Aldrich sighed, all he had to keep him company was a knight who had prevented his almost assured escape. He had never foresaw that his legacy was going to be so short and barren of any glory. His speech was a bit slurred but he eventually managed to say,

“Command Release.”

His movement was no longer restrained and he pulled out his sword and held it at the man’s neck. He then spoke,

“Speak Truth. Who are you?”

The man’s eyes dilated as he answered,

“I am Sir Cecil Rustin, a knight of the Cortege Royale.”

Aldrich further asked,

“I am guessing that you never took the vows that every knight of the Cortege Royale is subjected to because under normal circumstances you would never be able to harm me. So who are you really?”

“I have taken the vows. I am Sir Cecil Rustin, a knight of the Cortege Royale.”

Aldrich sighed confused but went on to ask the question that weighed on his mind the most,

“Who gave you your orders?”

The man’s mouth opened, he fought, refusing to say. Aldrich repeated the command speech and question but Cecil’s mouth refused to reveal the source of his treachery. Just when Aldrich was going to give up, Cecil began,

“The one that…ordered me…their…name…is…B-.”

At that Cecil swung his sword at Aldrich’s head, who deftly blocked the sword swing. Cecil fiercely threw strike after strike, the blows were heavy causing Aldrich to be pushed back by each strike. While this happened the armoured figure simply watched the two fighting. Aldrich could barely find time to calculate any mesmer algorithms and opted with shooting sharp shards of ice. He shot several within a second and Sir Cecil grinned and his sword became a blur as his blade became an almost invisible barrier.. Sir Cecil’s leg was injured but when he was called to stay in one place, glimpses of his true skills could show.

Aldrich, without Sir Cecil up in his face, was able to think of his next move. He stopped shooting the shards of ice, taking up his sword again. He whispered,

“Glace: Ember Drinker.”

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The temperature around Aldrich instantaneously dropped. Sir Cecil launched himself towards Aldrich, connecting steel to steel as his attack was blocked. Sir Cecil cursed his injured leg, if it were not for it, he told himself that Aldrich would join the rest on the ground. Cecil ignited his sword, his blows more aggressive than before. As they crossed swords they were face to face as Cecil pushed and pushed. Aldrich grinned as the fire on Cecil's blade started to flicker. He was quite confused and Aldrich used this opportunity to free one of his hands while sliding Cecil’s sword on his blade, manoeuvring away from the out of balance strike that Cecil threw. Aldrich turned around raised his hand,

“I win. Glace: Cryo Shot.”

Sir Cecil attempted to turn around and cut the attack but his leg delayed him and he turned just in time for the sharp shard of ice to lodge itself into his body, expertly shot between his armour, his body heat leaving him slowly but surely. It was at this moment that Sir Cecil’s sapped strength showed as he fell to his knees. He looked at Aldrich, and gave him a wry grin, laboured words leaving his lips,

“You did good lad but even if by some miracle you live and get out of here, we will find you and build the vision of the last of the ancients.”

He fell on the floor and his breathing stopped, Aldrich relieved, fell to the floor, the sheer exhaustion hitting harder than any blow from a sword could. He remembered the armoured figure and looked at them who, at the moment, was passively sitting on the throne. It stood and slowly walked towards him, his steps caused the ground to shake ever so slightly. When he reached him he laid his hand over Aldrich and he felt his wounds heal and his fatigue leave him. This obviously prompted a confused expression on Aldrich’s face. A voice that sent a chill as it uttered each word reached Aldrich’s ears, the figure talking to him,

“That knight is without honour and wielded his sword unworthily,” his voice laden with disgust but quickly switching to a neutral one, “Under normal circumstances I would challenge a single person to a duel but you are a mere boy. Instead I shall not have a fight to the death. Each day we will spar, if you beat me, you shall leave. As for the time being, you will join me and defend my grand hall.”

Aldrich was going to grunt but decided that his value for his life outweighed any resentment and misgivings he had. He politely bowed and thanked him for his mercy, as his tutors taught him according to Ravndal tradition. The knight stopped and asked,

“What is your name and station boy?”

Aldrich replied,

“I am Aldrich P’ar Spitfrost, Second Prince of Wylan, Monsignore of Dorian, Royal Duke of Doncaster and Royal Marquess of Rotherhithe.”

The knight performed a shallow bow,

“I apologise, Your Highness, for my early rudeness. You can refer to me as Crudel.”

Aldrich raised an eyebrow,

“If you show respect to me by just my titles, is it not impertinent for you to command me?”

Crudel raised his sword in Aldrich’s direction,

“What is a prince to a king?”

Aldrich grinned,

“So what was your kingdom’s name? Perhaps I have heard of it. Fallen I presume due to this far cry of a kingdom, a grand hall, beautiful really, but a far cry.”

Crudel grunted in response, with a talkative Aldrich behind him.