Mark Lawrence - Prince of Fools

“Boy, you say?” I’d thought the prince a grown man for some reason. “Just how old is-”

“A child! A week ago he was thirteen and forgotten. Past all care. Now he’s reached majority and. .” Another flood of tears, her face buried against my shoulder. “Oh, the trouble he’s caused. The chaos in the throne room.”

“It’s a difficult age.” I nodded wisely and drew her closer. It’s an instinct. I can’t help it. She smelled gorgeous, of lilac and honeysuckle, and pregnancy hadn’t just filled her womb-her bodice overflowed with nature’s gifts too.

“In my homeland they call you the Devil of the Aral,” she said. “The Red Prince.”

“They do?” I tried the words again, removing the surprise from my voice. “They do.”

A nod against my shoulder. “Sir Karlan survived the battle in which you fought, and escaped to the North. At court he told us how you battled without fear-like a madman, striking down man after man. Sir Gort amongst them. Sir Gort was the son of my father’s cousin. A warrior of some renown.”

“Well. .” I guessed some tales grew in the telling and that too much fear might sometimes look like no fear at all. Either way, the queen had given me a gift and it was beholden to me to milk it. “My people do call me the hero of the pass. I suppose it’s fitting that the Scorrons call me the devil. I will wear the name with pride.”

“A hero.” Sareth sniffed, wiped at her eyes, one slim hand on my chest. “You could help.” Soft words, almost a whisper, and close enough to my ear to make me shiver deliciously.

“Of course, of course, dear lady.” I caught myself before I promised too much. “How?”

“He’s a bully, this Jorg. He needs putting in his place. Of course, he’s too highborn for just anyone to deliver the lessons he deserves. But a prince could challenge him. He’d have to accept a challenge from a prince.”

“Well. .” I breathed in her scent and covered the hand on my chest with my own. Visions of chasing those damnable bucket-boys through the back corridors of the opera house floated before me. I’d kicked a few backsides that day! A ragged thirteen-year-old princeling, returned cap-in-hand after a month starving by the waysides before hunger defeated his pride and he came home to Daddy. . I could see myself delivering a sharp lesson to such a lad. Especially if it won favour with his lovely stepmother.

Sareth nuzzled closer, lips very near to my neck, her overfull breasts squashing against me. “Say you will, my prince.”

“But Olidan. .”

“He’s an old man, and cold. He barely sees me now he’s done his duty.” Her lips touched my throat, hand sliding to my stomach. “Say you’ll help me, Jalan.”

“Of course, lady.” I closed my eyes, surrendering to her ministrations. Kicking an arrogant little boy-prince around the court would be fun, and by the time I came to tell the tale in Vermillion, Prince Jorg would be older and my audience would forget that he’d been a child when I taught him his lesson.

“I don’t mind if you hurt him.” She walked her hand two-fingered across my shirt, scratching at the buttons, playful.

“Accidents do happen,” I murmured.

That proved somewhat prophetic as the words inspired Sareth to explore rather more robustly and her hand plunged down into my trousers.

As any man wounded in the line of duty can tell you, a knee to the groin takes a while to recover from, and it may be several days before a prince’s crown jewels are ready for inspection once more. Sareth’s overhasty “cupping” reignited the earlier agonies, and I must admit that my cry of pain could be described as somewhat high-pitched. Possibly even. . girly. Which would explain why the queen’s door guard took it upon themselves to crash in through her bolted door to rescue their charge from whatever fiend assaulted her.

Fear can be an excellent anaesthetic. Certainly the sudden appearance of two mean-faced men in Ancrath livery with bare steel in their hands gets rid of ball-ache double quick. A catapult could have ejected me from that chair no faster and I was clattering down the servant stair before you could say “adultery,” door slamming behind me.

I reached my room, panting and still in panic. Snorri had abandoned the chair I’d placed him in and now lay sprawled on the bed. “That was quick.” He raised his head.

“We should probably leave,” I said, realizing as I looked about for my belongings that I didn’t actually have any.

“Why?” Snorri swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, the structure creaking alarmingly beneath him.

“Uh. .” I leaned back out into the corridor, looking for the approach of guardsmen. “I may have. .”

“Not the queen?” Snorri stood and I became acutely aware once more of just how much he towered over me. “Who saw you?” Anger in his voice now.

“Two guards.”

“Her guards?”

“Yes.”

“She’ll buy them off. It will all be buried.”

“I’m just not wanting to get buried with it.”

“It’ll be fine.” I could see him thinking about that meeting with King Olidan, about all the lines I had sold him regarding knowing his enemy and getting the curse taken off us.

“You think?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Idiot.”

“We could leave anyway. I mean. I spoke to the king’s magician last night and he wasn’t that helpful-”

“Hah!” Snorri sat down again with a thump. “That old dream-witch! We’ll have to look elsewhere for help, Jal. His power’s broken. The boy smashed Sageous’s totem a couple of days back. Some kind of glass tree. Jorg pushed it over in the throne room. Pieces of it everywhere!”

“Where-where do you get all this stuff?”

“I talk to people, Jal. While the queen’s sticking her tongue in your ear I’m busy listening instead. Prince Jorg undid Sageous’s power, and boldly. There must be some other sorcerer or wise woman who can help us. Sageous can’t be the only one in the whole country. We need King Olidan to advise us if we want this curse taken off.”

“Ah. .”

“Ah?”

“I made a promise to rough up this boy-prince for Sareth. I’m hoping that won’t sour things with King Olidan. If he dotes on the child it could cause problems.”

“Why?” Snorri looked up at me, spreading his broad hands. “Why would you do that?” His axe lay by the bed and I toed it underneath, out of sight, just in case.

“You did see her, the queen?” I asked. “How could I say no?”

Snorri shook his head. “I’ve never seen a man who understands so little about women and yet is so led about by them.”

“So, this boy. Will it cause problems if I knock him around a bit?” I asked. “Since you seem to know all there is to know about the Ancraths.”

“Well. The father doesn’t love the son. I know that much,” Snorri said.

“That’s a relief.” I relaxed enough to sink into the chair.

“And I know you’re a brave man, Jal, and a hero from the war. .”

“Yes. .”

“But I wouldn’t be so sure about knocking this Prince Jorg around. You did see him at the Angel the other night?”

“The Angel? What are you talking about?”

“The Falling Angel. I know you had other things on your mind, but you might have noticed the place was packed with his band. The Brothers.”

“What?” The chair contrived to trap me in its clutches as I tried to stand again.

“The prince was there, you know? In the corner with Sir Makin.”

“Oh God.” I remembered his eyes.

“And banging Sally in the room next to yours, I hear. Nice girl. From Totten just south of the Lure.”

“Dear God.” I’d thought Makin’s young companion to be eighteen at the least. He couldn’t have been less than six foot.