Half-Demon's Revenge

by Lina J. Potter

I did have the simplest option, however. I could either kidnap Carlie, and Abigail would have to look for a replacement, or...kidnap her child and take him to Torrin. If I explained everything, my family there would hide and raise him...they could say he was Cassie’s son, for instance.

  Was it unsightly? Dishonorable? Of course, exposing myself to an attack was so much more honorable. And my enemies were honorable as hell, really...

  The last option was starting to seem the most appealing. But first, I would have to check...

  The lady was calmly waiting for me. Ghosts didn’t need to hurry, they had an eternity ahead of them.

  “Did my uncle have any other illegitimate children?”

  “Not in the palace, maybe in the countryside...”

  “Why not?”

  “They met...various accidents.”

  That wasn’t unexpected.

  “Arranged by the Chartreuses?”

  “I cannot prove it. Even the ghosts can’t know everything...”

  I knew who I could summon to get the answers, but that didn’t seem the place for it. Or...maybe I could use magic in those walls, and nobody would trace me then. I need to sort out my heritage, really. Later.

  Children were fragile things, and Abigail’s family made good use of that fact. The queen didn’t want her children to have competition. And what did she get, in the end? No husband, no children... How dangerous was a cornered rat? Very.

  I released the spectral lady after thanking her in the most courteous manner and promising to call on her in the future.

  Well, tomorrow, we’ll have a show: a rat in mourning.

  ***

  How will I be buried? I will never know. But at least I can imagine. What is a royal funeral? The annual budget of a big city, cast to the wind! A gilded coffin, black fabric of mourning over the entire capital, black horses of the funeral cortege, black-clad courtiers, flags at half-mast and mournful music, black and gold, black and gold everywhere.

  Also everywhere are the hypocritical mourners, fake compassion written on their faces...snots... Mugs, that’s the word!

  A royal funeral was also an occasion to present yourself before the people, claim your place at court.

  The procession was led by a servant of the Bright Saint, who walked through the city chanting prayers. He was followed by a carriage with the king’s coffin, driven by four black horses. Uncle’s closest family walked behind the coffin: Abigail and I. The queen was...

  That day, she seemed especially fragile and martyr-like—black hair, white face, black dress, diamonds in her ears and on her neck, and a crown, of course. That was a tricky dress, by the way. Wearing it, Abigail looked like an ethereal black-winged butterfly, while being obviously pregnant. Had they attached a pillow to it? The people were staring at her and whispering.

  Abigail’s father walked next to his daughter, a noble-looking grey-haired gentlemen, who supported his grieving daughter, holding her hand. How touching. The Chartreuses really were a gorgeous lot.

  I hoped I looked the part, too. But...still a boy. I wasn’t even twenty, and I couldn’t help that.

  Not to mention that in my human form, I wasn’t exactly imposing. Medium-sized, small-framed, frail...and when dressed in black, with white hair tied in a ponytail...a pale sickly creature, not a prince.

  At least that’s what I looked like. People were watching, shaking their heads...I wasn’t Rudolph, not by a long shot. They’ll have to tough it out, then.

  Women were weeping, some of them even sincerely. That was ironic: my uncle’s most ardent mourners were the women that he had taken to his bed for only a couple of nights and then sent away from the capital. In a word, those who had actually loved him. Meanwhile, his beloved wife was holding a crumpled handkerchief, throwing daggers at me from behind it. How she hated me!

  And she wasn’t mourning her husband. She was mourning the loss of power, even if temporarily.

  Carlie was also present at the funeral. She leaned on her husband’s arm, occasionally tossing aside her red curls, while the viscount followed the coffin, resembling an unmilked deer.

  I wondered if Abigail had given her a fair deal or if she was going to use her as a pawn. I would have to find out.

  Finally, we came up to the temple. Funny thing, the Radenors were buried in a crypt under the palace, lots of space there. The palace was literally standing on blood and bones. The burial service, however, was held in the main temple, which is why we had to walk through the entire city.

  Well, people needed their entertainment.

  The servant entered first and lit the candles. Then the coffin was brought in and placed before the altar. People came in.

  It was a strict order: first Abigail, then I, then the Chartreuses. In that particular case, however, Duke Chartreuse went ahead of me, supposedly supporting his daughter. Let him. They don’t have long.

  The courtiers took their places, and the service started. It was a beautiful ceremony, I have to say. They were good singers. The servant was praying, the singers were chanting, clouds of incense were flying across the church, and some even collapsed from the smell.

  I wasn’t wasting time. I was examining the temple. They did use magic there, I could tell. Not in public, of course, but there were mages there, no question about it. And I would have to deal with them eventually. They didn’t want any competition? Well, neither did I.

  ***

  The circus started after the funeral. Apparently, they hadn’t dared to disturb me before, but afterward was fair game.

  “Your Highness, your wife...”

  “What about her?” I asked the captain of the royal guard, also a relative of Abigail’s, incidentally, her second younger brother.

  “She’s nowhere to be found!”

  “What do you mean?”

  I looked around in shock and arrived at an important decision.

  “Let’s go, show me where she was kept. Uncle did keep her under guard, didn’t he? Oh, my poor uncle!.. Have you found the murderers, by the way?”

  “No, Your Highness.”

  “What do you mean, no? What were you doing all this time, then? Picking a dress for the funeral? Curling your hair? Powdering your nose?”

  I lambasted the marquis loud and clear, and he grew pale, red, and then green, like an unripe apple. What else could I call it?

  Utter sloppiness!

  They hadn’t just failed at catching the assassin, they couldn’t even frame anybody! They hadn’t even told me about my escaped wife!

  Upon inspecting Lavinia’s chambers, we discovered that she wasn’t there.

  But she couldn’t just fly away, could she?

  No. She cannot be here still, either. What if somebody released her? If so, they would never confess.

  There was only one option left. We searched through the chambers and “found” the secret passage. Upon examining it, we discovered that it led to outside the castle wall. I gave Chartreuse a severe roasting. Then, we couldn’t help but wonder: what’s next? Nothing, really.

  So we had an escaped princess on our hands, almost a queen. What would happen to someone for such a breach of their duties? Naturally, Chartreuse wasn’t prepared to answer for that, as letting a crucial prisoner escape meant cutting off the redundancies, which, in that case, meant the marquis’ head. That wouldn’t do. And so, the marquis started to pussyfoot.

  Your Majesty, she probably had help!

  Whose help? Who could know all the entrances and exits from the palace?

  We exchanged meaningful looks and went back into Uncle’s rooms, in which we found, believe it or not, actual clues.

  More precisely, a hairpin under the bed that had belonged to Lavinia. What was her reason? There was an emblem engraved on the surface of the trinket, you see. An almost queen couldn’t be caught wearing something cheap, after all. That hairpin, shaped like a bouquet of violets, was a real masterpiece: gold, amethysts, diamonds, even emeralds. But what was it doing in Uncle’s bed?

>   Chartreuse—what a smart boy! He spent only half an hour mumbling and vacillating before finally realizing the truth of what had happened. His Royal Majesty had decided to interrogate Her Highness in person. Who could know the secret passages except him?

  Nobody!

  What happened next?

  Obviously, the princess, who hailed from a hostile kingdom, understood that a grim fate awaited her, killed His Majesty and escaped like a thief in the night.

  I made a cuckoo sign.

  “A fragile girl could do something like that with a strong man?”

  Chartreuse had already realized that he had his foot in his mouth and went silent for about three minutes. Then his eyes lit up.

  “What if she’s a witch?”

  I shrugged. It was possible, of course, but...

  “Why didn’t she start with me, then?”

  We continued exchanging looks, while Chartreuse was thinking.

  “Your Highness, you would become the king after your uncle’s death. She had no reason to kill you until then! She would keep you safe!”

  “So, marquis, do you think it’s yet another Tevarrian scheme?”

  That was exactly what the marquis was thinking. He nodded vigorously.

  “Fine. Then chew upon this: considering my uncle’s injuries, who must have been helping Lavinia? Or what exactly is she?”

  Chartreuse promised to think, which meant interrogating all the Tevarrians we had available. After my letter, they had already been locked up, including Lavinia’s own father, who hadn’t had time to run away. After that, I didn’t need to worry anymore.

  A day would be enough for Chartreuse to interrogate Lavinia’s father—we had good torturers in the palace—learn that his daughter was half-vampire, and question him about his genius plan. Meanwhile, I would get crowned.

  I contemplated getting a good night’s sleep before the next day. I would have to spend the night before the coronation in the temple yet again, praying for the fate of Radenor and for me to receive enlightenment.

  The temple had no curtains on the windows, cold winds were blowing all around, and the benches were especially hard... Maybe a cloak would help? I would have to wrap it around myself and grab at least a few hours of rest...

  ***

  Still, the night before the coronation got ruined as well.

  Carlie came first, heroically trying to get through Tommy and Rene, while I was sleeping. My friends were staunch, the girl kept squealing, and as a result, I had to wake up two hours before I had intended and climb out of bed.

  “What do you want, Viscountess?”

  “Alex! We need to talk! No matter what!”

  I was always kinder when half-awake, and I nodded at the door.

  “Fine. Come in.”

  Carlie obeyed, and blindsided me straight away.

  “Alex, I need your help.”

  “What help?” I asked, yawning.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Yes, I know that. Give my regards to your husband.”

  “It is your uncle’s child!”

  “Whoa.”

  I scratched the back of my head. Had Abigail lost the remains of any shame? Or...

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  “My child is the only legitimate heir of King Rudolph and should be recognized as a member of the royal family!”

  I really wanted to send her to Abigail and tell Carlie that the king’s wife had foreseen that, but I forced myself to stay silent, once again congratulating myself on my luck. I could have married that girl! Idiot!

  How could one family give birth to two girls who were the complete opposite? Cassie, with her fiery personality and love of life, and that hypocrite? Or was it that Alexius Likeworth had been a better man than his brother?

  “Is there any proof?”

  Carlie seemed wishy-washy. Proof was evidently a problem.

  “Alex, but I—”

  “I believe you when you say that you slept with my uncle. Almost all women here did. But you also...slept with your husband, the entire court witnessed that.”

  Carlie had the decency to blush.

  “It was a love potion.”

  “Of course. Just like with Chartreuse Junior.” Her cheeks grew crimson. “So can you guarantee the parentage of your child?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. Do you know the meaning of royal blood?”

  Carlie nodded. Many people knew. Ever since the kingdom had been founded, only Radenors by blood could sit on the throne. If you weren’t a Radenor, you could go and build some other palace and sit on some other throne, but that one was off limits. You’d simply burn.

  And that was the best-case scenario.

  “When your child is born, put him on the throne. If he doesn’t burn, I’ll recognize him as a Radenor and introduce him to our family. All right?”

  Carlie didn’t seem to like that option, judging by the look on her face.

  “But until then...”

  “Until I know for sure, I can’t do anything to help. Is that all?”

  Carlie shrugged, slowly and coyly.

  “Alex...why didn’t you fight for me back then?”

  “Get out!”

  “Alex!”

  “Tom!

  My friend unceremoniously threw Carlie out the door, looked at me closely, then went to get a flask of wine.

  “How about we pop that one?”

  “Cheers,” I said, chuckling and remembering how we used to spy on the stable hands. Why couldn’t anybody explain to me back then what money might turn people into?

  ***

  Abigail was the second to visit. She came in as soon as we drank the wine and snacked on the Northern Crease. A delicious thing—even if not all ladies could appreciate that—and a great companion to spirits. Take a slice of cured pork fat, put it on a piece of rye break, top it off with some onion rings, and that’s it, the snack is ready. You can also salt the onion, too. It’s a great thing to eat in the cold climate.

  Obviously, we couldn’t send the queen away, but we could perform the whole song and dance routine, which was exactly what Rene did by praising her beauty while we desperately hid the plates and the flask.

  The queen sashayed in like a black swan.

  “Leave us. I have to talk to my nephew!”

  The guys looked at me, a question clear on their faces, I nodded, and they closed the door from the other side. Abigail squinted her eyes at me, paying attention to the resulting wrinkles.

  “Alex, tomorrow night, you will be crowned.”

  “Yes, Auntie.”

  “You’ve always been a son to me...”

  Poor Andre, may he rest in peace. It’s a miracle he had managed to last that long.

  “I would like to know your plans with regards to the fact that I’m carrying the rightful heir to the throne.”

  I shrugged.

  “After I deal with Tevarr, I’ll go away. I don’t like it here in the capital.”

  “Where to?”

  “The border, I suppose. After you give birth, we’ll see. Where and for how long...”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “If it’s a boy, then that’s one thing. But what if it’s a girl? I would have to be a regent for her, find her a good husband...”

  Going by the queen’s face, they would find him without me.

  “Alex, I see that you’re a good boy...”

  The message of her fifteen-minute speech was that, tomorrow after the coronation, I would have to say that I was ready to relinquish all the regalia in favor of Rudolph’s spawn.

  I agreed. I would do that, by all means. I would even write an abdication letter, why not! Right now!

  Her Majesty left after fifteen minutes, clutching a scroll that, in my handwriting, said that I was abdicating in favor of the child of His and Her Majesty, as soon as the baby was born and could be crowned.

  Abigail was pleased. She got what she had wanted. Yet I st
ill got night visitors.

  ***

  There were five of them in total. They ruined such a night! I was lying in bed, sleeping, and then my danger sense roared, alerting me and forcing me to tumble down. A second later, my bed turned into a pin cushion, full of crossbow bolts. If I had been there, I would very much resemble a hedgehog.

  The assassins stormed in, ready to finish me off if I had managed to survive. But the bed was empty.

  Surprise!

  The assailants momentarily froze, and I used the opportunity to reduce their numbers. I killed the first with my tail, the second, with my claws, without any unnecessary complications. Then I grinned, licking the blood off my fingers.

  “Have you lost something, good sirs?”

  The good sirs grew pale, but none retreated.

  “Where is he? In the name of the Bright Saint, answer me, you unholy beast!”

  I laughed, throwing my head back. Seriously? Such naiveté, in our time? If you ever meet actual unholy beasts, heaven forbid you demand an answer using the gods’ names. Unless, of course, you’re a necromancer. In that case, you could try to mock and still stay alive. Otherwise...

  Enraged by my taunts, the assassins charged, their swords drawn...

  Oh, what a life! Why should I sleep in my own home, in my own room, with a sword and a dagger under my pillow?

  Well, at least, I wasn’t unarmed.

  How hard was it to fight off three fighters? Pretty hard. If I hadn’t dealt with two of them in advance, I would have died. They were a good team, used to fighting together. Nobody was standing in each other’s way. The maximum number of melee fighters who could attack one man was four. The fifth, as I understood it, was an archer.

  There were only three left, but they kept their wits, deciding that they could wear me down anyway. They didn’t know I was a prince, you see. I was in my demon form. I had switched as soon as I had sensed danger.

  Most likely, they thought that the prince was somewhere close, and after they killed me, they would find the prince under the bed, in a bathroom, or wherever else the heroes of romance books loved hiding.