The Prince's Suitor ManxMan

Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

If a nondescript, battle-worn and muddied helmet could look every part indignant, the guard before him oozed the feeling buckets full. Stoic and fearless and with deliberate leisure, he raised a steel encased hand and flicked open the helm. The hinge screeched as it clonked ajar and the man beneath was revealed, his lips raised and snarling.

Dark brooding eyes the colour of murky brown were the second unfamiliar feature Jaicous saw and an unkempt mop of wet black hair pinned carelessly behind a thick neck. Both made Jaicous pause for thought. For a native of Aishion his complexion was a contrasting smooth bronze, quite indifferent to the usual pale canvases of Aishion men. Only himself, from years spent bracing the sun came close to the sun-kissed skin of Gadarian men.

The chilly night air ruffled Jaicous's uniform askew, still rough and uncomfortably damp from his earlier excursion. Uncertainty unfolded upon him as swift as a breath of the night air.

"I have business with Prince Raphion. Urgent business which needs attending to," Jaicous stressed. He wildly guessed the man to be a few years his senior and the tell-tale silver plated armour emboldened with the Prince's emblem of a white artic fox ranked him as one of the Prince's Personals. Up close however, Jaicous did not recognise the man. It was clear the man did not recognise him either.

The smell of sweet, roasting meat carried on the wind, overpowering the camp odour of sweat and blood. He inhaled the honeyed scent with hunger and desire and curled a fist around the Prince's dagger sheaved tightly to his belt. Stone cold jewels, sharp like a blade, dug into his palm reassuringly. When the man failed to speak, Jaicous directed his voice louder. "I'm going to need you to let me pass," he said, in a voice which demanded no reproach.

The familiar sound of chainmail grinded and clinked as the guard shifted his stance. Unlike the common solider, Personals wore only the finest armour at all times. The guard sneered. "Deaf, are you? I've told you once and I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. Unless, perhaps, you fancy a fight with this," he waved his sword for good measure, "then move aside or I'll gladly cast you down in the name of our good King."

From his well-spoken dialect, Jaicous gathered the man was of noble birth, as most Personals were, but they were not usually so forthwith and direct in their manner.

"A tempting notion, but not one I currently wish to engage with." Jaicous smiled flatly, wishing he would just move.

The man's eyes raked from his feet to the top of his head, and seemed to settle on one opinion or another.

"I shall give you the benefit of the doubt and not slit your throat, how about it? I am under strict orders."

"Strict orders from who? The King?" Jaicous asked, uneasiness settling once again in the pit of his stomach. The only man able to instruct the Prince's Personals directly against Raphion's own wishes was the King, who resided three weeks North where they had departed. The guard narrowed his eyes as if realising for the first time that Jaicous wasn't someone he ought to be berating. "Who are you?"

Jaicous gritted his teeth. He knew how infuriating the Prince's Guards could be. He recalled countless times when their loyalty outweighed their own desires. Their reluctance to disobey their charge was, at times, like conversing with a brick wall.

"Nobody. I am no one of importance. I merely have urgent matters which require the Prince's undivided attention and you are standing in my way. I have seen enough blood shed today, but if you persist then I will have no choice. Send someone to speak with Prince Raphion. Now," he said flatly.