Prince on the Run Read online

  If there were two lights in the monarch’s eyes, one was Wynn, and the other was the baby in the family, Renny.

  “Burying my nose in the books. I hope to qualify for the university in Ginster by the time I am eighteen.”

  “Two years? That is ambitious. I like an ambitious son.”

  Bering almost raised his hand to include him as ambitious, but he thought better of it. Good move, Trevor thought. As much as Trevor was loath to admit it, he considered himself smarter than any of his Arcwin siblings. Lilith, at least, was a match for him.

  “Lilith,” the king said. “I am sure we can find a suitor at the tourney. Your chronic disdain of Presidon nobility needs to be put aside. I will even allow you to consider a Dorwickian noble for a husband. Perhaps we can have a double wedding in the fall.”

  The queen’s eyes widened. “Well, that would be a first, Henry,” she said. “I would rather Lilith make her own choice, but I agree she will be hard to match. Few men want a thirty-year-old bride.”

  “Mother!” Lilith said, turning red.

  “We have already talked of this,” the queen said.

  “Wise words, my queen. I’m sure surprises will fill the tourney. Triumphs and disappointments. Triumphs and disappointments,” the king said. He looked at all the plates. “You are finished, and so am I.”

  King Henry of Presidon stood, and all those seated rose to their feet. The king walked out of the room by himself, leaving Queen Hyra behind. The queen’s rebuke of her husband had not been forgotten.

  “That was short,” Bering said. “I wanted to discuss the succession.”

  “Why?” Owen said. “You are the crown prince.”

  Bering glanced at Lilith. “There are those who disagree.”

  Owen chuckled. “And who might that be?” His eyes drifted to Lilith as well.

  “Someone, anyone,” Bering said as he and Owen left the dining room together.

  Trevor sat back down, taking another sip of wine. His head was pounding from the thrashing he endured a few hours ago.

  Renny put his hand on the back of Trevor’s chair and bent down to talk without others listening. “What was that all about?”

  “Sibling rivalry,” Trevor said loudly enough to be heard by everyone else. He got back to his feet. “Time for some medical help.”

  “Brother Yvan?” Wynn asked.

  “He is my medical helper,” Trevor said as he walked out of the room by himself.

  Chapter Two

  ~

  T he castle’s private chapel of Dryden, God of the World, was empty except for a short, robed man. Brother Yvan, who hadn’t seen forty yet, bent over, dusting off the rows of stands used by supplicants to rest while kneeling. Trevor stood at the open door and folded his arms.

  “I see you aren’t out ministering to the fine citizens of Tarviston. Do you need help or a housekeeper?” Trevor said.

  Brother Yvan looked up and smiled. He was much younger than the king, but his eyes seemed older, wiser. “Both. There is another rag on the back pew,” Brother Yvan said, “unless you have darkened my doorstep for something other than cleaning.”

  Trevor took the rag and went to work. He stopped for a bit and sat down to let his head clear from the pain.

  “You are injured,” Yvan said, dropping his dust cloth and rushing to Trevor.

  “Headache,” Trevor said, holding his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees. “I was smashed in the head on the practice field.”

  Yvan examined Trevor’s cranium. “No blood, no bump.”

  “I had a helmet on, but a heavy blow with a wooden sword knocked me on my rear.”

  The cleric chuckled. “There is no healing I can do to fix your situation other than to give you a pain powder.”

  “That would work.”

  Yvan looked Trevor in the eye. “No physical activity tomorrow. It would be best if you spent the day in bed.”

  Trevor nodded. “Can I have some kind of note in case I am called to practice by one of General Sorryn’s lackeys?”

  After pulling on his lip for a moment, Yvan said, “You haven’t taken advantage of notes like others in your family. I will gladly write one for you if you can possibly follow me to my office.”

  They walked to the back of the chapel, past the stained glass depiction of Dryden touching the earth and giving life to Arden, the world in which Trevor lived. After passing by two storage rooms on either side of a corridor, Brother Yvan led Trevor into his quarters. The first room was the cleric’s office, but Trevor had been past the office and seen the cleric’s living area. It wasn’t plush, but Brother Yvan wasn’t an ascetic either. He and Brother Yvan had shared a few secrets in the ten years they had been teacher and student.

  Trevor walked to the diamond-paned window overlooking the castle’s stables and facing the tower that Trevor lived in. He looked up to see the windows of his sitting room. Someone was inside looking at something.

  “An intruder in my rooms!” Trevor said.

  Brother Yvan raised his hand with a confused look on his face. “What?”

  Trevor pointed. “Someone is going through my things!”

  “Should you be worried?”

  Trevor laughed. “Not really. I have no secrets.”

  “Yet,” Yvan said, “but in the future, you will.”

  Trevor looked at his window again, but the interloper wasn’t in view. Trevor was too far away to do any good. “My good arms are in the armory. I have a purse with a few coins. A prince who doesn’t leave the castle grounds or the barracks does not need money.”

  “Not to mention servants who can give you anything you desire.”

  Trevor shrugged. “I don’t desire much, not like my brothers or my sisters.” He didn’t know what Lilith desired other than to rule, but Wynn collected dresses and jewels.

  “Anything you need to get off your mind?” Brother Yvan asked.

  Trevor’s only confidant returned to his seat behind the desk. Win was a friend, but Brother Yvan was something more.

  “Sibling rivalry is heating up. Lilith has a mind to inherit the Presidonian throne, and Bering does, too. Not together of course. They aren’t exactly friends.”

  Brother Yvan pursed his lips and leaned forward with his hands clasped on the desk. “You better be careful there. Have you been asked about your allegiance?”

  Trevor laughed. “You know I don’t have one. I support Father, and that is it. I’m not into this political stuff. A sword in my hand and a charger between my knees is all I need.”

  “Be careful, nevertheless, and my suggestion is to stay unaffiliated. Castle politics can be very destructive.”

  “Father keeps a tight lid on that sort of thing,” Trevor said.

  “Every lid can be pried open, Trevor. Here is your note, and let’s fetch your pain powder.” Brother Yvan rose from his desk, opened a storage closet, and gave Trevor four small envelopes. “You know how to use these.”

  Trevor laughed again. “Pain powders and I are the best of friends.”

  “One tonight and one tomorrow morning with a full cup of water. That should take care of your headache. If it still bothers you in the morning, the day after tomorrow, return.”

  “I might return anyway,” Trevor said.

  “So you can get another one of my novels?”

  Trevor grinned. “They are so much more interesting than real subjects.”

  “Someday, you will rue the day you didn’t spend more time expanding that excellent, but empty, mind of yours.”

  ~

  Trevor’s guards weren’t in sight, which wasn’t particularly unusual. They only monitored his quarters during waking hours and often left for meals. He pulled down on the latch expecting the entrance to be locked, but the door opened.

  He doubted the intruder would still be lurking in his rooms, but he grabbed a cane from a small barrel by his doors. Trevor had a collection of them that he had accumulated from various injuries to knees and ankles, mostly sus
tained on the practice field.

  “You decided to return,” a man about Brother Yvan’s age said, reclining on the couch in Trevor’s sitting room.

  Trevor twirled the cane in his hand, but the intruder didn’t make any threatening moves.

  “And you are?”

  “Desolation Boxster is the name. I am your new sergeant and aide.”

  “Desolation? That is an ominous army name.” Trevor frowned. Soldiers often changed their first names early in their careers to something descriptive, a quality rather than something meaningless like Virtue Underton, the Minister of War. “Why do I need an aide? I already have my squire, Windon Denton.”

  “The stable boy?”

  “He is a year older than me, so he is a stable man,” Trevor said, feeling more defensive than he should. “Why are you rummaging around in my rooms?”

  “The guards let me in,” Boxster said. “I can’t just sit around waiting, so I decided to see what you read and how you live. It can tell a lot about a man, you know.”

  “And what do my quarters tell you?” Trevor said, still grasping the cane as a weapon. The man’s calm nature intimidated him. Boxster should be the one trembling, not Trevor.

  “A good soldier, if I may say. Your quarters are buttoned up, indicating personal discipline. But your library? Does a soldier really read romances about knights and ladies?” Boxster made a face and shook his head.

  “I learn tactics from the books. There are plenty of military books on the shelves,” Trevor said. His excuse sounded lame, and it made the intruder laugh.

  “Really? The novels teach you how to make a woman fall for you? There is nothing military about that,” Boxster said.

  “There might be a female officer in my future.” Trevor was losing control of this encounter. He had to ask questions. “You didn’t answer my question. Why do I need an aide?”

  “Because your father has decided it is time to put you into the regular army. Your easy days spent on the practice field are over.”

  Trevor ground his teeth. “Not all those days have been easy. I fight hard.”

  “Practicing hard and fighting a true enemy hard, as you say, are two different efforts. How often have you fought an opponent, not knowing if you will survive the encounter?”

  “And you have?” Trevor asked.

  “Of course,” Boxster said nonchalantly.

  “You have orders for me?” Trevor asked, put in his place by this strange man.

  Boxster finally sat up. “Finally, an intelligent question.” He reached into his uniform tunic and tossed a packet of papers to Trevor.

  The orders were genuine as far as Trevor could tell. That was undoubtedly Patience Sorryn’s signature. Trevor didn’t know Virtue Underton’s as well, but he would get a sample in the morning to verify his name. He was relieved to see that Win would join him as his squire, and that meant a posting the equivalent of a master soldier for his friend. The paperwork mentioned Desolation Boxster as an aide and trainer.

  “This says I report in three days to the barracks? Why so long?”

  Boxster laugh. “Just for you, Prince Trevor Arcwin, sir. You need uniforms made. Read on.”

  “You have read my orders? Isn’t that presumptuous of you?”

  “It is. You’ll have to get used to my presumptuousness,” Boxster said.

  The shock finally wore off. “You are my nursemaid, then?”

  “An insightful statement, but that isn’t quite correct. I am your minder and your teacher. We will have to get along with each other; me to keep my job and get a handsome bonus, and you to fulfill your dream of being an officer in your father’s army.”

  “Why do I need you for that?” Trevor asked.

  “Because I am uniquely qualified and General Sorryn knows it. I have led a well-rounded life,” Boxster said.

  “What did you do in your former life?” Trevor said.

  Boxster gave Trevor half a grin. “I’ll tell you some other time, if at all, but not now.”

  Trevor shrugged. “I have three days, then?”

  Boxster stood. “You do. My suggestion is going to the barracks first thing tomorrow morning to get your gear ordered. Then you can do what you’d like for a few days before you take residence in the officers’ quarters.” Boxster looked around. “I suppose you won’t have much trouble. You’ll have to leave most of this stuff behind.”

  “Move to officers’ quarters. What nonsense is that?” Trevor snorted.

  “Read your orders. The general said your father is behind your change in status.”

  “But there is the Summer Tourney in less than three weeks.”

  Boxster shrugged. “The army encourages its officers to participate, I understand.”

  “You understand? How long have you been in the army?”

  “Twenty days,” Boxster said. “My experience justifies at least my rank when I was tested. They didn’t know what else to do with me.”

  Trevor immediately thought about changing his plans for the tournament. He really wanted to joust. It was the high point in the competition, and he was good at it…in practice.

  “Your rank?” Trevor asked as Boxster took a step toward the exit.

  “Master sergeant, Lieutenant.” The man snapped off a salute and turned on his heel, leaving Trevor, still clutching his orders, staring at the doors closing behind the exiting Desolation Boxster, wondering what just happened.

  ~

  Trevor woke early to do his morning calisthenics, but he first sat down in his most comfortable chair and reread his orders. Boxster was right about everything written down. Trevor’s head began to hurt again. He had forgotten about his headache and pulled out one of Brother Yvan’s pain powder packets and took his medicine. He wondered what kind of medicine would be forced down his throat as he started his new life in the army. He took his medicine and was determined to work on his body despite the headache. Brother Yvan, of all people, had taught him a series of exercises to limber up his muscles and joints.

  His next stop was at the barracks to get fitted for his uniform. The colors and the style of the hat were different for different branches in the army. Unfortunately, his orders hadn’t revealed which specific unit he was assigned to, and the tailor refused to tell him what he’d be crafting except to say there would be the uniform and then a sleeved knit shirt, breeches, and tunic to wear over armor.

  Trevor had always worn whatever he liked, and he was partial to red, which earned him a lot of grief. None of the services wore that color. Now he’d be more like the soldiers he fought on the practice field. He wasn’t happy about having to wait two days to find out what color he would be wearing, but it gave him some time to put his quarters in order.

  “That gets put into a bag,” Trevor said to Win, who had agreed to help him pack his things.

  Win looked at the novel. “You’ll be laughed at if anyone sees you with this.”

  Trevor stared at the book. “No secrets are safe in the army?” he said.

  “None,” Win said. “Pop always told Mom that, both before and after he returned from an expedition. I’m sure it applies to princes with a thick coating of hubris.”

  “Hubris, eh? I’m good and know it.”

  Win laughed. “Tell your skull that. Even you can be defeated.”

  Trevor didn’t have an answer to that. “Very well. It goes in the box.” He had set up a box that Win would store in the kitchen away from others. Trevor might have a few secrets, after all, but Win was right about not having any privacy. Brother Yvan had told him the same thing, and Trevor found it challenging to think about a life without all his simple treasures and simple pleasures.

  Renny showed up, walking through the doors that the guards still guarded.

  “Owen and Bering are still laughing about Father assigning you to the army,” Trevor’s youngest brother said. Renny looked over Trevor’s possessions, even going so far as to examine what was in the box Trevor was going to have hidden from his siblings. He
held up the romance novel that Win had just tossed in the box. “Can I have this?”

  “Aren’t you too young for that?” Win asked.

  Renny glared at Win. “Are you in a position to ask a prince such things?”

  “I can ask that prince,” Win said, pointing to Trevor, “but maybe not that prince.” He looked at Renny.

  “You are right about that.” Renny flipped through the pages. “I’m interested in what I might learn about swordplay and military strategy.” He looked at Trevor. “Isn’t that the excuse you use when Lilith or Wynn catches you reading this tripe?”

  “Am I not a good swordsman?” Trevor asked.

  “You would be better if you chose your books a little more discriminately,” Renny said. “I do, you know, so that I can attend university.”

  “Brother Yvan tells me that you are well on your way to doing so,” Trevor said.

  Renny’s eyes lit up. Flattery was like the most exceptional wine for Renny. He got just as intoxicated if Trevor showered compliments on him. “I made sure Father knew I was well on my way to Ginster last night.”

  “Much to Owen’s discomfort, I am sure,” Trevor said.

  “I got the distinct impression my ploy worked.” Renny had a mischievous look on his face.

  The three of them worked for another hour. With Renny as a reinforcement for Win’s paring down what Trevor wanted to bring, Trevor wouldn’t be taking nearly as much stuff to the barracks, and he had to admit, there were many fewer secrets in his two bags than Trevor had intended to take with him.

  Renny begged off from lunch in the kitchens, which was fine with Trevor since his brother took his rank a lot more seriously than Trevor did. Marin Denton provided each with a thick, juicy beefsteak, a rarity in Trevor’s meals with Win.

  “I figured since you had only a day or two before you were dragged into the deprivations of military service that you deserved a nice send-off.”

  “I’ll be able to sneak meals, Mom,” Win said.

  Marin looked at Trevor with a wooden spoon in her hand, waving it like a scepter. “But you won’t. Eat up and enjoy it. You are likely not to eat as well for some time.”

  Trevor hadn’t thought about that aspect of living in the barracks. If Win could sneak meals, he could make sure Trevor had a treat or two along the way.