The Wicked Born

Chapter 21

Author's note: This is a flashback chapter into Dacre's memories during his time with the King's Royal Guard.

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Dacre never got a good idea of who his father really was until the day that his secret had made its way to the King's ear.

It was a foggy day outside and his unit was ordered to report to the training field for their daily exercises. All of his unit released a collective groan on the way to the field, but he was jittery with excitement despite the debilitating hangover that threatened to down him. His entire unit had been warned a fortnight in advance—the King was to make his way down to oversee their fighting training on that day. They were all too nervous the night before to sleep; Dacre had mended his nerves by heading to a local tavern with one of his friends that was three years his senior yet a rank below him in the Guard, Oretar. Dacre woke up that morning in the bunk provided to each member of the Guard in the west wing of the castle with no memory of the night before, but he paid that no mind. He was too excited for the King to see him in combat for the first time rather than hearing of his skill through word of mouth.

The second they'd made it to the field, Dacre could tell that something was off. His friends would typically hang around him, critiquing the others fighting styles and awaiting their many turns at combat in a collective group. He'd noticed on that day that they were all steering clear of him—no, more than that, they were all sneaking him glances with vitriol laced throughout. Yet they said nothing to explain the causation behind their hate-filled stares. Their barbed glances confused him as he cleaned his court-issued blades by himself before setting them down and picking up the wooden stick they were all ordered to train with in order not to harm their peers.

All of his unit was there, talking amongst each other, when Dacre saw some random man that he'd never met before standing off on the other side of the training field. He was large—easily one of the widest men that Dacre had ever seen before. He had no hair, but in its place a tattoo traced his skull from the base of his neck to a few inches above his eyebrows. Dacre might have believed that he was simply a new recruit to his unit until few of the other soldiers attempted to drawl him into the conversation. He ignored them outright, having eyes for only one person.

Dacre.

Dacre fought a shiver under the cold, calculating stare of the man across from him. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but something about the man seemed off. Dacre looked away a few times, breaking eye contact and acting as if everything was normal, only to look back and see that the man still was staring directly at him. Does he even blink? Dacre thought dumbly.

It was then that he noticed his friend Oretar was nowhere to be seen. He felt a pang of guilt that he might have pushed his friend too hard with the alcohol the night before, possibly causing him to become ill in the morning and miss the important session. Occasionally throwing glances at the staring man while sitting off by himself, Dacre fretted over the notion that he was the reason for his friend missing the training until the King arrived at the field.

All of them stood at attention to their leader, blades perked high on their shoulders with blank faces staring forward as protocol called for in his presence. He passed each one slowly, scratching his chin and inspecting them with a keen eye. Dacre didn't think that he was standing out until the King called him.

"Third in Command, please follow me," his father's deep voice bellowed out after he'd made his way down the line and far past Dacre. Dacre jumped slightly at hearing his rank, but quickly made haste to where the King was beginning to walk off to— far away from everyone else.

When he finally arrived in front of the King, he bowed deeply at the waist and held his position there until excused. "Your Majesty," he said when he finally was able to right himself. He clasped his hands firmly behind his back to keep them from shaking. He'd been around the King many times before—as expected with a high-ranking member of the Guard—but he had never been called forth for a private meeting with his father.