The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  He turned and motioned for a guard to join them. “Escort this rahee to General Mendeley and inform him that I granted Milo Kasateno an audience at noon tomorrow,” the prince explained.

  With a sigh of relief, the commoner thanked him and bowed profusely. The prince nodded his acknowledgement as Milo departed with the guard in search of Rayhan among the fray of guests.

  When he was alone at last, Jaycent rested his weight on the balustrade, thankful for a taste of solitude. Night had fallen, casting the sky under a navy backdrop. Captured in its starry net, the full moon illuminated the rolling hills that stretched beyond the horizon.

  To his right, he could see the pastures lined in silver light, their grassy canvas dotted with the shadows of resting horses. To his left, dense forests skirted the untamed mountain range that stood like stone-faced sentries over his growing kingdom.

  Jaycent embraced the breathless landscape with silent admiration. When he was a little boy, this land had been marred by bloodshed as the rahee and elves warred over unsolved crimes and unclaimed land. Yet one would never know it now.

  Although rocky, the relationship between the rahee and elves had remained civil for fifteen years. Jaycent's kingdom prospered, its land stretching from Nevaharday’s neighboring peaks to a border nestled against the rolling foothills that brushed the eastern elven forests.

  Under Rayhan’s diligent guidance, Nevaharday was growing into a thriving hub for trade, leading other races to view the rahee as a rising power among the kingdoms. Logically, the prince had every reason to be rejoicing in his realm’s success.

  But he wasn't. Jaycent had no joy at all. He merely floated through each day like a leaf caught in the wind, careless of where it took him.

  In the distance, the thrum of heavy hoof beats shook away the silence. Jaycent’s ears flicked toward the sound and he scanned the area for a familiar figure. Across the main pasture a silhouette broke the serenity as it charged across the enclosure, muffling the prince’s thoughts beneath the sound of his thunderous gait.

  “Diego,” Jaycent whispered. “Feeling restless tonight, my old friend?”

  The unicorn gave a piercing whinny as he bucked with wild abandon. Diego’s displays often kindled fear in the hearts of royal servants, but the prince understood the stallion’s outbursts for what they were. His spirit spurred him to run, releasing the pent up energy twitching inside of his honed muscles.

  Jaycent also craved release. Most days, the dictation of his royal duties left him feeling caged. He may not be the final say in Nevaharday’s politics, but Rayhan ensured he served a continuous role as the face of Nevaharday.

  While his cousin meant well, Jaycent was convinced his birthright was beyond his capabilities. The demand was far too high. As a member of the royal family, there was no time allotted for personal moments.

  Not even for something as intimate as mourning.

  Jaycent clinched his jaw, his eyes pressed shut as he remembered the ill-fated day that threw him into this position. His equine ears drooped low beneath his mahogany locks and he instinctively gripped the cold metallic bands that hugged his wrists.

  Last week marked the second year of his parents’ deaths. Both the king and queen had fallen ill shortly after a visit to the eastern region. Neither priests nor healers could identify the malady, and the royal couple was quickly quarantined for fear of spreading it.

  Jaycent never saw his parents during that time. Not even in their final hours. At first, he had stood sentry at their chamber door, speaking to his parents through the thick wood that stood between them.

  But as things grew worse the healers shooed him away. It was too dangerous, they explained. Nevaharday couldn’t risk the life of its only heir.

  Days later, his parents passed through the Veil of death. Jaycent was expected to step up as the youngest leader of the northern realm at the age of twenty-two. He adamantly refused, forcing his cousin to assume the role of steward as he fought against his birthright at every turn.

  Still, they did not relent. Tears still glistened in his eyes when the king’s advisors placed his father’s silver cuffs on his wrists; adornments that felt more like shackles with each passing day.

  While the public had plenty of time to grieve the passing of King Donovan and his queen, Jaycent only received a few sympathetic pats on the back while his advisors muttered about how the show must go on.

  And it went on. And on, and on… and on.

  Since King Donovan’s unexpected passing, the duties of kingship had been split between Rayhan, Jaycent, and his advisors, each decision heavily influenced by the guidance of the elder council. They worked arduously with the young prince, attempting to instill within him the will to take up his father’s crown and bear the title of a king.

  However, they were met with frustration as Jaycent stubbornly displayed an apathetic demeanor.

  The truth wasn’t that the prince didn’t care. Fear and mixed feelings drove Jaycent’s emotions behind a fortified wall inside his heart. He couldn’t be honest without showing weakness, and so he hid it all behind a curtain of indifference.

  Although the prince would never admit it out loud, he didn't believe he had what it took to fill his father's boots. The king had walked a lonely path that trusted few and served many.

  It didn’t sit well with Jaycent. At the end of the day all he wanted to do was run, scream, and scare the living daylights out of anyone who stepped in his way.

  Much like Diego was doing now.

  “At least you do not have to pretend,” he whispered as the mighty beast made another round across the pasture.

  “Who are you talking to?” a curious voice jolted Jaycent from his somber thoughts. The prince peered over his shoulder to see an auburn-haired woman in a striking green dress standing between the balcony’s open doors.

  It didn’t take wine to make this rahee look like a gem. He turned his attention back to the stallion in the distance to keep his eyes from wandering.

  “Him,” he motioned toward the black unicorn tearing across the pasture. The pretty guest approached the balustrade and the prince was thankful for the long, mahogany hair that shielded his misty eyes. Such was the consequence of pulling the cork on bottled up memories.

  Damn wine.

  “Is that who I think it is?” the woman leaned over the railing to get a better look at the black unicorn sweeping like a shadow through the darkness. As she did, Jaycent caught the enticing scent of lavender. He bit his lip as he tried to reel his mind back to the conversation at hand.

  “That is Diego, my companion.”

  The girl in the green dress gave a wistful sigh, her cheek perched against her hand. “I have always admired unicorns. Out of all the creatures in this realm, they seem to know freedom best.”

  Jaycent studied the curious stranger, astounded by her composure. He couldn’t yet place whether she was of noble birth or common. The girl was clearly educated. It showed through her eloquent speech.

  Yet few—noble or not—had the courage to look him in the eye, much less stride over and strike up casual conversation.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Levee Tensley,” she stepped back and attempted a curtsy. Jaycent did well to suppress his laughter as he likened the display to a flailing bird.

  “Tell me you do not do that often?” he mused.

  Levee blushed, and quickly covered her embarrassment with a shrug. “I’m not exactly accustomed to royal company, Your Highness.”

  “You do not sound like you spend much time around commoners either,” he dipped his head in a clumsy nod toward her mouth. “You have a noble’s tongue.”

  “Pardon?” she placed her fingers tentatively over her lips, not quite understanding what he meant.

  “Your dialect,” he clarified. “You speak well for someone not of noble blood.”

  For the first time, the girl in the green gown seemed nervous. Her gaze dipped toward her fingers which she laced, then unlac
ed. “I assure you I am just a commoner, Your Highness.”

  “Truly?” This time the prince did laugh. “Because I have found nothing common about you thus far, Levee Tensley.”

  The side of her mouth twitched into a flattered smile. She pointed to the unicorn still tearing his way across the pasture. “Tell me more about your friend.”

  “Diego?” The prince calmly ran a hand across his face, both to clear his vision and to wipe the remnants of tears from his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Are you two really as close as they say?” There was a peculiar inflection in her tone, as if she sought a specific answer.

  Jaycent cocked his head slightly, curious of her intent. “He is like a brother to me.”

  Levee fell quiet for a few moments, giving His Highness the chance to steal a glimpse of this bold beauty. She appeared to be a Nevahardan and a striking one at that. Upon close inspection, her dress was not of noble quality, but its simplicity flattered her petite frame.

  She had a young face with almond-shaped eyes the color of emeralds. The light from the dance hall gave her pale skin a golden tint that accented her slender neck.

  But it was her body language above all that drew Jaycent’s interest. The liveliness of her eyes was contrasted by the weight in her shoulders, as if she carried secrets she couldn’t tell.

  Jaycent contemplated the challenge of unveiling those hidden truths when Levee spoke up again. “You know, I’ve heard a lot about Diego from others in Nevaharday, but some reason I never envisioned him to be so fierce.”

  “Fierce?” the prince tore his eyes from their scrutiny just as she turned to meet his gaze. “What makes you say that?”

  “Look at him,” she nodded to the unicorn wrapped in some epic battle against an invisible enemy. He reared, his heavy hooves pawing the air.

  Jaycent shook his head. “That is simply his nature. If anything, what you see should be described as spirit, not fury.”

  A look of contemplation swept her features. “I never considered that.”

  “Clearly not,” Jaycent perched his empty chalice on the railing. “Remember this, Lady Tensley. You cannot truly judge a dance by its name alone…” taking her hand, the prince led her through the first few steps of a commoner’s waltz. “To understand it, you must try it for yourself.”

  Her eyebrows arched in surprise at his impressive sweep. Spinning into his arms, she tilted her head slightly so that she could see his face. The sweet smell of wine lingered on his lips, and she noted he was less than sober. Still, her heart beat a little faster when she considered what he was hinting at. “Just as I shouldn’t judge a beast—or prince—until I get to know his character?”

  “Precisely,” Jaycent flashed a handsome smile, but before he could work his charm any further a voice broke the mood.

  “Levee!”

  Two pairs of eyes shot toward the entryway where the Sarrokian Jaycent had met earlier stood, his voice commanding authority. The prince didn’t miss the way he clenched his fists at the sight of them together. Gently spinning her out of his arms, His Highness offered a courteous bow and let the lady go.

  “It seems your true ‘prince’ awaits.”

  “So it appears,” she huffed. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” Jaycent watched Levee give another awkward curtsy before walking away. “Good night, Your Highness.”

  “Good night, Levee,” he replied before turning to her escort. “And good night to you as well, Miles.”

  “It’s Milo, Your Highness,” the Sarrokian responded, and Jaycent could tell he was biting his tongue to keep from saying more.

  “My sincerest apology,” he said before returning to the serene view of his kingdom.

  Jaycent knew full well how his actions must have looked to Milo when he saw Levee locked inside of his arms. The prince’s hands lingered lower than propriety allowed; places the commoner probably intended to put his own later that night while he—the prince of Nevaharday—would crawl into bed alone.

  That last word struck a chord inside his chest. Jaycent made for the staircase that coiled down from the balcony into the palace gardens, eager to get away from the people that ironically made him feel more alone than usual.

  So much for a festive evening, he thought.

  Damn wine.

  A PAIR OF OUTCASTS

  “What do ya think you were doin’?” Milo’s voice carried a bite as he stormed after Levee. Curious stares followed the feuding pair as they pushed their way through the crowded corridor to the castle’s main entrance.

  Levee paid them no heed. She gathered her skirts to hasten her flight, but her companion wasn’t giving up the chase so easily. Milo lengthened his stride until he paced her.

  “Whoa there, Lev,” seizing her by the arm, he forced the girl to face him. “Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to talk?”

  She frowned at his hand, then yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Nothing I did required you to whisk me away like that, Milo.”

  “Do ya even realize who you were talkin’ to?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Milo’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. “Of course it does! He’s the prince of Nevaharday!”

  Levee crossed her arms and plopped her back against the hall’s wall in a way that made Milo smirked. For nine years, he and Levee had been friends. In that span of time he had come to recognize her repertoire of looks.

  This one spoke of trouble.

  “We were just having a conversation,” she reasoned.

  “Oh, a conversation, sure,” the dark-skinned rahee snorted, his tone laced with sarcasm. “His hands were doin’ a whole lot of conversatin’ as they slid across your hips, Miss Tensley.”

  “So there was a little bit of dancing.” Levee poked an accusing finger in Milo’s direction. “You know well enough that’s all it was.”

  “Aye, but did he?”

  Levee sighed as Milo retrieved her cloak from the servant at the door. Without a word of thanks, she plucked the garment from his arms and hugged it around her shoulders. Hooking the clasp around her neck, she flipped the hood low over her face and trotted toward the stables where their wagon stood.

  Milo tossed his hands into the air.

  “Gods grant me patience,” he muttered as he trailed after the girl, his voice ringing loud enough for all of Nevaharday to hear. “Would ya hold still for one stinkin’ minute?”

  “Why?” Levee snapped from over her shoulder, her feet still shuffling forward.

  “Because I ain’t the reason you’re runnin’, and ya know it.”

  The steam behind Levee’s gait cooled, the truth of her friend’s words pulling her to a halt. She turned to face him, her green eyes a whirl of mixed emotions.

  “I’ve known ya too long, Lev,” Milo stated as he caught up. “Far too long to believe you would flirt like a shameless maid. My guess is that you were fishin’ for somethin’ back there. Tell me, what was it? Mayhap I can help.”

  Levee tucked her arms self-consciously beneath her cloak. “You can’t help, Milo. If you could, I would have asked you first.”

  The Sarrokian pulled the cowpoke hat from his head with a frown. “Then at least help me understand what’s goin’ on.”

  Levee took a deep breath. Milo was the only friend she had, but he also harbored a protective nature that barred her from fulfilling many a wild scheme. If she voiced her intentions now, the Sarrokian would try to find a way to stop her again.

  But if Levee kept quiet…

  She couldn’t even entertain the thought. Levee hated arguing with Milo. Even more, she hated painting him as the bad guy. They were too close for secrets. Her shoulders sunk as she gave in.

  “There have been rumors in the city lately,” she murmured. “Soldiers have been whispering about how the prince talks to the horses during their training and they obey his words perfectly.”

  “Our prince?” Milo fought to hide his humor. “As in Prince Jaycent? The royal lush?”

&nb
sp; Levee averted her eyes and nodded, suddenly feeling very foolish. It didn’t take much for Milo to piece together her ploy. He reached out to hook an arm around his dear friend’s shoulders. “Oh, Lev...”

  Levee shrugged away his embrace and climbed into the wagon. Sighing, Milo stepped up into the seat to join her, his elbows rested against his knees. Not a word left his lips as Levee gathered her skirts into a ball, her gaze cast into the distance. The Sarrokian’s own eyes sunk to his boots as he tried to find some words of comfort.

  “You know, Lev, if you ever wanted to go back—”

  “Go back?” The Sarrokian didn’t see the pools rising in her eyes, but the single tear that trailed down her chin to drip onto her palms said enough. “And see how long it takes before I endanger someone else? I can’t do that, Milo.”

  “Then what do ya want, darlin’? Because you’re takin’ too many risks lately.” He shook his head. “Tanglin’ arms with the prince… gods forbid a noble gets too curious and finds out—” this time he cut his own words short.

  “Finds out what?” Levee’s arms fells from their guarded cross.

  The Sarrokian tossed her a look. “Ya know what I’m talking about.”

  “Of course I do, but I want you to say it out loud,” Levee pressed, her ears falling back against her hair. “Or could it be that even you find what I am offensive?”

  Milo hesitated. He knew the life Levee had come from before his mother took her into their home. Beyond that, he knew she possessed a unique gift that enabled her hear the voices of horses and tame them, much like the rumors circulating about the prince.

  Until Levee was nine, her ability had served as the root of her family’s livelihood. One of the many nomadic bands of rahee known as gypsies, they traveled from town to town performing equine acrobatics in exchange for silver.

  But nine years ago her gift became a double-edged sword.

  Milo recalled the story of her family’s murder. Everyone in New Haven had caught wind of what happened in the mixed race town about one day’s ride from their quaint little village.