The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Why he was in a stall seemed to elude him, but only for a moment. Memory was not a merciful thing as recollections of the night before surfaced with a headache that rattled his senses.

  “It’s past noon already?” Jaycent rose unsteadily to his feet and Diego quickly hooked his broad neck beneath one of the prince’s arms for support.

  “Aye,” the beast grunted. “Perhaps next time you should think twice before drowning your boredom in a glass.”

  Jaycent brushed off his tunic, unable to argue such logic. The wine had done him no favors last night. It’s sweet taste had only managed to open the hidden chest of emotions Jaycent had intentionally buried.

  Wine’s nectar had become an obvious weakness, but denying the alluring drink seemed impossible these days. Night after night, he sought its solace in attempt to stave off the reality of his royal entrapment. Jaycent rolled his head, wincing when his stomach reeled with the sudden motion.

  “Can you walk?” the unicorn asked. Concern had long since fled Diego’s voice, his tone resigned to a depressing blend of annoyance and disappointment. The prince slid his arm from the stallion’s sturdy neck.

  “I will manage,” he assured. Peeking through the open half-door in the back of Diego’s stall, Jaycent was pleased to find the pasture empty. He led his eighteen hand unicorn out into the glaring sun where he gave another moan in protest of the light. A tug on Diego’s long mane led the unicorn into a reluctant bow, and Jaycent swung his leg over his mount’s back.

  The unicorn didn’t wait for Jaycent to steady himself before he rose. With a swift jerk, he was on all four hooves, the back of his neck crashing unceremoniously into Jaycent’s nose.

  The prince clutched the stallion’s thick mane as he swooned, cursing under his breath when blood dribbled from one nostril.

  “Were you not ready?” the unicorn’s apologetic tone was half-hearted at best. When the prince didn’t reply, Diego slowly turned his head to meet his companion’s icy glare.

  Jaycent’s fingers clinched over the bridge of his nose in attempt to stem the trickling flow. The stallion perked his ears innocently before shaking his mane, which was the unicorn equivalent of a shrug.

  “What?”

  Jaycent shook his head. “Just make it look like we’re coming in from a morning ride and be done with it.”

  Diego launched into a choppy trot that jostled the prince far more than necessary. It took all of His Highness’s will to bite back a remark about spiteful stallions, knowing his comments would only provoke the unicorn further. Instead, the prince clinched his jaw shut and rode it out, his hips moving in sync with Diego’s ridiculous steps.

  At the gate, the unicorn snagged the rope handle in his teeth and pulled up, releasing the latch. Pushing through, he then tapped it shut with a back hoof and carried on his merry way.

  “Greetings, Diego!” Arelee called, her knowing gaze speaking volumes as she bowed respectfully and rewarded Diego with a treat from her pocket. “And welcome back, Your Highness. I take it your morning ride didn’t go as planned?” she asked, speaking loud enough for eavesdropping stable hands to hear—and believe.

  “Indeed,” the prince grunted.

  Arelee rolled her eyes, but refrained from voicing how she really felt. Like Diego, the horse mistress often aided the prince in concealing his reckless habit, but was none too fond of it.

  She pulled a rag from her belt and tossed it in his direction. “You may want to clean up before you step inside,” Arelee advised. “There is a commoner awaiting your presence in the throne room.”

  Jaycent dealt the horse mistress a puzzled look as he dabbed the crimson droplets from his nose. “What commoner?”

  Arelee shrugged. “I thought he was from Sarrokye, though he introduced himself as a villager from New Haven, just north of the city’s eastern gate. General Mendeley confirmed he had an appointment with you both at noon.”

  The prince blew a tuft of knotted brown hair away from his brow. “Ah yes… the Sarrokian farmer.” He vaguely remembered the encounter. Mostly just the scowl the commoner gave him when he danced with the pretty little thing in the green dress, whatever her name was. “Remind me to stop inviting common folk to the palace. Whenever I do, they end up wanting something.”

  “Fancy that,” the horse mistress muttered.

  Jaycent’s ears swept back. “What did you say?”

  “Will you hand me that?” Arelee held out her hand for the dirty rag.

  Jaycent squeezed his legs so Diego strode up next to her, dangling the cloth just out of the short rahee’s reach.

  Arelee put her hands on her hips and dealt him a challenging stare. “My cloth, Your Highness?”

  Leaning over Diego’s neck, the prince’s ice blue eyes settled on his outspoken friend. “Do not test me, Lady Denicarli,” he whispered. “We may be friends, but I still expect the same courtesy out of you as I do everyone else.”

  “I will do my best to remember that, Your Highness,” she replied, and again he could tell the fiery horse mistress was biting her tongue. The prince winked and draped the rag over her head before he trotted away, smiling when a disgusted groan erupted behind him.

  His reprimand had been more of a formality than an actual warning. Despite her temper, Arelee meant well. She was a bit rough around the edges, but that was only part of her charm. Behind the ire and snide remarks sat an honest concern for the prince’s wellbeing.

  And there was a time when that sort of quirky compassion would have moved Jaycent; even drawn him to consider his poor habits and try to change them. But that side of the prince disappeared a long time ago, its pieces hidden safely inside the part of his soul that was unreachable without the persuasion of wine or ale.

  Diego escorted His Highness to the palace entrance where the prince dismounted and jogged up the steps. The sentries’ eyes widened when they saw his battered and tousled state. Jaycent motioned for them to open the double doors to which the pair hurriedly obliged.

  Inside, he walked at a brisk pace in the hopes of dealing with the Sarrokian quickly. He had intended the appointment to be with Rayhan alone, but it seemed the general wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

  So be it, Jaycent thought. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could find his way to a warm bath and bed.

  A sharp left led him down a narrow hallway connected to the throne room. The click of his boots resounded off the hard, stone walls, each step marked by pieces of caked mud that fell like bread crumbs from his boots. At the end of the hall he found General Mendeley standing solemnly before the door.

  “You are late,” the general’s brown eyes settled uncomfortably on the prince. “The Sarrokian from last night is here. He has been waiting over an hour to meet with you.”

  “As I recall, I instructed the guard to schedule an audience with you. I never offered my participation,” the prince countered.

  “This is your kingdom, Your Highness,” Rayhan’s words were slow and stern, his tone telling Jaycent he was not in the mood to make up for his shortcomings today. “Of course your participation is required. Your people have a right to voice their concerns and you should care enough to hear them. These rahee are the backbone of this kingdom. Without their loyalty, you would be nothing.”

  “Okay, yes. Of course,” Jaycent waved his hand, batting aside the general’s lecture like an unwelcome gnat. “Let us get started, then,” Jaycent attempted to walk by the general, but Rayhan held out a thick arm, blocking him.

  “Oh no you don’t. Look at you. Your face is a mess, your tunic is wrinkled and—what is this?” the general pulled a piece of hay out of Jaycent’s collar. “No. Go and change. I will stall him a bit longer.”

  With a shake of his head, the prince refused. “If this citizen has waited as long as you claim then I shall not test his patience any further,” he pulled out the clip that barely held his hair in place and handed it to his cousin.

  Shaking the more stubborn hairs loose, Jaycen
t gathered the thick mess tightly at the base of his neck and tugged the ribbon from the general’s own hair to tie the tail in place. Satisfied, he brushed his tunic off one last time and ducked under the general’s arm before Rayhan could stop him.

  The general threw his hands in the air as Jaycent strode into the throne room, his proud gait rivaled his shabby appearance. With resignation, he took his place on the prince’s right and waved the citizen in.

  If the Sarrokian was ill about the long wait, he suppressed it well as he bowed before the dais that held the prince’s seat. Jaycent rubbed his aching head while the general stepped down to take the envelope Milo held in his hands. The two spoke briefly before Rayhan pulled out several pages filled front to back with signatures. Nodding that he understood, the general returned to the prince’s right side and handed him the documents.

  “A petition,” Rayhan stated. “His name is Milo Kasateno and he is here to speak against redirecting the trade route through New Haven.”

  After glancing at the names scrawled across the pages, Jaycent studied the rahee that stood bravely before him. “Master Kasateno, my apologies for making you wait. I am impressed. You come here with a long list of supporters.”

  “I, um, yes,” Milo studied the prince’s bruising nose and wrinkled tunic. “Beg your pardon, Your Highness, but are you okay?” He touched his own nose briefly, as if trying to find a subtle way to address the glaringly obvious.

  The prince chuckled. “I am fine, but thank you for your concern,” he tenderly dabbed his nose with his sleeve, smirking at the persistent red droplets; a reminder of Diego’s disappointment. “I had a bit of a mishap on horseback today, and so I ask that you overlook my less than presentable appearance. I thought it better to come straight here than to keep you waiting any longer.”

  Milo smiled and bowed low before the prince. “You’re much too kind, Your Highness.”

  The general cleared his throat, concealing his humor.

  “Tell me,” the prince bid, ignoring his cousin. “What is your argument against the new trade route?”

  “Well, it’s not because we don’t support the idea. New Haven’s no stranger to complications with the gypsies on the current route. But the new road is crossin’ right through our farmland. I dunno if ya know it, but our lil’ town’s got a big history. It’s been around since before Nevaharday was built…” Milo paused when he noticed the prince leaning in his chair with his head on his hand. “Your Highness?”

  “Master Kasateno,” the prince set the petition aside, “your village sounds quite charming, truly. But we had to relocate the route in a way that would bring tradesmen closer to our city. New Haven is the only village standing between us and that plan. To make up for the inconvenience, we intend to reimburse you for your property. You and anyone else affected by this route will be given a hefty sum of gold to replace whatever land is lost, and then some.”

  “That’s not the point,” Milo argued. “This land isn’t just a place where we make a livin’. It’s where our people’s patriarchs first settled. Legacies reside there.”

  “Then perhaps it is time a new legacy is made,” Jaycent tapped his index finger against his lips as he thought of a new perspective for the perplexed southerner. “One where the people of New Haven help their fellow rahee continue to thrive in peace and safety by lending their land to a new road.

  “A better road! One their children, and their children’s children, can travel on safely. Is that not what you want?” Jaycent held his hands out wide. “Is that not what our people have been crying out for?”

  “Your Highness, with all due respect, there must be a better way.”

  Sensing the commoner’s dissatisfaction, the prince sat up a little and tried to focus despite the throbbing in his temples.

  “Even if our legacies didn’t matter,” Milo reasoned, “consider what it takes for us to pack up and leave. New Haven’s made up mostly of farmers. We’ve planted our crops there, built our fences and barns…”

  Jaycent tried to consider the argument from the commoner’s standpoint while rubbing the fuzz beneath his lip.

  “You’re askin’ us to halt our lives long enough to replant and rebuild these things when it’s just not sensible,” Milo finished.

  “Neither is changing the layout of the new route,” His Highness shook his head. “Let me show you.”

  Rising from his seat, the prince requested that General Mendeley fetch a map of the realm before stepping down from the dais. Milo stood a little straighter at the prince’s approach. For all his disheveled appearance, Jaycent carried an aura of authority that resonated from his 6’4 stature.

  Together, they waited as General Mendeley reappeared with a scroll in hand. He motioned to a nearby table and the three rahee hovered over it as the general spread the map across the mahogany surface.

  “You see,” Jaycent explained as he motioned to the current road. “Right now the trade route passes through the gypsy’s designated domain instead of cutting through the city or towns around it, thus directing heavy traffic away from local villages.”

  “I understand that,” Milo interrupted. “So why not keep it that way?”

  “Look closer at the map, Master Kasateno,” General Mendeley pointed to the forest stretching from the northern mountains down toward the city. “The trade route currently enters our realm from King Mekkai’s territory east of us. Surrounding Nevaharday’s west side is Graystone River, which divides us from the stretch of forest and fields below Dragon’s Mist. That untamed land is sacred to the unicorn herds. We cannot alter it in any way.

  “However, on the eastern side is a strip of fields which run parallel to the city itself. This is where your town subsequently lies. Our options are either to pave a way through those fields, or directly through the middle of the city itself.

  “That second option is hardly worth considering. Not if we want to keep the people inside our walls safe from the plethora of characters traveling these highways.”

  Milo’s voice escalated with his aggravation. “Yes, I know of the shady characters travelin’ the road as of late. But then where does that leave my town? A bag of gold ain’t gonna keep us warm through the winter.”

  “It will if you spend it wisely,” Rayhan assured. “We know this must be difficult for you, and we would not ask you to move if we didn’t find it imperative. Know that we will work with you to make sure your family is cared for, but the plans are set, Sarrokian, and we advise you to start making arrangements now.”

  Jaycent could see the pain on Milo’s face and tried to offer some form of consolation. “Consider this: once your village is moved, it will decrease the threat to you and your own. No more trouble with the gypsies and no more tolls, which have been digging well into all of our coffers.”

  “Mayhap that’s true,” Milo sighed. “But how are we supposed to raise our animals without barns and fences? What will we do with the crops not yet grown as you pave through them? It will take months to rebuild the livelihood you’re takin’ from us, yet the posters in the market said the new route would be open before winter sets in. It is nearly fall now.”

  “You will be given plenty of gold to make up for the inconvenience,” the prince repeated.

  “Not all matters can be solved with money,” Milo responded so forcefully that Jaycent’s ears snapped back. The Sarrokian clinched his jaw, his own ears pressed firmly against his skull, and for a moment the general’s hand lingered at his hilt as the tension between the prince and commoner mounted.

  But Jaycent didn’t have the patience to battle both Milo and the ever-mounting pain inside his head. He rolled up the map and handed it to his cousin before crossing his arms.

  “Then what, sirrah, would you suggest I do?” he inquired, his gaze boring into the bold commoner.

  “Confront the gypsies,” Milo suggested. “Strike a deal with them.”

  “Ha!” the prince laughed out loud, dropping his defensive stance. “If that is the bes
t you can think of then it is safe to say this discussion is over. Thank you, Master Kasateno, you are welcome to escort yourself out the way you came.”

  “What?” Milo barked as the prince walked back to his throne. “You can’t woo the gypsies like ya do the ladies?”

  Jaycent glanced over his shoulder. “You are serious?”

  “Are you daft? Why would you repave an entire road instead of dealin’ with the problem at hand?”

  General Mendeley raised an eyebrow. “Rein back your temper, Master Kasateno,” he warned. “We know this is a delicate subject, but do not forget to whom you speak. As of right now, you are one remark away from a night in the stocks.”

  “Tell me, Master Kasateno,” the prince took several steps forward, undeterred by the commoner’s bravery. Milo tensed, but found the strength within himself to hold his ground. “Have you ever dealt with a gypsy before?”

  “On occasion.”

  Jaycent stood a foot in front of him now, eyes narrowed. “Have you any idea who Patchi is?”

  “Of course. He is the ringleader behind the gypsies’ rebellion.”

  “Aye, and do you know what it is like to reason with him?”

  Milo shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen ‘em, much less dealt with ‘em.”

  “Then listen closely,” His Highness grabbed hold of Milo’s collar. “You haven’t an inkling of what goes on behind these doors. For that reason, I will forgive your ignorance, just this once.

  “But know that Patchi is not—and never has been—willing to compromise. When his mind is set, it stays that way, and he will do whatever it takes to protect his people and his rights as he defines them.

  “Countless hours of ‘reasoning’ with Patchi softened him to robbing us with tolls and fees. My options were either to move our trade route or wage war, and I refuse to allow bloodshed between our own people. Not if I can spare it.”

  The prince released him and started to walk away again, but to the general’s surprise the Sarrokian still had some fight left in him. “So ya give up and run with your tail between your legs? You would rather plow through our crops and destroy our homes instead of defend us against… a bunch of gypsies?”