Pluck't

Chapter III

Emil Petresca trudged through the mud, humming a bawdy song he learned from the tavern the night before.  It was quite the tavern, his kind of place.  His strapping body ached in all the best ways from both the fighting and the fucking.

His strong legs ate up the distance.  He'd be in the village of Vandra just in time for happy hour at the Woodchuck.  He had everything he owned on his back, just a pack of clothes and some money, a knife at his hip, and a few flasks on his belt.  There were a couple rent boys who would no doubt miss his prick, but other than that he was leaving nothing behind him but fun memories and an unpaid bar tab.

He spied carrion birds in the air and frowned.  Where there were ravens, there was death.  It was the only road to the Vandra, though.  He kept walking, his hand going to the knife tucked in his belt, just in case.

He saw the carriage first, tipped on its side.  It was a fine thing, the kind owned by the obscenely rich.  Watching the birds flap around it, he had a sinking feeling.  There was a rumor going around the tavern last night about highwaymen out on the road.  This looked like a fight with such that had gone foul.  Emil approached with caution.  It might have been safer to skirt around the scene through the woods, but curiosity got the better of him.  Besides, maybe the highwaymen had left a few trinkets or coins behind.

It's not like the dead needed them.

Emil blew a dark curl from his eyes and drew closer, then stopped when he heard, amidst the croaking of the ravens, a broken sob.  "Stop it," came the weariest voice he'd ever heard.  "Leave him alone."

Keeping to the cover of the carriage, Emil came around to take a look without being seen. There, sitting beside the corpse of a man of middling means was a youth who swatted the ravens away when they came for the corpse's eyes.  The youth had a long braid tangled with leaves and twigs.  His finery had been ruined by the elements.  Emil couldn't get a good look at his face from where he hid, but from the tattered garb and the carriage livery, he figured this must be a royal.

Emil's heart nearly stopped in his chest.  For a moment, he considered slipping into the woods and not getting involved.  Messing with royals, that was a little above his normal level of bad ideas.  He grimaced, thinking about the reward, though!  For returning the sobbing youth safe and sound unto his House?  He could live comfortably for awhile.

Emil crept out from behind the carriage, his hands held up to show he meant no harm.  "Sad tidings, friend," he said gently.

The youth whipped around, startled, and stared at Emil.  Then his shoulders sagged.  The poor thing was fit to collapse from exhaustion.  "Who are you?" he demanded in a dull tone.

"My name's Emil, milord," he said, and he bowed a little, keeping his eyes on the youth.  "Forgive me milord, I'm but a poor tinker making my way from town to town." Lies. "And I come from far away." Lies. "And I don't know to whom I've the honor of speaking."  That part was true.

The youth blinked at Emil.  "I'm Prince Toma of Mornya, the kingdom you're standing in."

Prince Toma, who had never walked among the people?  The Rose?  This was Mornya's fabled Rose?  This tattered, bedraggled, drowned cat of a youth was the famed beauty of all the kingdom?

To be fair, there was no telling what the youth looked like beneath all the mud and grime, with at least one bruised eye and scratches on his cheek, but Emil did find those sapphire eyes rather startling, not to mention so woeful Emil almost felt bad about how he was going to exploit him.

"Prince Toma, what an honor."  Emil looked around at the sad scene.  The highwaymen  must have decided no witnesses and shot with pistols the driver, footman, and whoever the poor sot Toma was mourning.  Why Toma was alive could only be guessed at.  Maybe he'd fled into the forest.  It would explain the sap on his clothes and leaf litter in his hair. 

It was time to get off the road.  The highwaymen might return to pick over their handiwork.  "I hate to be the bearer of such tidings, Your Highness, but there's nothing more you can do for your friend there."

"My valet," Toma said quietly.

Emil nodded.  "Your valet.  He's gone, Your Highness.  Keeping the ravens off him won't make it less so."

"I can't just leave him!"

Emil said, "You must, Highness.  Come with me to the village of Vandra.  We'll alert the authorities there.  They'll come see he's given a proper burial."

Emil held his breath as watched Toma like a hawk.  Would the youth agree to come?  Refuse him?  Pass out on the spot?

Toma slowly nodded his head.  "Very well, I'll come with you.  What shall I call you?"

"Emil."

"Very well, Emil."  Toma paused, then said, "Help me up, please."

Emil came forward and offered Toma his arm.  He practically had to lift the prince from the ground, he was so weak.  Emil offered him one of his flasks, the one that held water, and he said, "Drink this down, Highness."  The youth was clearly dehydrated.  Who knew when he'd last slept or eaten.

Toma drained the flask, then handed it back.  "Where is Vandra?"

Emil said, "Just up ahead, about an hour's journey."  Emil's features pinched.  One hour by foot, shorter by carriage; this tragic little group had been so close to safety when they were ambushed.

He led the way, giving his arm to Toma to lean on.  A closer look at the prince showed a face that, beneath the dirt and superficial damage, was surely fair.  Emil was starting to see how this one might be considered a beautiful rose, though one unfortunately trampled in the dirt.  Once they got to the Woodchuck, Emil would have to get him a bath to clean him up for the trip back to the castle.  The safer and tidier the Rose seemed upon presentation, the less the Queen would have reason to believe Emil had plucked him, and he had a certain reputation for plucking.

He mumbled to himself as he all but carried the prince along.  He'd better be well-compensated for this rescue, because there would be no plucking tonight, and he had so been looking forward to doing a lot of it with a number of lesser wildflowers.