Chapter 3: 18 years old

CHAPTER 3

PHILIP

18 YEARS OLD

Sweat pours down my back, itching as the salt laps at the surface wounds in my skin. In front of me, Master Balcom thrusts his practice sword forward, nearly slicing my side open if it was sharp enough. I have to get my head into the game.

But with this unannounced visit from Kendrick and his family, it’s hard for me to think about little else. These grand visits and massive overtures are only for show. I’m sure of it. He’s trying to ensnare my people and make them sympathetic and loyal to him. Granted, that’s what my mind tells me.

In all honesty, it’s probably nothing more than keeping a good rapport between the two of us. We are allies, after all. And if we’re not visiting them, they’re visiting us. On the surface, it seems normal, desired even.

My mother lights up every time we make a trip, or when they come to see us. No doubt she’s lonely in the castle with no other women of power to converse with. At least Queen Kendrick provides her comfort and amusement.

Glancing up at the castle, I note a bit of movement, a blur as someone darts in and out of the various windows, hoping to get a glance of this match. A smirk tilts my lips as little Briar attempts to pull herself up so she can see past the railing. She’s still so small, so vulnerable.

The only reason I’m not more worried about her actions is because of the gifts from the witches. No amount of clumsy antics will cause her harm. Still though, knowing she watches me, her sharp brown eyes missing nothing, it makes losing feel all the worse.

They are only here for a week, and it feels like a colossal waste of time to be out here practicing when I could be trying to forge a deeper connection between us. Honestly, that would make more sense, seeing as it’s one of the reasons we both keep traveling back and forth.

Taking in a deep breath, I parry his strikes, smiling as I drive him back. Only the moment I get a little too cocky, he drives in harder, nearly sending me down to the ground. Briar’s light laugh should irritate me, but I find her effervescence to have a far more calming effect on my mind and spirit.

If it were anyone but her…

“Keep showing off like that, and it will end you,” Master Balcom hisses.

We circle again, but my heart is no longer in this match. Daily, he drills me and works with me, but I can’t find it in me to fight. All I want to do is study up on history and other books to make me a better king or get to know my intended a little better.

With another sigh, I glance back up, watching as her long brown hair drifts in the breeze. She will certainly make a great queen, and I aim to be worthy of her. Despite what I feel for Father or Kendrick, something deep inside feels as if she’s something different than both of them, something better.

“Head in the game, prince,” he barks out again, lunging forward.

I only manage to escape the tip of his sword by leaping backward and rolling away. It’s not as if my head doesn’t want to be here. Try as I might, it feels as if I just cannot concentrate no matter what I do.

A gust of wind could stir the tree wrong, and I would zero in on the movements. A soft laugh could pull me away from any task and draw my attention there. Hell, things smell different, feel different, and just… are… different.

Unfortunately, it’s become harder as the days approach my birthday. Everything feels too much and nothing all at the same time. Nothing seems to make sense. I cannot think, cannot breathe, cannot sleep, and cannot eat.

Thankfully, I can still spar. It’s the only thing to get the bubbling rage out of my system. With a roar, I lunge forward, my vision blurring as I bring the tip in line with Master Balcom’s gut. As if I were nothing more than a buzzing insect, he smacks the blade away, coming in for a shot of his own.

“Pay attention, boy,” he spits out, whacking me on the side with the flat edge. “How will you help defend the kingdom if you lose your head at any given moment?”

I blink for a moment, trying desperately to get my bearings, but everything fuzzes in front of me. Wavy lines blur my vision, like a hot shimmer over the land. Only this time, it’s everything I look at. Dropping to my knees, I sink into the cool earth, hoping to find relief, but there is none.

Master Balcom shouts at me, doing his best to get my attention, but all I hear is an incessant ringing in my ears. Dropping my sword, I cup my hands on either side, hoping to force it out, but it only gets worse. Hands paw at me, dragging me off the ground and taking me somewhere else.

I cannot let them see me like this.

I won’t let them see me like this.

But what can I do? I can no longer see. I cannot hear anything besides a ferocious roar raging about in my head. Trapped in my mind, I see nothing but blood dripping down in front of me.

Though I long to touch it, to see if it’s real, I still cannot move. I am a prisoner, trapped inside my body. Heat surrounds me, threatening to suffocate me, but somehow, it feels familiar, safe, a cocoon instead of a place of torment and death.

Breathing in, I allow the acrid stench of sulfur and char to fill my lungs, scorching me from the inside out. My bones turn to liquid, melting away in the vaporizing heat. And still, I cannot move.

I try to cry out, to beg for release, but only fire races up my throat, ripping through the delicate tissue until there’s nothing left.

I am nothing.

Inside my mind, I scream and bellow, furious at being so trapped, so impotent.

But nothing.

There is nothing but a barren wasteland.

Nothing.

I am nothing.

* * *

Cool hands stroke my cheeks, giving me such blessed relief from the torment. Leaning into the hand, I draw in a breath, trying to determine who it is next to me. But I can smell nothing but ash. It’s as if my nose has burnt away, leaving nothing behind.

I reach up to touch it, but still, I find I cannot move. Only this time, I don’t seem to care. It’s as if all my anger has finally leached from my body, allowing me to rest. With a soft sigh, I nuzzle the hand, content to be in this state of tranquility.

A soft lilting voice washes over me, a nameless tune set to a hum. It runs the length of my body, easing my pain and shoring me up. I can tell now that it’s not my mother. That only leaves one other person who would touch me with such familiarity.

Forcing my eyes open, I look upon my eventual bride. She smiles down at me, radiating peace and happiness from her very being. Since she’s still so small, she sits at my side so as to not be crushed by my bulk. Her doe eyes sparkle as she runs her hand over my hair, bringing soothing coolness with each swipe of her fingers.

“There now, Prince Phillip. All better.”

I want to smile at her, to give her some of the same happiness back, but find it nearly impossible to do so. She’s so small and na?ve, unable to fully understand how things work. A simple tune and a stroke of her fingers might be enough to keep her happy, but I wasn’t blessed with her graces.

My bones will not knit together simply because she wills it. Melted flesh won’t repair because she sings a little song. Granted, I’m grateful she still doesn’t know how cruel this world can be yet, but at some point, she will learn.

We all do.

Testing my limbs, I first move my toes, then my feet, legs, and hips. When those seem to move without issue, I arch my back, testing my spine. My fingers, hands, arms, and shoulders move of their own free will. Last is my neck.

I turn toward her, finally giving Briar a soft smile. When she beams back, my heart pounds in my chest, threatening to break through. Even at eight, she exudes such a magnitude of happiness that it almost hurts to look upon. It’s similar to staring into the sun—eventually, you will get burned.

The longer the silence drags out between us, I watch as her lower lip trembles a touch. This simply won’t do. Patting her hand, I do my best to smile again, giving her just a small bit back that she’s giving me.

“All better, Princess Briar. I thank you for your expert care.”

Again, she beams at me and pats my arm. “Does anything else ail you?”

I rest my hand over my heart, refusing to give in and tell her all the worries and fears bubbling up. She’s still a child and in no way a confidant for things of that nature. Instead, I shake my head and make my way to my feet.

“I do believe you have healed me completely. You have my gratitude.”

As I lean down into a low bow, she grabs my hand and yanks me forward. “Excellent! Let us play!”

“Play?” I shoot back, a grin threatening to tilt my lips. “A prince does not play.”

Briar lets go of my hand and plants both of her hands on her hips, giving me the sternest frown I think she can muster. “You can too. I saw you earlier. Before you fainted. You and Master Balcom were playing out in the courtyard.”

“I- But that is not-” I stop, noting the quiver of her lips once more.

The last thing I want to do is make her cry. Shaking my head, I kneel before her, bringing myself to eye level with the incorrigible princess. “What shall you have us play?”

All traces of sadness vanish as she claps her hands together with child-like glee. Was I ever that happy? I cannot remember. Honestly, it’s as if nothing else resides in my head earlier than the day I met her and the awful witch.

Try as I might, I cannot conjure a life before I was ten. Surely, I had one. Were there not moments where I too played amongst the rooms and halls of the castle? Begging the servants to entertain me?

A haze floods my mind, causing my head to ache. Shaking it back and forth, I do my best to dispel it, but the mist remains. As always, the moment I stop prying, the pain goes away.

“Prince Philip,” she cries out, once more balling her hands into fists and placing them on her hips. “Are you listening?”

I bring my mind back to the present, determined to give Briar my full attention. “Forgive me, my princess. I fear my mind got away with me. What is it we’re playing?”

“Hide and seek. Count to twenty and come find me!” Before I can either agree or disagree, she slips away, leaving me alone in the room.

Thankfully, she can’t hurt herself in the castle. Even without her graces to protect her. That’s something, at least. My lips quirk up at her antics. She’s certainly a handful.

With slow, steady counts, I go from twenty down to one. By the time the countdown is done, she is nowhere to be readily seen. Taking in a deep breath, I move forward but stop as something shifts inside me.

Placing a hand over my heart, I lean against the doorframe, fear flooding my system. It’s as if something wriggles deep within, uncoiling with each inhale. Something is different. I cannot say what, but it’s as if my senses sharpen.

My eyes see colors that weren’t there earlier. My nose picks up on all the scents around me and not just the food cooking in the kitchens below. Something else is there, a sweet, delicate, fragile scent that wafts up into my nose.

Briar.

In my gut, I know it’s her. Rather, it knows it’s her. I resist the urge to get down on all fours and crawl after her like a dog, resembling the bloodhounds my father keeps for hunting. With each breath, whatever the thing in me twists about, coiling with some odd longing.

It’s not lust or anything depraved like that. Moreso a kinship, a need to see Briar safe and happy. It worries after her well-being and detests being so far apart. Closing my eyes, I listen, my ears pricking as the sound of her smothered laugh reaches over to me.

Though I cannot tell precisely where she is, I know the direction in which to go. Determined, I take off, sliding through the door and turning left as the hallway forks. She’s closer now. I can tell by the strength of the smell.

My lips draw up into a predatory smile as I duck my head and turn again into another hallway. However, before I can reach my prize, however, another scent invades my nose moments before a strong hand connects with my chest. Looking up, I stare into Master Balcom’s eyes, noting an odd expression.

A ragged rattling vibrates through my body. A snarl, perhaps? It’s the closest thing I can use to describe it. He remains unphased, simply standing there, keeping me from completing my quest.

“The princess will have to wait,” he says, his voice deep and low. “There are far more important matters to discuss.”

Without allowing me to even tell him no, he wraps his hand around my arm and forces me away. “No!” I bellow, my voice booming through the hall.

Bits of paint and plaster rain down on us, presumably loosened by my roar. Around us, servants stay rooted to the spot, their eyes wide with terror. Did I cause that?

Before I can think it through, the tiny princess peeks out from behind a door, her eyes just as wide as the others. It’s not fear, however. Somehow, deep in my gut, I know this. The worry she has is for me and my safety.

“Prince Philip?” Her voice quavers a touch, and I find I cannot bear to see her cry.

“Found you, my little princess,” I tease, making my tone as lighthearted as I can manage. “But I have duties to fulfill. We will play again some other time.”

Though her expression brightens a touch, it’s nowhere near the happiness she showed earlier. My insides cramp as Master Balcom drags me away. The savage need to see to her happiness snaps and snarls within me.

Twisting and turning, I do my best to break out of his grasp but find I cannot. It’s hard and unyielding, an implacable force I cannot fight against. This is not the same man I fought against on the training grounds. His stance is different, his scent is different. It’s him, but something more, something brutal.

“Prince. You cannot-”

“Master Balcom!” A soldier tears into the room and drops to his knee. “You are needed in the throne room.” Pausing, he looks up at me. “Prince Philip, you may be needed as well.”

Master Balcom’s lips thin as he watches him leave. “Seems as if some mischief is afoot. Come, let us see what is now befalling us.” Clapping his hand on my back, he leaves, expecting me to follow.

The throne room is in complete chaos as we enter. My father paces as Mother sobs on her throne. Off to the side, the King of Kendrick shakes his head, looking down at a blood-stained piece of paper.

Their terror is acrid to my nose, a stench I’ll never forget. As Master Balcom and my parents converse, I walk over to King Kendrick and sidle up, trying to get a look at the letter. With a sneer, he hands it over and walks off, rage pouring off of him.

From what I understand, soldiers from his family are being slaughtered in protection of our own. Soon, we will have to assist. Balling the letter in my fist, I look over at Master Balcom.

As we make eye contact, I realize what we’re going to have to do. As much as I want to protect Briar and make her happy, I cannot do so here. A battle is waging, and I need to be there at the forefront to keep her safe.