jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-81

“What do you mean, ‘the Duchess won’t be coming?’” Induen pronounced each word very deliberately, teeth clenched tight in anger. The prince was in a small, shabby room that seemed to be abandoned. It was poorly lit by moonlight through covered windows. Just behind him, his escort of four disguised royal knights stood alert. Their focus was devoted to the man adjacent to their prince, each very wary as though the man was likely to lunge at any second.

“Just that, Prince Induen,” the man replied. He was smaller than Induen, but his presence had an indomitability one might liken to a rock. He wore rounded steel armor that seemed especially thick and heavy, so one could not see his face. A warhammer hung from his waist. His helmet was wrought in the shape of a boar.

“The Duchess will not be coming,” the man repeated.

“Why?” Induen insisted. “Has something come up? Something more important than her prince?”

“The situation has changed. The Duchess does not feel it is in her best interest to meet,” the boar-masked knight laid out plainly.

“House Parbon does not think it is in their best interest to give faithful service to my father.” Induen stepped forward, moonlight dancing across his face until he came to stand before the man, peering at his eyes inside the helmet. “Are these two things related, I wonder? I should hope not. If you need an example of what defiance brings, you need only look to Parbon’s vassals. That should be clear enough message.”

Despite Induen’s formidable presence, the boar-helmet knight did not move at all. Though the prince’s breath came close enough to fog the well-polished steel helm, his hands stayed at his side, disciplined and unafraid.

“The situation has changed,” the knight repeated.

Induen seemed to have some difficulty restraining his irritation. When he seemed liable to lash out, he turned away quickly, leaving his back to the boar-masked knight. “How has it changed? What’s changed?” the prince asked coldly.

“The Duchess said it is because Jast has allied with House Parbon.”

Induen’s breathing grew quicker, and he reached at his side, pulling free a white dagger gilded with gold. It was the same dagger that Margrave Reinhardt had used in their fight together, and it still shone with enchantments. He stared at it, fixated, slowing his breathing until it was calm. “This is… news to me.”

Induen put away the knife, and then turned around. “You. The Duchess belongs to House Cael. The sigil of House Cael is a boar. Are you a scion of that house?”

“No,” the knight said.

“A champion, then?” the prince pressed.

“Once,” the knight said. “Now, I am someone the duchess is willing to let die.”

“It seems she is quick to discard things,” the prince noted.

“Yes,” the knight agreed.

Induen placed a hand on his hip. “What is your name, knight?”

“Unimportant. If you need a name, most call me Boarmask.”

“Hah.” Induen scoffed. “Which came first—the name, or the helmet?”

“Helmet,” the knight replied seriously.

“Well, Boarmask.” The prince stepped closer. “I dislike the idea of going to fetch something and returning with nothing. You said you were once a champion of House Cael. Do you care to champion your prince?”

Boarmask stared at Induen. “No.”

Induen raised his head, evidently not expecting that answer so quickly. “’No,’” Induen repeated. “I often like brevity, but yours infuriates me. Why do you refuse me? Do you not realize your situation?”

“I am leaving Elbraille tonight,” Boarmask said. “In search of the ideal master.”

“Yet you decline me, a prince,” Induen said.

“Would you die for me?” Boarmask asked.

Induen laughed. “A master to die for their knight? Perhaps you’ve the order reversed. You will die an errant knight if that is what you seek.”

“So it shall be,” Boarmask said. He stepped forward past Prince Induen, past his royal guards, and opened the door, leaving.

A silence settled in the abandoned room, the moonlight moving ever so slowly and reflecting off the dust hanging in the air.

“Prince… if you wish, we can…” one of the knights alluded, knowing well their master’s vindictiveness.

“No. I know that one. He had another nickname, but it seems that it’s changed. He was the Romantic Warrior. Perhaps he disliked the implication and donned that helm. It seems he is ever in search of the ideal master.” Induen shook his head. “A fool. He’ll die one, too, but not by my hand. I doubt you are capable enough to dispatch him, anyway.”

Induen pulled out the Margrave’s dagger. “I will not return to the capital with empty hands.” He ran his gauntleted finger across the blade, scratching the steel armor. “Neither the Duke nor the Duchess will break cleanly. What I bite, I hold ‘til I die.”