The Fairest (Book #1)

37: Rasheem

"I need to take you to the safe house now, Dimitri," Ser Garret said with firmness, fear, and concern of a friend.

But his father didn't seem to mind the informality. He nodded, then turned to Gris. "I know you will not come with me. Be careful ... son."

"I will," he assured, and sprinted from the room as the king and his escorts quickly left for the safe house.

At top speed, Gris ran through the West Wing and took a shortcut into the North Wing. The sound of chaos grew louder as he passed nobles and officials running for their lives. As he approached the kitchen and dining spaces, slaves waved weapons in the air. They tore draperies, banners, and paintings off the walls and ignored Gris' demand to stop. Thick smoke drifted from a hall leading to the kitchen. Soldiers shoved past him with buckets of water towards the direction of the fire.

"No, this can't be happening." He exited the North Wing by an entrance into a courtyard. There he stood, frozen in place, heart dropping to his feet. Within the courtyard itself, it looked like an invasion or war along the northeast section of the palace.

Screams and explosions pierced his ears, and the smell of burning stones and wood poisoned the air. Fire had devoured two sections of the East Wing's slave quarters, which he instantly recognized. His chambers and the slave dormitories. By the thick black smoke rising around the area, he knew the fire was spreading fast. The purple color of the night sky had dissolved at some point, leaving behind a dull black color that made Gris sick to the stomach as the smoke blended in. Everything he had worked on and worked for was gone. Everything he had illegally bought and inventions he had produced over time were gone.

Slaves, his slaves, were everywhere, some with weapons and some carrying torches of fire, yelling angrily at the top of their lungs. Palace security and fireguards were scattered about, some chasing or fighting slaves, while others carried buckets of water towards the East Wing.

He spotted Anobas, the hunchback slave, and grabbed him from his group of rioters. "Have you lost your minds?"

"Sorry, Gris, but we've had enough of this!"

"Who started the fire?"

"I don't know, but we all got the message," he shouted. "We are not Strange. We are Fair!"

"Okay, but where's Rasheem?"

"Going to your quarters, last I heard," Anobas said and yanked his arm away. "Find someplace safe, Your Highness. Not all slaves liked you."

Gris stared at him in disbelief, praying this was just a dream. But the hunchback held up a sword he must've taken from a fallen soldier and gave a victor's cry.

"Don't kill anyone," Gris said, but the hunchback had already run off.

Gris took the inner pathways towards the north side of the wing until he came across people forming a line, both slaves and security and even some officials.

"Pass it quickly! Pass it quickly!" shouted Polni, the Captain of the Royal Fireguard. He and his people easily ignored the chaos to focus on the hungry fire. They had a system unfolding, passing buckets of water into the building.

"Captain," Gris said.

The captain did a double-take and gave him a firm glare.

"You should not be here, Your Highness," he said, and before Gris could respond, he put a hand up. He turned to a knight in the line. "You, Ser, escort the prince away."

"No," Gris said. "I'm here to help."

"This is no place for a prince."

"This is my home, too."