Kace Holland

I supposed I could be in a worse situation, though I highly doubt being chased by one of the most powerful nation's entire Guard and military as well as my brother was a "good" situation.

In hindsight, I must have done something to piss them off, but I wasn't quite sure what.

It didn't matter. In three days time I'll be back in Entorre City and I'd speak with Father about my little predicament. That was if my crazy wife didn't hunt me down and bury me.

I have had better days.

For now, I decided to rest at the harbor. A cargo ship was going to be exported to Entorre at dawn. All I'd need to do was sneak on like the nimble little acrobat I was. Easy enough.

However, my legs had an awful ache. Taking a small rest wouldn't hurt me too badly. The worst that could happen was I somehow spontaneously combusted.

No—the worst thing was Odaya finding me. Now that was a nightmare.

Now that I thought about it, the worst that could happen was Nicholyn, Odaya, and Valarya all finding me at the same time. I'd never be able to rest in peace. It was partially my fault, I supposed. Only I could've gotten myself in this kind of mess.

It was all Manea's fault. If she and Nicholyn didn't attempt to hide their secret, me being stuck laying next to a garbage disposal wouldn't be happening right now.

Damn them. Nicholyn never thought about the repercussions. Didn't the older brother usually end up being the responsible one? How did I end up cleaning up his mess?

The smell of garbage wasn't helping my mindset. Or my stomach. I could practically feel my brain cells going extinct.

Somehow, I fluttered my eyes shut and drifted into my beauty rest.

*~⚜️~*

The bell tower had struck five for the third time that day. Someone needed to fix that stupid clock.

The Thaeleckean court was less divine than the Entorrean; less ornate fixtures, more silver than gold, and older portraits lined the walls. Many old men that resembled Nicholyn after a bath.

Nicholyn was sitting in the throne room speaking to Thaeleckean civilians about their issues. Another typical day at Thaeleckean court. Father wouldn't let me go spend the day with Valarya. Instead, he forced me to sit here and watch my older brother deal with issues regarding people's plumbing and whatnot.

A man stepped into the room, no more interesting-looking than a lump of stone. I was going to go insane if I needed to listen to one more hour of this nonsense.

Resting my chin on my palms, I glanced at Nicholyn, who was perched on the throne.

Why did I need to be here? Nicholyn and Manea were going to get married; they were the ones that were going to co-rule Entorre and Thaeleck. Was I their nanny today?

"Speak," Nicholyn said lazily, his eyes barely opened.

The man stumbled on his words.

"Good Saints," my brother mumbled, sitting up straight, "can you talk, or do you need a translator to come? I don't have time for this."

"I can talk, Prince Nicholyn."

"Ah, good. Continue." Nicholyn leaned back on the throne, his face returning to a droop.

"My name is Quinn—"

Nicholyn flicked his brows up. "I didn't ask."

Quinn gave a lousy shrug before saying, "Your Grace, do you remember a business man coming to ask for you to fund their expedition across the Entorrean Sea to get to Torth?"

"I do not. Feel free to refresh my memory."

"I cannot do such thing. The business man is dead. His followers are demanding retribution—I am demanding retribution."

"And what," Nicholyn began, sitting upright again, "kind of retribution are you speaking of?"

Quinn hesitated, swallowing a fistful of air.

"Does this have something to do with the southern region of Entorre not paying their taxes due time?" Now, my brother tapped each of his fingers against the arm of the throne.

"The business man, Rafe, was a good man. He gave us work when the south had nothing to offer. We are going on strike until the monarch can supply us with new jobs and money—"

Nicholyn's rings hit the metal throne, silencing Quinn. Slowly, he came up from the his seat but didn't step anywhere. "Quinn, did you come here to speak of the Entorrean economy?"

"Yes—"

"Ah..." Nicholyn went behind the throne, his eyes glued to Quinn. I sat up in my seat, knowing that it was finally going to get interesting. "You speak very eloquently for a peasant."

Again, the man hesitated. "I'm well educated."

"Now, do you want to tell me that I am not aware of the people protesting around southern Entorre?"

"No, Your Highness—"

"I've informed the treasury to produce zinc coins instead of the usual iron. I also told them to send them out to banks in southern Entorre should anyone ask for a large withdraw." Nicholyn gave a boyish smile to Quinn before he stepped down the dais. "Since you are so educated, do you mind telling me why I did that?"

"I'm not sure, Your Grace."

Nicholyn paused mid-step, pivoting to Quinn on his heels. "Because anyone who has the zinc coins is a traitor. And traitors will eventually be found by the Crown."

"Your Highness, I don't seem to be catching on—"

"I mean," Nicholyn said, walking to Quinn, "you are all traitors. Idolizing billionaires above your royal sovereignty is considered treason in both Entorre and Thaeleck."

And then my brother stopped in front of the man. The height difference was apparent; Nicholyn standing at a solid one hundred ninety five centimeters. The boyish grin was wiped off his face now.

"Unfortunately, I'm not known to be merciful to traitors."

With a flick of his wrist, the double doors bursted open, guards flooding the room holding people in shackles.

"Your Highness, I'm not asking for much. I'm asking for just more money—!"

"Please keep your mouth shut."

Quinn rapidly shook his head, his eyes darting to everyone in the room. For a second, he locked eyes with me.

"The southern people have always been illegally exporting Entorrean weaponry across the world. The zinc coins showed who was exactly involved. No mercy, my friends. Just don't take this too personally—"

"We wouldn't need to illegally transport items if you had just given us a license!"

Nicholyn glared at the woman who spoke. "You know what that dangerous mouth of yours did, Emmie?"

The woman's mouth quivered.

My brother tossed a small shoe to her foot. "Your daughter."

"You're sick—"

"No," Nicholyn yelled, his steps now harder—louder. "Your illegal acts have led to your loved ones's demise. I found this shoe laying on the harbor on the southwest end. Say what you want, but I didn't kill your daughter. You did."

Everyone in the room had sewn their eyes to the scene. Even Father—who looked a bit too pleased—seemed very interested in how Nicholyn planned to handle this.

"They said you were merciful," the woman cried, falling in the arms of the guard that held her. "They said you would understand."

"Every single one of you were sentenced to be executed, and for good reason. Mercy can only be given by those that are already broken." His hand wrapped around her chin, jerking her face upright. "I am not broken," he said slowly.

"You're just the Dark Prince."

"Yes, I suppose I am." Nicholyn grim smirk returned, this time darkness laced into it. "Guards, kill them."

"Wait, we can work out on arrangement! We can figure this out—"

The doors slammed on the protesting man.

Nicholyn stood alone at the main ground, adjusting his coat. "What are you all staring for? Get on with yourselves!"

The guards spun and began striking up forced conversation.

*~⚜️~*

My room was right beside his. Fortunately, the wall was thick enough to mask any noise that would come out of there.

Father told me I still wasn't allowed to speak to Valarya. If I was engaged to her, how the hell did they not want us to speak to each other? Ah, well.

My eyes began fluttering. I hadn't been able to sleep for the past few nights. Unfortunately, I forgot my medication for insomnia, so now I was going to be stuck here for the next few days without a way to rest. Amazing.

Whispers echoed into my room. I flipped up my duvet and crept to my door, slowly creaking it open. In the room across mine was Nicholyn's.

Saints, were those—

Manea stormed down the hall and, without warning, swung open Nicholyn's door. An excellent view of Nicholyn in bed came.

And the woman who scurried out the room past Manea.

"Nicholyn, what is the meaning of this?" Manea yelled, going into the room and yanking off his sheets. "If you're going to be sleeping around, at least be discreet!"

"I was discreet—"

"I heard those moans." She gave a small hit against his shoulder before sighing. "I'm not here to critique your life, but you do realize we have a week until our wedding?"

"And so what?" Nicholyn said tiredly, groaning at Manea crossed her arms.

"I have the forged documents. All we need to do is replace the real documents"—she pulled out another stack of papers—"with the fake ones."

Nicholyn gave a weary glance at the stack of papers as he began pulling on his pants. "We could use the reals ones—"

"You know I have no intention of marrying you," Manea muttered.

"Trust me, I don't intend to marry you either." He didn't bother to put on a shirt. Instead, he picked up a paper from a stack. "Use the real ones and get married to that one girl you liked."

She stared at the paper.

"Manea, I know you. What was her name again? Peris, right? Well, marry her."

"You know I can't—"

"Oh, please. Spare me the excuses. Marry that girl and get it over with." I caught him give her a small smile. "I mean, you love her, correct?"

"Yes—"

"So just hurry up and marry her, damn it."

Manea stood in her spot.

"Oh, don't tell me you want to be speechless now."

She let out a loud laugh and sprung toward him, holding him. Her face now faced me, and I saw her begin crying. "Thank you," she whispered.

For once, I saw Nicholyn form a gentle smile as he hugged her back. "Don't thank me. Just be happy, all right?"

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

She pulled away and said, "You're going to be alone."

"I'm only nineteen. I have time. Besides, romance is overrated. I prefer having a bit of fun before I let some woman tie me down."

Manea scoffed and turned away. "Idiot."