Chapter Two: Royal Ties

Draike halted his horse at the edge of the tor, a sea of grass sweeping out from the towering hill. The stallion panted and whinnied as a storm of dandelion wisps blew past them, tickling Draike's senses and making him laugh. He brushed a dusting of petals from the edge of his long, wine red riding tunic and let the wind tug at strands of his hair.
What lies beyond these waves of green? he wondered as the breeze whipped through the meadow once more, carrying stray petals beyond the far hillocks, shadowed stumps against the horizon. He gently stroked his horse's dark mane, its chestnut fur rippling with tension. Draike had raised the stallion from a bucking colt and was quite fond of it. He sighed heavily and gazed over the flower-clad field once more, the grass dressed in pollen and dandelion puffs. The frost will smother this meadow soon.
At the sound of muffled hoof beats, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the approaching horseman. His father's amiable purple eyes glinted in the sunlight as he reined his horse beside Draike. As a smile slid onto his lips, Draike was suddenly aware of the thin lines around the King's mouth and the strands of silver entwined in his dark red beard. "Greetings, my liege," Draike mumbled formally.  
"Hello Draike," he replied, reaching a hand out and clasping his son's shoulder. "Whatever brings you so far from the fort?"
"I was just thinking, father."
"Ah, I see. You always were an introspective one, Draike. Your mother used to be that way too."
"Really?"
"Yes but that was...that was long ago, son," he said quietly, the amethyst jewels embedded within his crown shimmering. "Speaking of your mother," he hastily changed the subject, "She sent me out here to look for you."
"What does she want me for?"
"Only Jik knows," he muttered, shaking his head. "But you shan't keep her waiting. Ride back with me." Draike nodded and nudged his stirrups into his stallion's sides, sending it into an easy gallop. The King rode beside him, making pleasant conversation with his son as they approached Fort Toff.
As they dismounted inside the gate walls, a page ran up and escorted their horses to the stables beside the armory. Shaking the dust from their clothes, King and son strode into the great hall and were immediately engulfed in a cloud of smoke and chatter. Many courtiers and soldiers bowed or saluted them, and the King responded courteously enough. As they were nearing the end of the hall, the captain of the guards stood up from one of the benches, crumbs of stale bread scattered throughout his scraggly beard.
"Your Highness, I need to 'ave a word with you 'bout them boys of yours," he began, his voice reeking of rotten meat.
"Of course," Kenton responded, nodding Draike towards the side door that led to the royal chambers. He slipped around the portly guard and squeezed through the door. Barely avoiding numerous collisions with young pages laden with scrolls and packages, Draike managed to navigate the winding corridors until he came to the large oak door that belonged to the chamber of his mother, Queen Rhoda.
He clasped the thick golden knocker with both hands and gently thumped it against the door. "Enter," a voice called from within. He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, mentally preparing himself for whatever scorn she might smother him with this time. His mother was sprawled on a narrow, plush couch lined with fur cushions and silken drapes. Her long red curls were framing her narrow face, pushed back from her intense eyes by a thin, peridot-covered tiara. "Where the Hell have you been?" she demanded, "I sent for you ages ago!"
"Please forgive my rudeness, my Lady," he murmured without emotion, his gaze downward and his voice soft.
"That's all I ever seem to do, you brat. I'm sick of forgiving you for damn blunders all the time; I've been far too soft on you." She lazily rose from the couch and strode over to him, her long nails digging into his flesh as she smacked him across the face. He winced, but said nothing. "Jik would have done well to steal your breath while you were still in the womb," she spat, pulling out a stinking pipe from her lace-lined dresser and tossing a lit match within the brim. She shoved the putrid thing between her painted lips and crumbled some leaves from the tin on her dresser into the opening, causing a rancid odor to waft through the cluttered chamber.
"I hope you get chosen for a Forbidden Gem just so this place won't have to deal with you anymore," she announced, dark smoke seeping from her mouth as she spoke. Draike remained silent once more, but could feel his limbs shaking with rage and bitterness. She took a long puff on the pipe and continued, "I mean, you're a bastard who's never gonna even have a chance at the throne, so what's the point in wasting air?"
"How can you say such things?" he sputtered, unable to lock his emotions any longer. "For Jik's sake, I'm your son!" That seemed to stun her; an unforeseen rebuke from her normally obedient son. She looked genuinely hurt as she slowly put down the smoldering pipe from her lips and walked over to him.
"Draike..." she began softly, seeming unable to find the right words, "Draike...don't ever speak to me like that again!" She screeched, yanking at a lock of his hair. He cried out in surprise and toppled to the floor as she pushed him down, jamming her stiletto toed boot into his shin repeatedly. He attempted to roll away but she pounced on him, clawing at his skin before pinning him to the ground on his stomach.
"Bastard!" she shrieked as she dumped the flaming herbs of the pipe onto the back of his neck. His pained cry turned into a true scream as she pressed the ashes into his skin with the butt of the pine. With sharp loathing he knew that he had the strength to overpower her, to make her scream, but something deep within his heart would not allow him to fight back.
She clawed at his back for a few more agonizing moments, accompanied with cruel accusations of bastardy, before at last ceasing and rising, kicking his bleeding form one final time. "Get out of my sight," she hissed, searching for more herbs to burn in her pipe. Draike gave her one last pleading look, his eyes meeting only her uncaring back as she rummaged through her dresser. He slowly rose, his body sore and his neck burning. Before he could reach the door, it opened from the other side and a young girl peeked her head in; one of Queen Rhoda's ladies in waiting.
She stepped in and curtsied, earning a sharp glare from the Queen. "I am sorry to disturb you, Madame, but master Tane," she said his name with a high giggle, "has requested Prince Draike's presence in the training yards."
"Oh, very well," the Queen snapped, turning her back to them and waving her thin hand to dismiss them. The maiden led him to the open field just outside the royal chambers; the swordplay grounds. The grass had been cleared away here so that only packed dirt remained. Enemies of straw had been erected against poles for soldiers to fight against while another area was set aside for sword practice. Tane was leaning against a hay figure, short sword in hand.
"There he is," the serving girl said unnecessarily, her face flushing and her lips smiling. Draike rolled his eyes and dismissed her, watching her reluctantly head back into the smoky great hall. He quickly snatched up his favorite training lance from the stand by the wall and ran over to Tane.
"You have too many fan girls," he said dryly to the foreign prince, a touch of bitterness in his tone.
Tane shrugged, declaring, "I'm not interested in these girls; their only talents are spinning and gossiping."
"True," Draike admitted, "So are we going to battle or not?" Tane smiled his usual wolfish grin and readied his sword, stepping into a fighting stance. There was no one else on the grounds that day, so they had the whole field to themselves. Draike gripped his spear tightly, aiming the blunt blade at Tane.
Without waiting, he charged, a low thrust aimed for his best friend's thigh. Tane twisted out of the way, hissing, "Are you trying to emasculate me?"
Draike laughed, parrying Tane's jab, and replied, "Maybe those maidens will have less interest in you if I do." Tane laughed in turn and swiveled away from Draike's hungry lance. All thoughts hardened into a lust for victory as the mock battle continued, almost more of a complicated ballet than a violent combat. Thrust, dodge, jab, counter, dodge, parry, strike; the tempo of the dance, accompanied with vicious slashes and close escapes.
Draike at last ended the fight with a well-timed feint and a swift upward jab aimed for Tane's neck, which was rapidly countered with a strong thrust from Tane's sword. Draike stumbled, nearly regained his balance, and then fell backwards, his tender back scraping against the rough ground. He groaned as Tane lightly pressed the dull blade of his short sword against his neck, a slim smirk plastered to his face.
"Good fight," Tane declared, helping Draike to his feet. Draike rubbed his back and wiped the sweat from his dusty brow.
"You can only say that because you won." Tane shrugged modestly, but could not conceal the fierce grin.
"Oh, Kyra and Stefan are meeting us in the grove for supper," Tane remembered, "If we don't go now, we'll be late." Draike put their weapons away and followed Tane out through the side gate of the training grounds. When they turned down the path that led past the armory and towards the great hall, angry shouts halted their steps.
A tight circle had formed around the arguing men; children trying to wind between the legs of onlookers while adults gazed on with a strange fascination. "Twenty silver pieces is more than I earn in a month!" the stout soldier was yelling, his face a deep shade of burgundy.
The farmer simply shook his grizzled head and tugged the end of his scraggly smock as he said calmly, "That is the price of grain these days. The weather has been cruel and the sun merciless on my fields. I have prayed more times than I can recall, but Jik seems to have turned a deaf ear to my pleas."
"Well maybe if you spent more time tending your fields and less time on wasted prayers, we could afford a simple sack of grain!" the soldier snarled.
"My prayers are not wasted!" the farmer growled, his face flushing with unaccustomed anger.
The soldier spat onto the dusty ground and retorted, "All prayers to Jik are wasted now. That God has forsaken us, I know it! Something terrible is coming..."
The man continued to rave to the crowds about the disappearance of all things holy. Tane nudged Draike in the ribs and hissed, "Go break it up before someone gets hurt."
"Why me?"
"You're the son of the King!"
"But...what should I say?" Draike asked nervously. Tane made an exasperated sound and strode forward, cutting through the crowd until he was standing between the two men.
"What's this then?" the soldier grumbled, his brow furrowed in growing rage and perplexity.
"There shall be no more fighting in the streets of Toff; end this now or take your petty quarrel outside of these walls," Tane declared, his voice steady and commanding.
"I ain't the one fighting, young master," the farmer said humbly. Tane nodded quickly and looked to the soldier.
"Sir, either pay for this man's wares or take your business elsewhere; there are plenty of farmers in Toff and the neighboring villages, though I doubt you shall find such a bargain as this good gentleman has offered."
This only enraged the warrior further, but before he could bombard Tane with threats and vile oaths, two soldiers appeared behind him and seized his arms. "Come on, Liam," the younger one hissed urgently, "You can't keep disgracing Kenton's army with these fits!"
"A thousand apologies, good sir," the other soldier said with a quick bow to the farmer.
Liam continued to pull against his companions, trying to escape their grip as he howled, "May locusts devour your withered crops with swift fangs and sapphire wings!" Finally the other soldiers managed to drag him away to the barracks.
The people who had been watching all gave Tane quiet thanks; a brief clasp of the shoulder or a crisp nod before meandering back to their business. Draike hung back, leaning against the wall of the armory, the shadows from the towering timber walls of the fort masking his face as envy and hot shame boiled within his chest. He should have been the one to settle that dispute, he knew. The people of Toff would never gain respect for him, and he would never become a great king like his father.
As these worried thoughts plagued his mind, Draike was forced to look away. Tane was soon standing beside him, no trace of conceit visible beneath his handsome features. Without words, the two began to make their way to the grove.
They headed deep into the fort, past the guard barracks and the gardens, and slipped into the narrow passageway that led to the grove. The grove was an enclosed forest area surrounding a natural spring. It was originally supposed to be used as a secluded bathing and lounging area for Queen Talla, but almost as soon as it had been finished, she decided that she didn't want it anymore. As the years passed and the plants grew, the windowed roof had been nearly overgrown with vines; it had been forgotten. Draike and his friends often liked to spend their time together there; their little sanctuary from the real world.
They stepped into the serene shadows of the grove, rays of light leaking through the holes in the windowed roof. Tane smiled as he spotted Kyra and Stefan lounging beneath their favorite elm tree, a basket of cloth wrapped foods beside them. Draike collapsed between Kyra and Stefan while Tane leaned against the tree, stretching his arms with a deep yawn.
"What happened to him?" Stefan asked Tane, nudging Draike's arm cautiously. Tane grabbed one of the folds of cloth from the basket an unwrapped it, revealing a slab of cheese between slices of soft bread.
"I crushed him in a sword fight," Tane answered before chomping into the sandwich.
"I'm sure he did fine," Kyra said, handing Draike a sandwich too, though he felt almost too weak to accept it.
"Tane beat you again?" Stefan asked incredulously, punching Draike in the shoulder. The Prince merely nodded and forced a meek smile, unwilling to tell him the truth behind his aching body. The dinner continued on for over an hour, even after most of the food had been consumed. Blessedly, Tane did not mention the affair of the farmer   and the soldier, but his modesty only seemed to make Draike grow more jealous and ashamed. They sat beneath the tree for a long while, discussing everything from the Jewelling Rite to Queen Talla's newest paramour. Draike put in his opinion when he was prodded, but remained silent for the most part.
While his friends were debating the use of flails in battle, Draike leaned forward to snatch an apple from the basket. As he sat up, he felt Kyra's eyes following him, and then the hushed question, "Draike, what happened to your neck?" His hand automatically flew to his neck, and then hastily away as his fingers brushed the burnt skin just below his hairline. They had said nothing about the new scratches across his face, but could not ignore the horrid scar on his nape.
"What's wrong?" Tane asked, leaning forward to get a better look at Draike's neck.
"Nothing," the Prince said quickly, scooting away from the group.
"Draike, show us," Stefan commanded quietly. Obligated to obey his elders, Draike obediently rose to his feet as the others did the same, crowding around him.
From behind him, Draike heard Tane crossly order, "Draike, take your tunic off."
"But..."
"Now." He sighed heavily and unbuckled the thick black belt from his waist before pulling the long tunic over his head. There were no gasps, no angry words, only an apprehensive, foreboding silence that hung on the air like a plague.
"Did Rhoda do this to you?" Stefan asked, his voice thick from choked emotion. Draike hesitated, and then nodded, both humiliated and grateful at once. "I'll kill her," he heard the older Prince growl, fury evident in his tone.
"You know you can't," Kyra hissed.
"She doesn't deserve it!" Stefan cried, "She has no right to do this to him!"
Unable to stand it any longer, Draike turned around and forced a smile, "I'm fine, guys. Really, don't worry about it."
Stefan's pale blue eyes flashed with wrath, but Tane, calm as usual, gently laid his hand on the other man's shoulder before commanding, "Kyra, get some hot water and gauze." She nodded unquestioningly and ran off to fetch the remedies.
"Why do you let her do this to you?" Stefan asked sadly after Kyra had disappeared.
"What choice do I have?" Draike inquired nonchalantly, "She's my mother."