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But the efforts of the traitors were in vain. The horse leaped like an athlete, clearing several feet of space and arcing over the remnants of the moat to land on the opposite side of the castle.
“LOWER THE BRIDGE! AFTER THEM!”
Sebastian heard the order screamed faintly behind them, but Lucan had chosen a fast and brave mount, and great strides of distance were put between the prince and his knight and those who would follow them. Together Lucan and Sebastian disappeared into the embrace of the royal woods.
Jolted with every stride the animal took, Sebastian found himself unable to feel much of anything. Fear. Regret. Grief. They all sat in a lump in his stomach, solid and walled off from the rest of his being. From time to time, he felt Lucan’s rear touch his arm along with the motion of the horse. The slight brush was more heaven than Sebastian had ever imagined he would enjoy.
Sir Lucan was the ultimate protector, and Sebastian now owed his life to the very man he had not been able to get out of his head for months on end. It was a debt he was most eager to repay.
2 CAKE AND DEATH
The night was cold. The castle was distant. His mother and father lay dead in cake. Sebastian tried to feel sad about that and found himself challenged by the attempt. Death by cake seemed so very ignominious. His mother deserved a more elegant passing, and his father a more brutal one. His mind rebelled against the matter entirely.
His mother and father had always been alive, and them not being alive seemed impossible. Sebastian had several times been voted the royal least likely to survive an invasion, so how could it be that he still drew breath and they did not?
The answer, of course, was Lucan. Not a word had been spoken between the two of them since they fled from Castle Force. There was no sound but that of the wind in his ears as Lucan urged the horse through the forest, leaving paths and trails and making his way through rivers and such. Sometimes leaves flew into Sebastian’s face and other times mud and water splashed his visage, removing some of the blood and mixing with other parts of it. He closed his eyes through the splashy parts. He did not enjoy doing that because every time he did, he saw the image of his mother and father slumped in their dessert.
He distracted himself by being upset about lesser things. Like the fact that the interlopers and traitors would probably be in his bedroom, touching his things. Perhaps trying on his clothes. Sebastian could not abide that thought. He wished there had been time to salvage a few pieces. He had just had a new silk doublet made, and it would likely not fit a single one of the brutes who had stormed the royal hall. They were all built like minotaurs, great huffing brutes and beasts. Nothing like Sebastian, whose fine and willowy form had made him so easy to rescue. Lucan had picked him up like a damsel in distress and carried him out of the castle showing barely any effort in the attempt.
Lucan rode hard through much of the night, heading up into remote territory where the whole world seemed entirely silent aside from the occasional hoot of an owl. They were many hours and even more miles away from what Sebastian thought of as home when they came across a peasant’s shack well off any main roads. It was at this forsaken place Lucan stopped, dismounted from his horse, and helped Sebastian down.
“Are you alright, your majesty?” Lucan asked the question with deep concern.
Sebastian took a deep breath and attempted to answer the question honestly.
“No,” he said. “Do you know, I don’t think I am.”
The boy was in shock. He was pale and trembling, and understandably unable to process what was happening. Lucan thought he might be in shock too, but not in the same way. He was far more accustomed to death and tragedy than the sheltered prince. Sebastian had never seen anything like the proceedings of the night, of that Lucan was absolutely certain. Few men could see the things Sebastian had seen that night and maintain anything like composure. Lucan gave the prince great credit for that. His job would have been much harder if Sebastian had given into displays of hysterics.
Lucan drew Sebastian inside the shack, leading him by the elbow. He was a fragile creature. He had always been a tender boy, not quite sickly, but with an appearance of weakness. Lucan told himself he was examining the prince for any sign of injury as he let his eyes explore every inch of Sebastian’s frame.
His hair was naturally pale gold, light and messed about his head from the breeze that had been generated in their flight from the castle. Thick mats of blood and mud had tainted much of it. He needed a bath, but Lucan did not mind that. He was accustomed to being coated in filth. Such was a soldier’s lot.
