The Prince

((A next piece that picks up where The Knight left off.))

The Prince

Running through to their destination, their path bloodied by the slain, Damocles and his charge found little resistance in their path. Even the guards in the keep, whom they would run across, had their necks neatly slit. The wounds were fresh however and the relative quiet in the keep unnerved Damocles. Even the shadows seemed to be his enemies now and each and every step he took had an added sound of caution. Wishfully thinking to himself, he hoped the Jagatai Khanate did not deploy their Shadow Legion. It was indeed a legion of but a mere thousand men, and ironically, their skills shine bright in the dark. Nevertheless, the shadows were his enemies now and each and every step he took had an added sound of caution. Needless to say, his charge would probably not notice and his effort would go unappreciated. It was not, her being too absorbed with navigating as the wand in her hand twitched left to right endlessly.

It was a short while later that they came to the doors of the throne room. Swinging the doors wide open as they made their entrance, Damocles and his charge were soon faced with a wall of halberds; sixty men in columns of three. Royal Halberdiers, bodyguards of all Lexmadan royalty, were the penultimate in Lexmadan martial prowess. Though their proficiency had kept up with the times, the halberd was their symbol as much as his axe was a symbol of himself. Behind the wall, Damocles' two metre height serving him well, allowing him to identify a young man, barely up to his twenties, bedecked in fashionable but impractical accoutrements and an ornate scabbard around his waist. The prince, Damocles presumed, had not even bothered to arm and armour himself properly. This first impression did not sit well with the bodyguard. His thoughts were interrupted by his charge's tugging. He knelt before her, so that they may speak face to face. Into his ear she whispered,

"Damocles, wait for me outside. Close the door and count up to at least sixty before coming in."

Puzzled by the order, he bowed his head in acknowledgement and walked out, closing the door behind him. As soon as the doors closed, he started counting and assumed that she wanted to make sure no one had followed them. He felt the tension slip away, if only in a brief breath, before the screams of men could be heard on the other side of the oak. Searching frantically for his charge's voice, it took a great amount of will power for him to stay rooted in place until it was too much for him to bear. Both doors flew open to a bloodbath, torsos, limbs, heads and corpses strewn about, liberally applying a new coat of red to the interior. There were now only two other men in the room. One was a young halberdier, his eyes glazed, and his movement stiff and notably, Princess Chataigne's wand had pierced the back of his neck, the other was the prince, his face showing his apparent horror and his slightly shaking frame, as if willing himself to move but was petrified. She turned towards him.

"That was only up to thirty Damocles but since you're here," she said and trailed off.

The wand returned to her hand and the halberdier fell backwards, writhing and convulsing on the floor. The halberd lying on the floor was not a light weapon and the diminutive princess heft it awkwardly, raising the blade as high as possible before bringing in down on her target's neck. It was an amazingly clean cut that went through between the bones that made up the spine. Raising the weapon to which she propped herself against, she spoke.

"Kill him," it accompanied a gesture towards the prince.

"But your marriage," Damocles started to protest half-heartedly, ever more confused.

"Let's just say I had no intention of marrying him from the start."

Inwardly he was pleased but the killing of royalty, especially those foreign was a not an easily pardonable action. In quick and large strides, Damocles unsheathed the prince's own sword. It was shorter and broader than Damocles' but undoubtedly no sharper. Seizing the prince's right shoulder with his left hand, he placed the tip at the neck. Staring in to the eyes of a doomed man, he thrust his right hand forward with all his might. The body fell as swiftly as any other. His charge would manipulate the hands and arms of the former prince in a way to suggest that he hand taken his own life. Damocles would not know it, but this action waived him and his charge of guilt in the upcoming events to unfold.