Chapter 6: The Knight of the Round Table

  Aeron delivered a powerful kick to the thin wooden door, splintering the frame and sending the iron latch flying across the courtyard.

  "Well done, lad!" Sir Richard offered a grim smile, carrying the Princess as he followed Aeron onto the courtyard stones.

  "I’m not a lad, alright?" Aeron grumbled, clearly irked. "I’m sixteen!"

  "Oh!" Princess Chiryl let out a small, tinkling laugh—a rare moment of levity in such a dire hour. "As it turns out, you are a year younger than I. And here I thought you were eighteen or nineteen at the very least."

  Aeron stood agape, his thick brows furrowing in a look that suggested he was utterly speechless.

  "This is the castle’s rear courtyard," Sir Richard interjected, steering them back to the task at hand. "Pass through the kitchens, and we shall officially enter the Royal Gardens."

  "Why didn't we just take the main gate instead of lurking through the back like this?" Aeron asked, puzzled. "And how can a rotten door like that even exist in such a magnificent palace?"

  Chiryl shook her head at the kind-hearted simpleton, while Richard explained patiently: "Had we chosen the main gate, we would have alerted the conspirators, forcing them to strike sooner. A surprise counter-attack is our only path to thwarting this treachery. As for that door—it is where the palace refuse is hauled out. Did you truly think anyone cared for its sturdiness?"

  "I wish I’d known that sooner," Aeron muttered under his breath. "A fortune’s worth of goods would’ve found its way to the black market by now."

  "Listen, here is the plan," Richard said, his tone turning solemn. "Aeron, take the Princess to the Western Tower. The swordsmen loyal to the King are stationed there; they will protect you both. I must reach His Majesty at once."

  "No!" Chiryl cried, clutching the Knight of Beche’s sturdy elbow to halt him. "I am coming with you! I cannot hide in a tower while my father is in peril."

  "Princess, it is too dangerous!" Richard protested. "If they intend harm to the King, no member of the royal line is safe. You must think of the realm. Leave His Majesty to me. Go to the Knights' Tower, alert them to protect the rest of the royal family, and if you still wish to see your father, return with as many reinforcements as you can muster."

  Chiryl wavered, but Aeron gently pulled her hand away from Richard. He sighed and said softly, "He’s right, Princess. We’d only be in the way. Better to reach the tower and return with an army to back him up."

  Reluctantly, Chiryl yielded to reason. She watched Richard’s brown cloak billow as he vanished behind the palace buildings. She then led her new friend—the thief who had yet to realize his life was veering onto an entirely different path—toward the Kroneous Tower, where the legendary knights of ancient Lorencine once held sway.

  An inexplicable dread clung to Chiryl, filling her with a hollow, suffocating fear. The fresh grass of the Royal Gardens buckled beneath her hurried steps. Corrupt nobles knelt and bowed as the beautiful, ice-cold Princess swept past them. Whispers and judgmental stares followed the strange youth trailing behind her. They were curious, as always—the only thing securing their privilege was their noble blood and the wealth extracted from their estates. King Berian had long desired to purge such parasites, but their influence was a shadow he could not yet dispel.

  CRASH!

  Aeron threw open the doors to the ancient tower. Chiryl stepped inside with the sovereign authority of a princess, causing all seventeen knights seated around the round table to spring from their chairs and kneel in astonishment.

  "A plot is afoot to assassinate the King and the royal family!" she declared. "I require your blades!"

  The Knights of the Round Table stood stunned. But one man, with thick, matted brown hair, drew his sword from beneath the table and stepped forward.

  "I, Sar’Gour of Bard, shall escort you to the Great Hall! His Majesty and the Mantorian envoy are there even now!"

  "Good!" the Princess replied, relieved. "But I need the rest of you to disperse and guard the other royals. A few of you will suffice for me. Sir Richard and the Royal Guard should have reached the Great Hall by now."

  Sir Sar’Gour Trensker nodded. Quickly, two other knights stepped forward to join the Princess’s retinue.

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  As they crossed the Royal Gardens again, the nobles once more fell to their knees. They were baffled to see the Princess accompanied by three knights in shimmering silver plate, their armor reflecting the flickering torchlight against the emerald vines of the trellises.

  Aeron followed, though Chiryl had intended for him to stay in the safety of the tower. It wasn't curiosity that drove him now, nor the hope of pocketing palace treasures. For the first time, he felt a weight of responsibility—a duty to protect something far greater than his own life.

  Sar’Gour had handed him a sword back at Kroneous Tower. In that moment, Aeron had unwittingly become a squire of destiny. Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined such an honor for a sixteen-year-old. An orphan, a nameless thief with no noble blood, now stood among legends. He swore to himself that he would live up to the honor he had been granted.

  Walking stride-for-stride with the knights, flanking the fairest bloom of Lorencine, Aeron felt a fire ignite within his veins. He was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

  "AAAH!" A maid’s scream shattered the evening air.

  Chiryl and Aeron exchanged a sharp look before bolting toward the source of the cry. Suddenly, from behind a grove of Miela trees—small, star-flowered trees that bloomed but once a year—a violent explosion erupted. A pillar of fire surged upward, coiling around the Great Hall like the giant red serpent from Chiryl’s nightmares. She stood frozen; her visions were becoming reality.

  Panic seized her, and she ran toward the inferno, ignoring the knights' warnings. Aeron gave chase, but his eyes caught the wall where the maid had screamed. He recoiled; the stone was splattered with fresh, crimson blood.

  A flash of light tore through the smoke-choked sky as a massive orb of fire appeared, shattering and raining embers across the palace. The ground groaned under a subterranean force, shaking as if the world itself were breaking.

  "A Wizard!" Sir Sar’Gour cried out. "There is a High Mage among the assassins!"

  Chiryl thought of Pentrius, the leader of the men she had seen in Aeron’s house. But there was no time for thought. They sprinted into the Great Hall's corridor, which was already licking with flames, and reached the massive doors that stood defiant against the roaring heat.

  "The doors are still shut!" a knight noted. "His Majesty must still be inside!"

  He reached out to push the oak panels, only to recoil with a cry of pain. His palms were blistered and scorched. "There is a ward upon it! Be careful!"

  "What do we do? Sar’Gour, is there no way inside?" Chiryl cried in desperation.

  "Hmph, the assassins seek to block reinforcements," Sar’Gour muttered.

  CLANG! BOOM! The sounds of a fierce struggle echoed from within.

  "There’s a fight!" Aeron shouted. "That means Sir Richard is in there! The King might still be safe. Don’t lose hope, Princess!"

  "How can I not?!" Chiryl snapped, her voice cracking. "My father is trapped in a burning room with a Dark Mage! You tell me not to worry?"

  Aeron fell silent, stung by her words. He had only wanted to comfort her. Sir Sar’Gour ended the dispute, stepping between them to face the towering doors.

  "I shall attempt to break the seal with magic," he said quietly. "Forgive me for not speaking of this sooner. You know how people gossip... even as the head of the knights, my origins among the mages are not forgotten."

  "Just do it!" Chiryl commanded, her patience frayed.

  Sar’Gour nodded and signaled them to stand back. He stepped forward, arms outstretched, chanting an incantation in a low, guttural tongue. A whirlwind gathered from nowhere, swirling around his radiant armor. It condensed around his fingers into brilliant white gauntlets of light. With a roar like a Menfais beast, Sar’Gour slammed his hands together toward the door.

  RIP!

  The force tore through the air, striking the oak doors and splintering the wood with a crackle of energy. As the doors burst open, a wave of heat surged out, revealing a gruesome scene. Royal Guards lay scattered in pools of their own blood. The Mantorian envoy was there too, pinned to a massive pillar, his eyes wide with a final, unresigned terror.

  Chiryl’s eyes searched frantically for her father. But all she saw through her violet gaze was the commander of the guard, his surcoat drenched in blood, struggling against six men in black.

  "Protect the Princess!" Sar’Gour roared to the wounded knight and Aeron.

  He and the remaining knight lunged forward to aid Richard. The Great Hall rang with the clash of steel and the cries of the dying. Moments later, a heavy silence fell. The assassins were dead. The last survivor had bitten his tongue to end his life just as Richard, maddened with rage, had seized him for questioning.

  "Sir Richard!" Chiryl sprinted into the hall. "Where is my father?"

  Ignoring his bleeding wounds, Richard Tuckerham—the bedrock of Lorencine—fell to his knees in despair. "I beg the Princess to pass judgment upon me. I have failed to protect the King."

  "What... what do you mean?" Chiryl stammered, her world spinning. "Is he not... is he..."

  "His Majesty lives!" Richard corrected quickly. "But as we breached the hall, a wizard—the attendant of the Dwarf envoy—seized him. He used the King as a shield and forced his way out. By the time we could give chase, these assassins blocked our path. The mage sealed us in with magic. We fought, but they were master swordsmen..."

  "No... I must find him!" Chiryl screamed through her tears, turning to run.

  But Aeron’s strong hand caught her arm. "Princess! Do not throw your life away!" he pleaded. "You cannot search blindly, and if you find them, you will only be captured. I... I know what such kidnappers want. They won't kill him as long as he serves a purpose in their schemes. His Majesty is safe for now."

  Aeron turned to the Knight of Beche. "Am I right, Sir Richard?"

  Richard stood slowly, nodding solemnly. "Yes. Before he fled, the mage left a condition for the King’s release."

  "What condition? Speak!" Chiryl demanded.

  Richard sighed and pointed to a message carved into the stone wall of the hall, written in the blood of a fallen guard:

  "Vearo’tiz Forest, at dawn. If you wish to save the King, let the Princess come alone! No crown soldiers are to follow!"

  "He wants to trade His Majesty for you," Richard said.