Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1040: Slight(1)

Dunn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his toes curling into the thick carpet as he kept his gaze drilled into the floor. He was a small, hollowed-out version of the boy he had been three weeks ago, clutching a damp, stained bundle of silk to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him from drifting away.

He had wanted to tell someone. He had needed to.

Someone ought to care about it, no?

When he finally stumbled into the city of Freusen, half-mad with hunger and exhaustion, he had brandished the ruined heraldry at the first man in a uniform he could find. He expected a guard to listen, perhaps a clerk to write a note.

He never expected to be hustled into a carriage with blackened windows and whisked away to the capital.

In all his fourteen years, the world of royals was a storybook thing, distant and golden. Now, the air smelled of beeswax and expensive incense, and the silence was so heavy it made his ears pop. He risked a glance upward, his eyes catching the fair, ethereal face of the Princess. He stared for a heartbeat, mesmerized by her grace, before his cheeks flared crimson and he snapped his head back down.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even in the middle of a nightmare.

"Come now, child. You are safe here," her voice drifted toward him, soft and probing, like a warm hand on his shoulder. "Please, tell us what you saw."

Dunn swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was full of dry wool. He forced his head up, this time meeting the eyes of the Prince. This was the man his father had praised with every breath as they hammered the royal seal onto the wagon, the man who was supposed to be their shield.

He did not look so mighty....the songs made him to be a giant; he looked...like a simple man instead.

"I was the first to see the dust," Dunn began realising he was staring too long to a prince, his voice small and cracking. "It came from where the road meets the sky. Pa didn’t believe me at first. The captain... the man with the scars... he started screaming for the others to get on the carts. They put their spears out like foot out of bed. They told us to stay put, that we couldn’t outrun ’em."

He paused, a shiver racking his slight frame. "It didn’t matter. It didn’t serve us a lick of good when the horses came."

"Horses?" Alpheo’s voice cut in

"Y-yes. They were on steeds, Your Grace. Big ones. Fast.Like those of knights."

Dunn saw the Prince lean back, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Bandits don’t have horses," he whispered, more to himself than the room.

Dunn waited, the silence stretching until he felt he had to fill it or drown. "They killed us like we were rats in a barn that were fat on grain. As soon as the first man fell, the guards Pa hired... they just broke. They ran. But you can’t outrun a horse. I saw the riders leaning down, smashing their axes and big swords into backs and necks. It sounded like... like...like butchering day at the farm."

His grip tightened on the cloth in his arms. "I jumped. I didn’t think, I just jumped from the cart and crawled under the wagon. I stayed there, in the dirt. I didn’t move, even when the blood started coming.Lived through it by hiding..."

He took a shaky breath. "I heard them talking after. They weren’t hungry, and they didn’t seem desperate.Songs made them always to be like that, but they were nasty, those the songs got true.

They were complaining. One of ’em was angry there weren’t any ’tourneys’ to go to anymore. They said bad things about you, Your Grace. Ugly things.I do not have the courage to say.

Another one was worried they’d be ’betrayed’ by someone, seemed like they were promised something. He bragged about how his father had unhorsed a lord in some jousting match and how he was poor. They didn’t look like bandits. They didn’t even take the grain. They just found the coin-boxes, took the coin and set the rest on fire. Everything Pa worked for... just fire."

Dunn’s face burned with a fresh wave of shame. "And then... then one of ’em grabbed the flag."

"You can speak freely, young man," the Princess encouraged him, her expression filled with empathy. "It is all right."

"They... they took the Falcon," Dunn whispered, his voice trembling. "They threw it in the mud and they... they...Your Graces. Right on the gold thread. They laughed about it. Said it felt good to finally do it."

Alpheo didn’t move, but the air in the room seemed to turn to ice. He gave a sharp, wordless nod to one of the armored guards standing by the door. The man stepped forward, the clank of his plate-mail making Dunn flinch, and took the stained heraldry from the boy’s hands.

The guard brought the cloth to his nose, sniffed once, and nodded

"The boy speaks the truth, Your Grace. They pissed on it."

"I see." Alpheo’s face remained a mask of iron, but a single muscle in his jaw jumped. It was the only sign that the "Incident" had achieved exactly what Zayneth intended: a wound that honor could not ignore.

Dunn squirmed under that icy, distant gaze, his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was certain the Prince’s mounting fury was directed at him, that he was being blamed for surviving when everyone else had died, or for the filth on the cloth he had brought into the royal presence.

Alpheo caught the boy’s tremor. Realizing his own dark thoughts were terrifying the witness, the Prince stood up. The movement was slow and deliberate, shedding the coldness for a moment of regal warmth.

"What happened to you was a foul thing, young man," Alpheo said, stepping toward him. "I cannot give you back what you lost, the lives and the time are gone. But I can, and will, remunerate you from the crown’s coffers for the value of the lost cargo."

He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a weight that was surprisingly steadying for the boy. "I promise you this: the people responsible for this will pay. Every drop of blood spilled on that road will be answered."

The two of them meant very different things by that promise, but to Dunn, it sounded like the voice of a god.

"I will need you to say what you spoke today again, before a larger gathering of men. Is that all right?" Alpheo asked. It was spoken softly, though they both knew it wasn’t truly a question.

"O-of course, Your Grace. M-my hon—my pleasure," Dunn stammered, his head bobbing in a frantic nod.

"Tell me, " Alpheo continued, his tone turning conversational. "Where do you call home?"

"Herculia, Your Grace. We had a small house near the southern docks before Pa started the long-haul routes."

"Herculia," Alpheo repeated, the name of the conquered province tasting like iron. "Do you have any living relatives? Anyone to take you in?"

Dunn bit his lip, thinking hard. "An uncle, I think. Pa spoke of a brother in the Highlands south of the capi- the old capital. But..." The boy looked down at his feet. "I’ve never met the man. Don’t even know if he’d recognize my face."

"A stranger is a poor shield in times like these," Alpheo mused. He looked the boy over, thin, soot-stained, but with eyes that were sharp and attentive. "Tell me, do you know how to read and cipher?"

Dunn perked up, a small spark of pride returning to his face. "Yes, Your Grace. Pa made me learn. Said a merchant who can’t read is a disgrace"

Alpheo allowed a faint, genuine ghost of a smile to touch his lips. "Your father was a wise man.I didn’t know how to read once, you know? I was older than you when I first started... I am sure you can read and write better than I can do.

Here is what I can do for you: I can send you to this uncle with your rightful remuneration, or you can stay here. I have need of clerks in the administrative wing. You would work for the crown, earn your keep, and when you come of age, you may take your remuneration and start your own life, or keep working for us. What say you?"

Dunn didn’t even hesitate. The thought of a lonely highland hut with a stranger was nothing compared to the gravity of the man standing before him. "I’d prefer to stay, Your Grace. If you’ll have me."

Alpheo nodded, turning toward Sebastian, who stood like a shadow by the door. "Sebastian. Show our guest to a room in the inner ward. See that he is fed, bathed, and given clothes. He is under my personal protection."

Alpheo looked back at the boy and smiled, a soft, encouraging expression that reached his eyes. Dunn felt a rush of heat climb his neck, his cheeks turning a bright, bashful red as he bowed low.

"Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you!"

As Sebastian led the boy out, Dunn walked with a lighter step, his head spinning with the thought of warm food and clothes. But the moment the heavy oak doors groaned shut and the latch clicked into place, the smile on Alpheo’s face died.

’’In the council chamber’’ he said without looking at anyone as the recipient for the message already knew themselves.

He stopped for a second when Jasmine called out for him, as for what she did it for, not even she yet knew.But all Alpheo offered were some quick apology and his back.

Right now the prince had little thought to spare.

Oizen had sent his answer; now Yarzat had to give his.