2. Haldric

two

Haldric

Haldric stumbled in the churned-up dirt as his captors led him from the carriage. Numbness pervaded his mind and body, making it feel as if he was viewing everything through the distorted surface of a pond.

I'm in shock , he thought dazedly as more soldiers enveloped him, pouring out of his carriage and dismounting from his escort. And no wonder. One moment, he'd been enjoying breakfast with Benjin, and the next…

He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of Benjin's terrified face, Benjin's panicked shouts echoing in his ears.

Haldric had considered fighting. He'd always been the superior mage to Benjin. But what would resistance have done except get him or Benjin killed? Better to go along with this insanity until they could sort it out.

Goddess' mercy, please let Benjin be okay.

His boot caught in a cleft in the road, and he lost his footing again, almost planting on his face. A deft hand caught his elbow, jerking him upright. Perhaps closing his eyes while walking hadn't been the smartest decision.

He blinked and glanced over to find a stern-faced man standing at his side. The man's crisp uniform marked him as a marshal in the royal guard. A faint hint of recognition tickled the back of Haldric's mind, though he was fairly certain the marshal hadn't been part of his original escort.

The marshal gave him a precise salute. "It's good to see you again, Your Highness." His gaze briefly lingered on Haldric before he turned, his alert eyes roaming the area around them. "Watch your step and keep moving. It's not safe for you out here."

Your Highness .

Haldric cleared his throat, his gut roiling as he allowed the soldiers to guide him up a forested path. "I don't know who you think I am, but this is all a ridiculous misunderstanding. You have the wrong man."

The marshal didn't reply beyond a slight tightening of his lips.

"Please." Haldric squeezed his arms over his chest to disguise the slight tremor in them. "Can't you at least explain what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," the marshal replied without looking at him. "My orders are to bring you straight to the keep."

The first flickers of anger ate away at Haldric's confusion and fear. He jerked to a halt, relieved when his escort paused around him rather than shoving him onward. The marshal's gaze locked on Haldric as Haldric drew himself up, trying to project an aura of authority.

"That's not good enough! You've broken into my home, assaulted my husband, and kidnapped me against my will. I refuse to take another step until I get some answers, so unless you plan to drag me the rest of the way up this hill, you're going to have to tell me what the Void is happening!"

The marshal's face turned to stone. For a moment, Haldric feared he'd pushed things too far no matter the misplaced respect these soldiers seemed to have for him. Relief flooded him when the marshal finally shook his head and sighed.

"Please, Your Highness, don't make this more difficult for me and my men than it already is. I assure you that all of your questions will be answered once we reach the keep. Until then, you have my word that you won't be harmed."

"And what about Benjin? Has he been harmed?"

The marshal startled Haldric by spitting into the dirt. "That lowborn wretch is a traitor, Your Highness. He doesn't deserve your pity."

Something tightened in Haldric's chest. "That ‘lowborn wretch' is my husband, marshal, and I'll decide how I should treat him, thank you."

The marshal opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to reconsider before abruptly turning away. Worry quickened Haldric's heartbeat. How did Benjin fit into this absurd delusion of theirs? And just what did they intend to do with him? With either of them?

"The traitor lives," the marshal said, though his tense posture and clenched jaw suggested he was none too pleased about it. "He escaped when we attempted to apprehend him, but we have patrols scouring the countryside. Runeflame or not, he won't get far."

Prove them wrong, my love, Haldric prayed with a savage spike of hope. Get as far away from this madness as you can.

The marshal beckoned impatiently for them to continue.

Glancing about at his armored escort, Haldric reluctantly obeyed. For now, playing along still seemed the best way to stay safe and get some answers.

"At least tell me your name," he said as the soldiers led him up a sloping dirt path.

"Fendrel," the marshal said after a lengthy pause.

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Haldric, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he'd met someone with the same name during a recent trip to town?

He was still pondering the question when they emerged from a copse of trees onto a sprawling lawn. Though Haldric had never visited the local baron himself, he could only assume this was his manor.

The baron's keep had seen better days. Crumbling stonework marred the two-story castle's outer walls. The only spot of color was a tattered banner bearing the blue-and-green crest of Gerald's Spring, flapping in the wind.

Around the keep stretched what appeared to be a makeshift war camp. Rows of tents had been set up across the trampled grass, along with paddocks for horses. Haldric had thought the few dozen soldiers that came to their cottage excessive, but there had to be nearly twice that again here, tending to their equipment or patrolling the grounds. Someone had wanted an undeniable show of force.

As Haldric and the rest of his procession came into view, every single one of them turned to stare. Their expressions ranged from slack-jawed admiration to narrow-eyed judgment. Some bowed. Many more saluted. And a few simply watched him approach.

His face burning from the attention, Haldric ducked his head and stared at his feet. "Everyone's staring at me," he muttered.

He hadn't really expected a response, but Fendrel said, "Of course they are, Your Highness. We've been searching for you for nearly five months. Everyone is relieved to have you back safe and sound."

Not everyone, he thought, recalling the disapproval on some of the soldiers' faces.

They reached the front of the keep without incident. Fendrel led him through the heavy wooden doors and into a modestly appointed stone hall. More soldiers stood arrayed here, these bearing the livery of the local town guard.

A man emerged from their ranks, stepping forward into a deep bow, and Haldric realized with a jolt that it was Baron Simmons himself. The local ruler had never given Haldric more than a sneering glance before the rare times they'd crossed paths in the village. Now, however, he oozed obsequious deferral.

"Your Highness, please accept my deepest, most sincere apologies." The baron's words spilled over each other in their eagerness to escape. "Obviously, I had no idea who you were or else I would've afforded you the respect you deserve."

"And who exactly is that?" Haldric took a tentative step away from the baron, unsettled by his fawning attention.

Baron Simmons blinked, clearly confused.

With a firm grip on Haldric's forearm, Fendrel propelled him onward. "I'm afraid we're on important business and can't stay to chat. Good day to you, my lord."

"O-of course," the baron said as they hurried past him down a nearby corridor. "Please give Duchess Janelle my regards."

Like with Fendrel, the name stirred something in Haldric's memory, eliciting a flicker of recognition. Perhaps the name belonged to an important noble he'd heard about? That would explain why there were so many soldiers here, though not all this Your Highness business.

Most of their original escort peeled off, leaving just Fendrel and four guards to guide him down a series of winding passages. Haldric struggled to squash his rising concern when Fendrel paused before a sealed door and knocked, waiting to open it until a muffled voice bid him to enter.

The room within was better appointed than the rest of the manor. Judging by its fine furnishings, Haldric guessed these were the baron's private quarters. The baron must have given them up for the woman seated there at a table.

If this was the ‘Duchess Janelle' Baron Simmons had mentioned, she appeared nothing like Haldric would have expected. Stocky and muscular, she wore full battle armor. A pair of twin axes sat on her hips, and a pale scar twisted down her cheek from her hairline to her jaw.

Despite her coarse appearance, she smiled broadly when she saw him. "Haldric! It really is you. By the Goddess, you've led us on a merry chase!"

Haldric was too stunned to move as she wrapped him in a rough embrace, squeezing hard enough to make his bones creak. A strange tickling sensation prickled the back of his mind. He couldn't help but feel as if he knew this woman, had somehow met her before, even though that was impossible.

He stood ramrod straight until she released him, taking a couple steps back to regard him with a fond expression that made his skin crawl with its overfamiliarity. "Thank the Goddess you're all right. We need to get you back to Revesole as quickly as we can." A scowl split her face as she glanced at Fendrel. "What of the traitor mage? Is he in chains where he belongs?"

"Escaped, Your Grace," Fendrel replied with a crisp salute. "But he can't have gone far. I have soldiers patrolling the entire area. We'll root him out."

The woman's scowl deepened. "You'd better. Dismissed, marshal."

With another salute and one last unreadable glance at Haldric, Fendrel strode from the chamber. That left Haldric alone with the too-familiar woman who may or may not have been a duchess.

Eyeing the pair of axes, he swallowed and asked, "Please, will you tell me what's going on? Why does everyone care so much about me and Benjin? Are we…are we under arrest?"

The woman snorted a laugh as she returned to her spot at the table. The wooden chair creaked beneath her armored bulk. "Don't be ridiculous. We're not here to arrest you—we're here to rescue you." He fingers brushed the handle of one of her axes. "Though, I can't say the same about your companion."

"Benjin?" He struggled to piece together what had happened that morning with everything this woman and Fendrel had told him so far. "But…why would I need saving from Benjin of all people? And why does everyone seem so convinced that I'm some long-lost noble?"

The woman glanced to the left, though so far as he could tell, there was nothing there except empty air. Perhaps she was simply avoiding his gaze.

After a span of heartbeats, she turned back to him, her mouth firming into a determined line. Her fingers left the handle of her ax as she steepled them together on the table, her demeanor shifting in an instant to that of a diplomat about to convey delicate information.

"I'm afraid there's much you don't know, Haldric. At least, not anymore."

His stomach roiled. "What do you mean?"

"There's no easy way to tell you this, so I'll just spit it out. Your memories have been magically altered. The life you think you have here is a lie."

A lie.

The words bounced around in his head, and though he knew what they meant, they felt like gibberish to his ears.

"That's not possible," he said, his voice faint.

She grimaced. "While I've got no magic myself, the Grand Magus assures me you're the victim of an insidious curse. It whisked you away from the capital, stripped you of your proper memories, and hid you here in this backwater village. It's taken us months to track you down, but now that we have, you can finally go home."

"Home?" Slowly, he retreated from her until his trembling back pressed against the door. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside—guards watching for any attempt to escape, no doubt. "My home is here with Benjin."

"Your home is in the palace at Revesole," the woman said with a hint of impatience.

"And who are you to tell me all this?"

A sad smile flickered over her lips. "My name is Janelle Demeroux. I am the Duchess of Catia, sister to King Roland Demeroux…and your aunt."

Haldric reeled as if struck. His chest and throat felt too tight. Mutely, he shook his head as though to will the impossible declaration away. Janelle ignored him, speaking in the same tone one might use when explaining something to a child.

"Whether you remember it or not, Haldric, you are the prince of Ilthabard—King Roland's only son and the rightful heir to the throne."

"Impossible," Haldric whispered hoarsely. "None of this makes any sense! Am I just supposed to take your word that everything I believe is wrong?"

"You don't need to. Search your own memories and see for yourself." He hesitated, unsure what she meant, and she sighed, leaning forward to stare at him intently. "Tell me, Haldric, what do you remember from before your time here in Gerald's Spring? Where did you grow up? How did you and Benjin meet? Who were your parents?"

It was absurd, being questioned on the legitimacy of his own life by a woman he'd never even met. He opened his mouth to humor her, eager to prove her wrong…and froze.

No matter how desperately he scoured his memories, there was nothing there. No concrete answers to her questions. He vividly recalled his time here in Gerald's Spring, the past few months with Benjin crystal clear. Before that, however, everything blurred into a murky haze.

Janelle gave him a pitying look that set his teeth on edge. "You can't answer, can you? The Grand Magus assured me as much. It's part of the curse—it subtly nudges you away from thinking too hard about your past or the gaps in your memory so that you don't question them."

"But…but how? Who…?"

With sudden grim certainty, he knew what Janelle's answer would be. Even still, his gut twisted when she said, "Benjin. That traitor mage is the one who did this to you. He kidnapped you, using the curse to keep you compliant and docile. To make you believe that this was what you wanted."

"You're wrong!" The stone walls closed in around him, the spacious quarters suddenly stifling and oppressive. "Benjin would never do that! By the Goddess, we're in love! He cares about me."

Her dismissive shrug made him want to scream. "Perhaps he does. From what we know of the magic, the curse corrupted his own memories as well. He likely doesn't remember what he did any better than you do. But that doesn't change the fact that you're living in an illusion. Your love isn't real."

Haldric spun away from her, burying his face against the door. "You're the one lying, not Benjin. I refuse to believe that what we have isn't real just because you say so. Whatever twisted game you're playing, leave us out of it!"

Wood and metal creaked behind him as Janelle rose. He resisted the urge to look, refusing to give her even that small victory.

Several seconds passed in silence before she sighed. When she spoke, frustration laced her tone. "This is a waste of time. So long as the curse remains in place, he won't believe a word I say."

What?

Haldric glanced back to see Janelle once again staring at the empty air across the room. Her last comment hadn't sounded like it was directed at him. Was she talking to herself now?

He jumped when another voice replied from out of thin air. "On the contrary, my dear duchess. Though he'd never admit it, the boy already begins to believe. Cursed or not, Haldric was always one of my cleverest pupils. Please, allow me to try."

Janelle made a curt gesture. Haldric gasped when a man materialized in the middle of the chamber. Handsome and well-muscled, the almost obscene amount of finery he wore stood in stark contrast to Janelle's more austere outfit. Despite the man's youthful face, his hair was stark white, trimmed neatly along with his beard and mustache. His eyes were a deep, enigmatic purple—likely the effect of some manner of enchantment.

Like Janelle and Fendrel, the man's face seemed familiar, though frustration simmered when he couldn't place from where.

"Who in the Goddess' name are you?" Haldric demanded.

"Grand Magus Dexil Hashture, at your service," the man replied with a sweeping bow. "Forgive me my subterfuge, but I thought it might make things easier on you if you heard the truth from your aunt first."

"Then you thought incorrectly. This is absurd no matter who I hear it from."

Dexil shook his head, his ageless face grave. "I'm afraid everything she told you is the truth, my boy. You are under the effects of a powerful curse—one I believe I can break given the proper preparations and access to my equipment in Revesole. That is why we must return you and Benjin there as swiftly as possible."

Haldric glanced at Janelle, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you told me Benjin was the one who cursed me. If that's true, why do you need him there?"

It was Dexil who answered. "As the one responsible for casting the curse, his presence is required to break it."

Haldric resisted the urge to defend Benjin again. What was the point when his words would fall on deaf ears? Instead, he posed another question.

"Why are you so certain this is the work of a curse?"

Dexil bowed his head, but not before Haldric caught his pained grimace. "Because you were once my pupil, Prince Haldric…as was Benjin. Before your disappearance, he was like a son to me. Yet, I cannot deny the evidence before my eyes. A stolen ritual scroll, a vanished prince, my apprentice's unusual behavior… No, I have no doubt that Benjin is to blame."

"Nor do I." Janelle's hands twitched on the table as though longing to reach once more for her axes. "The boy is guilty—of that we can be certain. And once my soldiers capture him, we'll be able to restore your lost memories and hear his confession for ourselves."

"There must be another explanation." The walls pressed in tighter around him. He shoved away the faint tendrils of uncertainty beginning to thread through him. "I know Benjin as well as I know myself, and while he can be brash and impulsive, he would never do anything to hurt me."

Janelle looked ready to argue, but Dexil held up a hand to forestall her, peering closely at Haldric. "Tell me, Your Highness, have you felt anything since coming here to the keep? A sense of déjà vu perhaps, or a faint tickle of recognition, like you've seen something before only to have forgotten?"

Haldric's breath caught in his throat. The edges of his vision darkened as the room swam before his vision. He forced a shaky nod.

"I thought as much." Dexil gave him a kind smile. "It's nothing to be afraid of, my boy. It is a symptom of the curse—a sign that your latent memories are fighting to reassert themselves and recover your lost truth."

Memories flashed before his eyes from that morning. The warm glint in Benjin's pale gray eyes when he looked at Haldric. The safe comfort of his arms wrapped around Haldric's back. The familiar taste of his breath on Haldric's lips.

Those events were real —they'd happened. But the love undergirding them, tying them all together, that couldn't be fake…could it?

Haldric gave a desperate shake of his head, though he wasn't certain if it was Dexil or himself he was denying. "Benjin is my truth. No matter what you say, I know that to my core. Even if you're right, even if I really am who you say I am, he's as much a victim in all this as I am!"

"I truly wish that were so, Your Highness," Dexil sighed. "But deep down, we both know it's not."

"Enough," Janelle said. "This conversation is going in circles." She strode to the door and rapped on it, then turned to Haldric. "Some rest will do you good, nephew. We'll discuss this more in the morning."

Footsteps echoed outside. A moment later, the door creaked open to reveal Fendrel standing at attention. "Yes, Your Grace?"

Janelle gestured at Haldric. "Please escort Prince Haldric to the rooms we've prepared for him…and make sure that he stays there."

Fendrel snapped a salute. "Of course, Your Grace."

Haldric quickly gauged the distance to the door and how many guards likely remained stationed outside. The answer was too many . Even then, he might've attempted it if not for the Grand Magus' presence. Another mage lowered his chances of escape from slim to nonexistent.

Janelle rested a gauntleted hand on his shoulder as he walked past her. He stiffened at the touch. "Everything will work out for the best, Haldric. You'll see. Soon enough, you'll be right back where you belong."

His stomach churned as he followed Fendrel silently down the hall to a nearby door flanked by a pair of guards. The thought of leaving Gerald's Spring and his life here behind filled him with a sick dread.

At least Benjin is safe…for now.

Fendrel ushered him inside and locked the door behind him. Though not as lavishly appointed as Janelle's chambers, it was still far bigger and more luxurious than the bedroom in the tiny cottage he'd shared with Benjin.

Still, he'd have given anything to be back there again, safe in Benjin's arms.

He went straight to the bed, though sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Wrapping his arms tight about his chest, he curled up atop the sheets, his mind reeling.

It was difficult enough to believe he might be some cursed prince, no matter

what the duchess and Grand Magus claimed. But to accept that Benjin of all people was the one who'd cursed him? It was absurd. Haldric refused to believe the love of his life was some evil warlock toying with his mind.

As the minutes dragged into hours, Haldric's thoughts turning sluggish as they spun around and around in circles, he found his heart aching for Benjin. No matter what anyone else said, Haldric would hold out hope as long as he could. Benjin would never do anything to hurt or betray him—he had to believe that. He had to.

I miss you, Benjin, he thought as he finally drifted to sleep, hating the part of him that wondered if that emotion, too, was nothing but a lie.