COVER: http://a.wattpad.net/cover/4859781-256-k559307.jpg
The Young Prince gazed out through the heavily tinted glass of the Floyd Keeper; the standard issue vehicle used to transport royalty by land, and fingered the ring clasped to a thin metal chain around his neck. The terrain beyond was flat and desolate with chunks of wasted metal sticking out from the ground in groups or in isolated clumps which was exactly what he imagined it would be this far out into the Free Lands.
Sixty-four years ago, this wasteland used to be Vermound, a sprawling city with skyscrapers that covered the sky with cold steel and granite. Now? You wouldn’t even believe people used to live here. Only two distant buildings on the horizon were somehow intact and even those were bound to topple down at some point.
The chemical trace alone found in the air was toxic enough to be a health hazard if you lingered in the open for too long. The recent war here years ago made it a cold zone, inhabitable except for a few who dared to live off the remains and brave the Rogues. Even when the Council declared it was safe for restoration after a sweep, no one wanted to come back. No one wanted to live in a warzone.
Everyone wanted to forget the past, but the scars were hard to erase.
“Isn’t there another route?” The Prince turned to the escort who was sitting across him. The midnight black sunglasses made it impossible for him to get a read on the guy’s eyes and the thin line that was his lips didn’t betray any emotion either.
No answer.
Turning to one of his father’s advisers, a thin man with a balding head who was sitting beside him, the Prince repeated the question.
“I…I’m not sure, your highness,” Florence shook his head and pulled his glasses off, looking as confused as he was thirty minutes ago when their plane flight was intercepted at Harper, which was the only city between Solace and Central where the conference was supposed to be held. “We were supposed to just refuel the jet at H. G. then fly to Central from there but it looks like Command had different plans.”
At the mention of Solace’s very own specialized force, the Prince’s hair stood on end. Command was just a suede way of calling the Royal Guard. The team consisted of the country’s best of the best, trained to protect and defend the royal family at all costs. In other words, they were professional killers. It wasn’t everyday they were cited and the Prince didn’t like how they were involved in everything that had to do with his life.
But it wasn’t surprising that they had some hand in this. You didn’t just send the one who was next in line for the crown through unchartered territory without a guard.
Letting his eyes flicker towards the escort in front of him again, the Prince blinked, fighting back the cold uncertainty that was making its way up his spine like a warning. It was the feeling of being hunted—like when you know something monumental was about to take place and you didn’t know where, when and how it was going to happen.
Something was wrong.
No, there was nothing to be worried about. The prince tried to brush his troubled thoughts off as those renowned sky blue eyes of his gazed back out the window. There were at least ten Command Guards stationed around the perimeter—four out front in the first Floyd, another four following close behind, the driver, and the one with him now.
The one who was suddenly on his feet, shouting at the Prince to get down as he simultaneously reached into his holster for a weapon.
As if on cue, the car sharply swerved to the left just as the realization hit the Prince hard like a bullet through his skull. His whole world turned into a blur of grey and red as the vehicle suddenly flipped over, sending him forward with the momentum. From a distant corner in his mind, he could hear something going off, like the sound of fireworks shooting up in the air and exploding into thousands of multi-colored lights—no, not fireworks, his last conscious thought whispered numbly. Gun shots.
This was an ambush.
And then pain, pain everywhere, his body throbbing and pushing him down to oblivion. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of cold metal, like the jagged edges of the ones he observed in the confines of the car, pushing into his skin.
Then everything faded to black.
