marcus stared at the meadow full of grazing long-horned cattle, their long, shaggy red-brown hair stirring in the gentle breeze. Despite the chill, the sunlight warmed his face. Birds twittered nearby, and he caught the faint scent of rose in Adriana’s hair. “This. This peace, for all of Aedyllan. And you, by my side forever, as my wife.”

“Does ‘this’ include our own herd of fluffy cows?”

He mustered a smile. “As many fluffy cows as you require.”

Adriana snuggled closer against his side. “I have to believe peace isn’t a futile dream. If we can dream of peace, we can dream of us, too.”

The nearest village was half a day’s walk from the tower, and his father’s castle was another half a day’s walk beyond that. Clouds hid the sun, and the sky grew darker to the north, in the direction they were traveling. Rather odd-looking storm clouds for winter, but hopefully they’d make the village before the storm began. They pulled their scarves over their noses to thwart the cold wind that carried the occasional flurry of tiny ice crystals.

But the weather couldn’t kill the bounce in Marcus’s step as theywalked through the center of the valley, then followed the road up the far end. Oh, how glorious it felt to stand below the open sky! How he’d missed dirt beneath his boots and the ability to walk more than a handful of steps before he reached a wall.

As they crested the side of the valley, Edwin pointed at the sky over the trees. “Those clouds… I have a terrible feeling.”

Marcus eyed the drifting, foggy mass in the distance. They were heading right toward it, as if those clouds had gathered above Alimer Castle…

Over the castle.

He stumbled, his knees nearly giving out. “Edwin…what if it’s not clouds? If it’s—it’s…” He gulped.

“Smoke.”

After another hour of walking, they emerged from the trees into farmland, empty for the winter. The tip of Marcus’s boot dragged through the muck as he stilled.

In the distance stood the stone and wood buildings of the village, but beyond them, a plume of dark smoke rose on the horizon.

One moment, Marcus was standing, the next he was on his knees in the thin layer of icy mud on the road, unsure how he’d gotten there. Edwin crouched beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder but didn’t say anything. A tear burned its way down Marcus’s cheek.

“My family is dead, aren’t they?” he whispered. Deep down, he’d already known, but he hadn’t been willing to admit it until faced with the truth.

Edwin’s grip tightened on his shoulder.

The loss hurt more than he would have guessed. His father had always mocked him as weak-willed and had as good as abandoned him. His brothers hadn’t saved him, and neither his father nor his brothers had so much as sent him a letter in four years. They hardly deserved the title of family. He hadn’t been close with his aunt and uncle and younger cousins. Yet Marcus’s chest squeezed as more tears slipped free.

His father and brothers had joined his mother in the afterlife.

He didn’t know whether he was mourning the loss of their lives or the chance at reconciliation.

His childhood home was burning, or perhaps it had already burned and only the smoke remained. The action was likely a departing statement by whichever prince had won the war. In the end, his power-hungry, war-seeking father had brought about his own doom.

How many others had died or lost their homes? How many of the knights, courtiers, and servants at Alimer Castle had been killed? How many commoners across Alimer Principality had lost their lives to Prince Arlius’s lust for power?

Maybe for all of those reasons, his father didn’t deserve to be mourned. Perhaps Marcus’s broken heart was as much anger as it was sorrow. Or maybe it was the weight of realizing that he was the only surviving member of his family.

He was alone.

No, not entirely alone.

---