His Fairytale

Chapter 1 - The Prince

Prince Eric

Death.

Most people fear it.

Some welcome it.

The beauty and trouble with Death is that it doesn't care for your appearance, your heart, your woes, your wealth, or your sins. We are all equal beneath its soulless, hooded gaze. Death waits for no one. Death doesn't care. Eventually, it calls every man, woman and child back home. Whatever 'home' is after this life.

I neither fear nor welcome Death.

Instead, I watch on the sidelines as it silently works its way into my life, taking the last breath of those around me. People mistakenly attribute Death with a smell. With a feeling.

Death carries none of those arbitrary traits. Death is nothing but a hole, a black void to transport the soul from this lifetime into the next. It doesn't feel. It just is.

No, the worst part of Death isn't death itself. The worst part of Death is the havoc it wreaks on the fragility of humanity. It leaves behind a mess of chaos and destruction. It leaves behind a trail of broken hearts.

And at this very moment?

It's leaving behind a vile smell that both burns my nose and tempts to rid my stomach of every morsel of food. I refuse to let it. The death of a traitor is not worthy of me losing my breakfast.

"Your Grace, the body has been disposed of," Sullivan announces from somewhere behind me.

The traitor's dried blood clings to my skin. My clothes. I roll my head back and take a steadying breath through my mouth.

"The family has been notified as well, Your Grace," Sullivan continues. "Where shall I tell them the body will be buried so they may pay their respects?"

"In the fields," I respond quietly. "He will not be buried on consecrated land."

Sullivan tenses and nods. I expect his reluctant bow before he scuttles away, but he hovers near the door of my chambers. I swivel my gaze to him and scowl.

"Spit it out, I haven't all day."

The King's viscount keeps his eyes trained on the floor and shudders at my tone. If I didn't believe he had my father's best interest at heart, I'd be inclined to say he played a hand at my most recent assassination attempt.

"It's just that, Your Grace, we'll need to vet and select a new set of guards. His Royal Highness shouldn't be left unattended. Shall I gather the council to make a selection?"

Fury builds in the pit of my stomach. Mere hours ago, Death approached my doorstep. It waited patiently as my 'most trusted guard' risked his life to take mine. It waited patiently as the two of us tumbled to the floor. It waited patiently as the smell of our blood spilled into the clean air, soiling it with decay and darkness.

Only when I watched the traitor draw his last breath did Death tip its head and step forward to play its role, leaving me with the grisly aftermath.

Now, mere hours later, I'm expected to put my trust once again into the hands of those imbeciles to select the next set of guards responsible for protecting my life. The notion would be comical if not for the pounding between my temples.

"No," I say evenly.

I hide my wince as I pull myself up from the chair and make my way to the balcony. A warm, summer breeze teases the curtains. I pull the delicate fabric aside and gingerly make my way to the marble railing. The setting sun spills a golden hue across the land for miles and miles. My eyes devour the sight of green hills and valleys, allowing Nature a moment in the spotlight. If the land wasn't so tainted by spoiled souls, I'd venture to say it was breathtaking.

Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I turn to witness a Friesian mare breaking through the forest's edge. She gallops into the open field, and the sun shimmers against her black, velvet coat. Her muscled torso flexes as she moves, so agile and elegant. So free.

Only a moment passes before a man runs into the clearing as well. His clothes are tattered and worn, and he shouts at the mare with a breathy laugh. The mare pays her stableman no mind. She flicks her gaze in his direction and circles around him with a haughty flare of her nose. The stableman only laughs again before slowing his pace to a light jog. He closes his eyes and breathes in the summer's air. The sun gently caresses his face, and he smiles back at it.

Although I own every inch of this land, I suddenly feel like an intruder on a private moment that's not meant to include me. I tear my gaze from the sight, tightening my jaw, and attempting to ignore the blooming ache in my chest.

Sullivan has taken a few more steps into my chambers, but he's smartly keeping his distance. His eyes trail the pools of blood left behind from my morning adventure.

"Your Grace," he tries again, but I cut him off with a hand.

"Summon every eligible and able-bodied man between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one. In one week's time we shall hold a trial at the palace. Each man will be tested on their knowledge, their strength, and their loyalty. The winners of these trials will earn their place at my side as my loyal guard."

"Your Grace, if I may be so bold – "

"You may not," I cut him off. I tuck my hands behind my back, giving the viscount a sharp eye before nodding to the door. "That will be all."

Sullivan purses his lips before bowing at the neck and retreating from my chambers. I know what I'm doing is a risk. No doubt I'll have to ready myself for the verbal war my father will bring to my doorstep when he hears of it. No matter. I'll walk away victorious.

I always do.

When the click of Sullivan's shoes become nothing but an echo in the distance, I give in to the temptation gnawing inside of me. My eyes greedily sweep the open expanse of the fields.

But the mare, and the man, are gone.