Page 25 of My Princeling Brat (Tales from the Tarot #2)

Prince Cedrych

Some primitive instinct took hold of me when the archer aimed their deadly arrow at my lord and master.

Without thinking, I launched myself from my seat, grabbed Lord Vasil in a big bear hug, and threw my entire weight against him.

I barrelled us both over so that we landed with a thud on the wooden platform.

Behind us came the thunk of the arrowtip hitting its mark.

I glanced up to see the arrow’s shaft sticking out of the wooden frame of Vasil’s throne, what would have been a fatal wound to the heart.

The crowd gave a collective gasp and then erupted into screams of horror.

Vasil was deathly silent, staring up at me, his eyes wide with shock.

Thank the Goddess he was unharmed, as was I, but I still patted him down roughly for good measure.

Anika barked orders at the guard, all of them scrambling to surround us in a protective shield of bodies.

Propelled by adrenaline and fury, I took flight, intent on capturing the criminal at fault.

The archer, still standing in the middle of the tournament field, saw me coming and let a second arrow fly.

I dodged as it whizzed past, nearly kissing my cheek.

Another arrow went wild, meant to stall me, and then the would-be assassin tucked their bow under one arm and took off in a sprint, their dull brown cloak flapping at their back.

I caught up to the culprit at the edge of the grassy field and grabbed hold of the woolen garment.

The assassin cast it off like a dead husk and sprang free, darting into the nearest tent in an attempt to lose me, but I wasn’t so easily deterred.

The light was dimmer inside the tent, the assassin’s path marked by the tables they’d upset to block my pursuit.

I tucked my wings and drew my sword, hurdling debris while chasing after the scoundrel.

Fleet-footed as a fox, they slipped through an opening in the canvas and dashed into the next colorful tent.

I suspected their aim was to make it to the forest (and freedom), so I abandoned the chase and flew to where I presumed they might emerge from the vendors’ row.

Listening intently above the din of the crowd for any signs of movement, I finally spotted them sneak from behind a canvas flap and make a break toward the treeline.

I sprinted toward them, intending to cut them off at the pass.

The assassin was in my sights, and I was gaining quickly, but just as I prepared to tackle them from behind, they spun and jabbed at my sword arm with their dagger.

The blade sliced through my sleeve and landed a searing cut to my forearm.

Without bothering to assess the damage, I tossed my sword to my other hand and lunged.

The assassin made a few more jabs. Wise to their ways, I dodged the blade, then knocked their arm with the flat of my sword, dislodging the weapon and sending it a few paces away in the grass.

The archer, now desperate, reached for their bow, but before they could grab hold, I borrowed a move from the minotaur’s playbook and rushed them like a bull.

I hit them solidly in their narrow chest and knocked them right off their feet.

“Cursed fae,” the assassin grunted in elvish.

I turned them over, and with my knee planted firmly against the assassin’s back, I relieved them of their remaining weapons–the bow and arrows, a few more well-stashed knives, and a trio of razor-edged throwing stars.

I kicked off their old worn riding boots too, in case there was some malice hiding there, then I rolled them onto their back to get a better look at their face.

A lad, though a pretty one. Painfully young with poorly stitched clothing and too-sharp features that told of chronic hunger and poverty.

His eyes were filled with furious tears as he cursed me mightily in elvish.

“None of that now,” I said sternly. I pinned both his arms beneath my shins so he’d not lash out or attempt to run.

My own sword was aimed at his chest, though I didn’t plan to use it.

This lad was too young and too raw to be the mastermind behind a royal assassination attempt.

He’d likely been recruited because of his talent as an archer, paid or coerced.

The only way to find the true culprit was to question him, and we’d need him alive for that.

In the meantime, the crowd of spectators had caught up with us and were now closing in, shaking their fists and demanding the assassin’s blood be spilled.

I ignored their calls for vengeance and trained my eyes on the lad, who’d fallen sullenly silent, his chest heaving as his fury at being caught cooled into quiet terror.

“Who sent you?” I asked in elvish, but the firm line of his mouth did not alter. “It’ll be a lot less trouble for you if you ‘fess up now, boy,” I warned but he only glared back at me with scorn.

“Your Highness, we’ll take it from here.

” Anika’s hand was on my shoulder, firm and commanding.

I stood slowly, giving the guards ample time to restrain him.

Erlander cuffed his thin wrists with metal and tossed the young man over the saddle of a gray mare like a sack of corn feed.

The lad’s ire was renewed and he began thrashing and hollering in protest, so Erlander smacked his narrow rump and told him to quiet down or else he’d knock his fool-head out.

It was then, as I was rising to my feet and inspecting the spreading red stain on my sleeve, that I saw Lord Vasil.

His bevy of royal guards parted like a silk garment against shears as he approached me, wielding his vanadium rod as if to strike anyone who dared cross him.

He strode up to me, the anger in his eyes unmatched by any I’d seen before, and only when he was within striking distance did I realize his ire was aimed at me.

“My lord?” I said with caution.

“You’re wounded,” he spit out with a furious sneer.

A moment later, he’d ushered me inside a nearby tent and three healers were upon me.

One cut off my coat sleeve. Another inspected and washed my wound–the gash was the length of my finger and somewhat deep.

They stitched me up and applied a soothing salve before wrapping my arm with a cloth bandage.

Their efficiency was remarkable, and I was still marveling at their expediency when they backed away with a respectful bow to Lord Vasil and left me to his company.

Elvish guards surrounded us, acting as a shield while scanning the tent in all directions as if preparing for another attack.

“See, not so bad,” I said because his rigid demeanor had not softened in the least. His eyes were flinty, his mouth a dark slash across his face.

Only his hand was moving. Deftly, he pulled ribbons of metal from his rod like it was liquid mercury.

A moment later, I looked down to find the bands around my wrists were now attached by a solid vanadium chain.

I tugged on it to be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

He’d cuffed me like a common criminal, as if I were the one who’d made an attempt on his life.

Perhaps he thought me or my people were behind it?

My indignation warred with confusion as I looked to him for an explanation.

“You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice low and lethal.

I swallowed tightly and straightened my shoulders. “Vasil–”

“Silence.”

He whirled away, giving me his broad back. I could fly away if I really wanted, and he seemed to realize it too, because his hand then clamped around my uninjured forearm like a vice. He led me–more like dragged me–outside the tent to where his royal carriage stood waiting.

“You’re in trouble now,” said a lilting voice. I glanced sideways to find Vasil’s cousin, Lord Kazimir, smirking at me with impish delight. “Tsk, tsk, naughty prince.”

The man beside him, his guard of honor, only shook his head grimly. Why did it feel like I was heading toward my own execution? Why wouldn’t my lord let me explain?

Scowling, I set my sights on Vasil’s broad back and decided that I much preferred my humiliation to take place in private.

Needless to say, it was a long ride home.

Vasil regarded me from across the carriage with both hands gripping his rod as if to remind me of his authority.

His simmering fury pressed against me like a woolen garment in the summer heat.

I itched all over from his unwavering scrutiny, and it annoyed me that I couldn’t decipher his thoughts.

It didn’t help that Anika and Erlander were crowded in the cabin alongside us, scouting the terrain outside our windows for any possible threats.

It made the situation doubly uncomfortable.

“I’m a prince,” I said, nodding to where my wrists were still bound. It seemed everyone present needed the reminder.

“You’re my charge,” Vasil said, eyes flashing with anger, “and the chain is necessary to secure you.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere, not that I could,” I countered.

“Absolutely not,” Anika said before Vasil could reply. It seemed she was upset with me too.

“Do you think I’m guilty?” I asked, still wondering if they thought I was somehow responsible for the attempt on our lord’s life.

“Guilty of being a senseless fool,” Vasil said gruffly, which was only slightly better than him thinking me a murderer. Erlander snorted in amusement.

“Was that before or after I saved your life?” I demanded, glaring at the lot of them.

Vasil mouth twisted and he said with a sneer, “Any gratitude I may have had for your act of heroism quickly vanished when you decided to chase after the assassin, alone and against my explicit orders.”

I swallowed that with some bitterness and decided on a new tactic. “The tournament was really quite lovely until the business with the assassin.”

That earned me a hot glare from Vasil and a disparaging look from Anika as well.