Page 1 of Slippers and Thorns
PROLOGUE
M
ichael, sit still,” Phillip scolded quietly. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
Beside him, his two-year-old son lifted his brown eyes to Phillip’s before he folded his hands between his legs and ceased bouncing. Two seconds later, he started kicking his little legs, swinging them from the tall bench.
“Michael,” Phillip’s wife, Elaine, reprimanded. Once again, the boy stilled.
Phillip had hoped it would be easy for Michael to contain himself; he’d spent most of the day playing with the little princess’s older brother. Unfortunately, it appeared the two dark-haired boys had simply wound themselves up more, as Axel was fidgeting up on the platform where he stood just behind his own father, King Steffan of Ralnor.
Christenings were notoriously dull, but Crown Prince Phillip of Daraigh was skilled at splitting his attention between two things at once. As the ceremony progressed, he scanned the other members of the audience unobtrusively. He couldn’t see most of the room from his position on the second row, but even his limited range allowed him to search for the representatives from the other kingdoms of Roumaterra.
A few seats down in the front row sat Crown Prince Banri from Ryuni, the kingdom to the southwest of Daraigh. At twenty, he was a little on the young side to attend in his father’s place, but Steffan himself was a young king. Behind Prince Banri was Queen Alejandra of Castellia on the western coast, her back ramrod-straight. Phillip had lost track of how many children she had at home; this trip was probably a welcome break for her.
He thought he’d seen Valerie, wife of King Antoine of Amitié, prancing around in her absurdly-wide skirts before entering the throne room, but if she made it in – not that it would surprise him if she skipped the ceremony – she must have found a seat farther back. What did surprise him was that King Calvin had made the trip from southern Baldur; having recently lost his wife, it would have been acceptable for Calvin to stay at home and mourn with his young son. But instead, he was sitting on the far-right side of the Ralnoran throne room.
“Long?” a not-quiet-enough voice whined softly from down and to the left.
“Hush,” Phillip whispered. “It’s almost over.”
His eyes settled on the baby girl in her mother’s arms. He couldn’t see details from here beyond the light brown of her tiny hand stretching towards her mother, but he knew from meeting her earlier that her little green-eyed face was surrounded by wispy chestnut strands. Little Axel leaned around his father, standing on his tiptoes to try to see his sister. Phillip’s lips twitched upwards in a slight smile. There was a protective older brother in the making.
Suddenly, in the middle of the officiant’s final benediction, the doors at the back of the room crashed open. Spinning in his seat, Phillip saw a tall, hooded figure stride through the doorway.
The stranger threw his arms wide as he advanced. “Isn’t this charming?” he drawled. “All these people gathered together to witness the naming of a new royal brat.”
“Fabian,” Phillip heard Steffan say in a quiet, strained voice.
Fabian…wasn’t that the name of one of Steffan’s advisors? No, ex-advisor – the man had been banished from Ralnor for conducting unethical magical experiments… not only on animals, but on humans, as well. Steffan had mentioned that Fabian had a chip on his shoulder, but the banishment was supposed to remove any concern of retaliation.
Obviously, something had gone wrong.
Phillip began to rise to his feet as Steffan’s guards surged towards the magic-user, the pounding of their boots on the marble floor audible even over the panicked murmurings of the crowd. Fabian laughed menacingly, then traced a sign in the air.
Five paces from their goal, the Ralnoran guards crashed into an invisible wall, their ranks breaking as the leaders bounced backwards into their fellows.
“Did you think it would be that easy?” the sorcerer taunted. His smirk was visible under the edge of his hood. “Even before you cast me out, I had great power. I have worked hard to improve it since I left.”
Michael’s guardsman stood as well, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword, even though he had little room in which to draw it. Without speaking a word, Phillip shifted to the side and slid Michael closer to the young man.
“You think you’resospecial because you were born into the royal family. You think you can do whatever you want, to whomever you want. You think you’re so powerful,” Fabian sneered. “But you’re wrong. You can’t even protect your little girl.”
Lifting a hand, the sorcerer once again made a sign in the air. “Helena Dracovich,” he announced dramatically, “I hereby curse you to endless sleep—”
“Ollie!” a little voice cried fearfully. Phillip allowed himself a brief glance at his son. The boy was clinging to his guardsman’s sword arm.
“Michael!” he hissed. “Let go of him!”
“—the moment the blood wells on your finger, all people will be driven from the area in which you fall. Do not think anyone will come looking—”
Elaine clutched his arm and leaned in. “Phillip, what do we do?”
He shook his head silently. Whatcouldthey do?
“—driving them to despair whenever they think of you.”
As the sorcerer lowered his hands, his mouth twisted in a mocking grin, Steffan broke free of the shock that appeared to have frozen him and charged down the stairs of the dais, his face warped in fury. “Enough! Guards!”
