Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

Andaleus entered the study room carrying a silver tray.

“My Lord, would you care to have some freshly brewed Georgian tea?”

“That would be great,” Ren murmured, not bothering to look up from the thick tome that he was diligently flipping through. He was sure the blurb on the Archon artifact was somewhere in one of his books, but a whole night of fruitless searching seemed to suggest otherwise.

Careful to avoid the clutter of books and papers, Andaleus strategically placed the steaming cup of tea on the corner of Ren’s desk.

“Would you also like a slice of foam cake? I bought an entire loaf from the bakery this morning.”

“Oh sure, why not.” Ren sighed and chucked the tome onto a heap of books in the middle of the room. While gingerly sipping the tea, he watched Andaleus prepare the cake.

“There’s obviously something on your mind, Andaleus. Are you going to tell me or do I have to prod?”

Not surprised by his master's keen intuition, Andaleus calmly finished preparing the food and set the silver tray aside, after which he returned his full attention to Ren.

“Forgive my ignorance, but there’s something I don’t quite understand. Since you personally handled the other two, why am I assigned to greet the third chosen? He is a prince after all. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial if you were the one to make first contact?”

“Do you think I’m making a mistake then?”

“I would never dare second guess you, my Lord. I would simply like to hear your explanation.”

Ren took off his glasses and massaged his temples.

“Well, truth be told, I’m of the opinion that your alternate identity as South Lord Gherbal is more useful. If there’s one thing I know, Jandarian royalty respects those with power and privilege. I imagine the prince would be more receptive to the solicitations of a S-ranked duke than that of a lowly assistant librarian and shop owner, don’t you think?”

There was a brief moment of silence while Andaleus struggled to avoid spitting blood. He pitied the fool who would dare underestimate his master. You would be better off having your soul completely annihilated than to incur Ren’s wrath.

“After serving you for so long, I still don’t get why you entertain Lady Luck by letting her choose our avatars. I detest her sense of humor.”

“Haha. My dear Andaleus, that is perhaps something you’ll understand one day. Anyways, you probably best be going.”

Ren telekinetically grabbed another book from the shelf and renewed his search. Realizing that the conversation was over, Andaleus grabbed the silver tray and promptly exited the room. There was work to be done, and Andaleus wasn’t one to fail his master.

_____

A man, hidden by the dense foliage of the trees, cautiously crept towards a bubbling brook. He was tired, thirsty, and overall looking worse for the wear. Seeing that everything was in the clear, he dashed to the rivulet, eager to appease his thirst and wash the grime off his face.

The water felt crisp and relaxing, a stark contrast from everything he had experienced since the bandit attack that left his entire caravan dead two days ago. Once he had wiped away the mud and dirt, the brook reflected the appearance of a young man in his early twenties, sporting dirty blond hair and a handsome face. He exuded an air of nobility, as if he was meant to rule lesser men. Apart from his dead personal guard, no one else in the caravan knew of his true identity, Darian Jandar, the Third Prince of the Kingdom of Jandar.

Darian groaned and unwrapped the makeshift bandage on his side where he had been shot by a stray arrow. Luckily he had cauterized the wound with fire magic, preventing additional blood loss; now he hoped to Lady Fate he wouldn’t get an infection. His skin had turned green around the wound, which was probably a bad sign.

“Well, maybe an infection wouldn’t be so bad. At least it’d put an end to my misery real fast,” Darian joked to himself.

A ruffling of leaves nearby alerted the young prince, who unsheathed his sword.

“Show yourself!” Darian shouted.

A tanned girl, in her late teens, stepped out into the clearing. She had an arrowhead aimed steadily at Darian’s heart. Likely a local hunter was what Darian concluded based on her clothes and the two dead hares strung on her back. As long as she wasn’t part of the bandit group that was tracking him, there wasn’t a need for unnecessary violence. Darian sheathed his sword and put his hands up in submission, careful not to spook the girl and accidentally take an arrow to the knee.

“The Third Prince dies at hand of girl after being mistaken as a vagabond,” thought Darian, cringing at the prospect of the press catching wind of his hypothetical demise. He still had a reputation to uphold with the ladies of the court.

“Easy there. I mean no harm. My caravan was attacked by bandits, and I’m the sole survivor,” explained Darian.

The girl scrutinized him for what felt like hours. Finally, it seemed she believed his story and lowered her bow.

“Yah from the city? Pa says dem city folks talk all proper and fanny. Seems like he was tellin’ the truth,” she said.

“Yes, I’m a resident of the royal capital. How far are we from the city?”

“Bout two days as the crow flies I reckon. Yah look like yah ain’t gonna make it tho, not with thar nasty wound. Yah prolly got poisoned by dem bandit arrows since it’s turning green,” she commented while keeping her eyes glued to his body.

Darian’s chiseled torso was free eye candy. His sweat had the unintended consequence of accentuating his well-defined abs and pecks. Out in the wilderness, specimen as fine as Darian were more precious than diamonds.

“How long do I have?” questioned Darian, perfectly aware of his effect on members of the opposite sex.

“Hmm, not too long I reckon, bout a day’s time. Ma knows how to cure thar poison easy. Yah better come with me if yah wanna live.”

Darian thought about his options, none of which were exactly promising. Either he risked dying from the poison, or he accepted the help of a complete stranger and put himself at her mercy.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Okay, I’ll go with you. I’m Jasper,” lied Darian, deciding it was better to maintain his fake identity. “What do people call you?”

“I’m Tabith,” said the girl. “Now yah better do nuthin’ sussypus or I’ll put a hole in yah faster than yah could say Jandar. Gotcha?”

The look that Tabith gave convinced Darian she meant what she said. Nodding in implicit agreement, he put his shirt back on and followed the girl into the forest.

The pair arrived at the girl’s residence slightly before dusk. The farm was well off the beaten path, as if situated to avoid detection, making Darian somewhat suspicious. Normally, farmers built their houses near major roads in order to take advantage of vital trade routes. Passing caravans and merchants were of immense importance to isolated farmers, who not only needed a venue to sell their crops but also a dependable supplier for equipment and materials.

“Might be unregistered Jandarian citizens, and judging by the girl’s accent, her parents probably used to live in the slums,” noted Darian. The growing issue of faux-citizenship, people living in the kingdom without proper residence papers to avoid paying taxes, was a direct consequence of severe tax hikes in the past two decades, instigated by Darian’s father, King Slyke Jandar. To counter the trend, the crown had imposed capital punishment for anyone caught illegally residing in the kingdom, a bit harsh if you asked Darian.

“Yah stay here and lemme do the talking. Me Pa ain’t the welcomest person,” Tabith warned Darian before entering the house.

While he waited outside, Darian made a mental note of his surroundings. There were three buildings in total, one was the main residence, the second was probably a storage hut, and the third looked like a barn used to house livestock. All in all, a typical farm, nothing out of ordinary except for its odd location.

It didn’t take long before the doors to the house flew open, and a gruff-looking man holding a loaded crossbow stormed out to confront Darian. Two females, Tabith and presumably her mother, hastily followed.

“Who are yah? What are yah doin on me farm?” he barked, pointing the crossbow at Darian.

“I told yah Pa. He got attacked by dem bandits, and he’s hurt...,” Tabith tried to explain.

“Shut yah pipes, girl. I wanna hear him say,” the father cut her off.

Having been held to an arrowpoint two times in the same day was a new experience for Darian. As the Third Prince of the kingdom, few would dare explicitly show him such animosity, and fewer would live afterwards. Frankly, he was getting a little annoyed by the man’s antagonistic attitude, and it didn’t help that the poison from the wound was starting to cause a maddening headache.

“I’m just a lost traveler, sir. My caravan was attacked by bandits on the way to Jandar. They slaughtered everyone on sight, but I managed to escape.”

“Hmph! A coward then,” the father grunted. “Where’s yah wound? Lemme see it.” The man gestured with his crossbow.

Darian rolled up his shirt, revealing a wound that was looking considerably worse now than in the morning. Pale, green spider veins propagated from the spot where the arrow connected.

“Ah Harry dearest, he’s just a poor traveler. Look at thar wound. It’s gotta be from dem bandits from Greenbarrow,” Tabith’s mother interjected. She moved between her husband and Darian to better inspect the wound.

“Come dear, let me fix yah up. Yah lucky I have a batch o’ poison cure made yesterday.”

The woman pushed her husband aside and led Darian by the hand into the house.

Harry had no choice but watch his headstrong wife bring the stranger inside their home. Something about the young man made him feel uncomfortable.

“Tabith, keep yah eye on thar boy. I dun trust him even if he’s a pretty face.”

“Yes, Pa,” his daughter replied with unconcealed enthusiasm and ran into the house.

“Girls…,” the father sighed, shaking his head.

Darian awoke later during the night. The herbal medicine he drank, which tasted like rotten eggs and bananas, seemed to work wonders. The headache had eased up, and his limbs didn’t feel like lead anymore. He forced himself off the straw bed and silently made his way downstairs.

“Guess they don’t trust me,” Darian thought, noticing his sword was missing.

He stopped midway on the staircase and crouched down to better hear the hushed conversation occuring on the main floor.

“Harry dearest, I reckon he’s just a merch down on his luck. I think yah being too sussypus o’ him,” a female’s voice spoke.

The man, named Harry, replied, “I’m doing this for our safety, Daisy. Looka this sword. It’s too damn fine for dem merchant folks. Thar boy’s most likely one of dem noble folks I tell yah. I knew bringin’ him in was a bad idea. What if he goes off and tells dem enforcers thar we’re illegals and have dem hunt us down like animals? We gotta look bout our own girls.”

“Yah dun know if he’ll do that, dearest.”

“I dun trust him, Daisy. I’d rather be wrong and kill an innocent man than have the blood o’ me girls on me hands.”

Daisy couldn’t argue with her husband when he put it that way, so she remained silent. Knowing that he had won the argument, Harry grabbed a small dagger and slipped it under his belt.

“I’m gonna slit the boy’s throat while he’s asleepin’. I promise yah I’ll make it fast,” Harry attempted to console his wife.

That was all Darian needed to hear. It was time he made his exit strategy. Due to the darkness, Darian almost ran into a little girl, about five years old, standing at the end of the hallway, wearing a sleeping gown and holding an old bear doll.

“Ma says eavesdropping is rude,” the girl stated plainly.

“Uhh, hello there young lady. Your mother’s right. I won’t do it again,” responded Darian while giving the girl his most disarming smile. “How about I let you hold on to my ring, and we’ll keep this our little secret?” He handed the little girl an exquisite emerald ring.

The girl examined the ring in total fascination. It was the first time she had seen such magnificent jewelry. In fact, there was no way she could’ve known that only seven magic rings of its kind existed in the entire kingdom, and each were owned by a Jandarian prince or princess.

“Step away from me girl!” a voice belonging to Harry rang across the hall.

Darian turned around to face the father, the man who planned to murder him in his sleep.

“I mean your family no harm, sir. Just let me go on my way,” said Darian, trying to pacify the man. At the same time, he inched closer to the girl. If worse came to worst, he would have to use her as leverage.

“Yah not foolin’ anyone boy. I dun trust yah. Now, I said step away from me girl.”

It seemed Darian and Harry were at a standstill. Whereas Harry was afraid Darian would use his daughter as a human shield, Darian wanted to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed since the family had saved his life after all.

A sudden blood-curdling scream from outside broke the tension in the air. Following the scream was the sound of barking firehounds in the distance.

“What’s going on…Tabith?” Harry asked in surprise. He knew his eldest daughter was out finishing chores for night. He hoped to Lady Fate nothing bad had happened to her.

“Damn, the bandits caught up to me,” realized Darian. It was hard to forget the sound of firehounds after being chased by them for half a day. He thought he had lost them when he tumbled off a cliff two days ago.

“Look sir, you should go make sure everything’s okay. I swear on my mother’s grave that I will not hurt your daughter.”

Harry was caught between a rock and a hard place. He was loathe to leave his youngest daughter, Rachel, in the hands of a stranger, but he also needed to check what was going on outside. While he wasted time being indecisive, there was a loud crash downstairs.

“Daisy!”

The moment Harry scrambled down the stairs to check, Darian picked up the girl and ran to the nearest window. The rest of the girl’s family members were either dead or were going to die. Darian, in his conscience, couldn’t allow the young girl to also perish because of his mistake.

To prevent access to the second floor, Darian snapped his fingers and set the hallway on fire. Because the whole house was made of wood, it began spreading extremely quickly, soon threatening the integrity of the house. He swiftly snuck out onto the roof with the girl through the window.

From the roof Darian was able to count five horses at the front of the house - likely a bandit scouting party. This meant the rest of the bandits were still off in the distance, implying that Darian and Rachel had a chance to escape if they could get a horse from the barn.

“What’s your name little girl?”

“Umm…umm...Rachel,” she replied meekly, too young to understand the urgency of the situation.

“Alright Rachel. I need you to hold on to me and the ring tightly. Can you do that?”

Rachel nodded and wrapped her arms around him. Darian bit his thumb then smeared the blood over his emerald ring, which glowed when it absorbed its master’s life essence. Each of the seven royal rings had a special ability designed to complement the user’s weakness. In Darian’s case, he was a good offensive magician, so when fully charged, his ring would emit a powerful B-ranked barrier protecting him for a short duration. It was the reason Darian had survived the fall off the cliff two days ago.

Darian jumped off the roof with Rachel in his arms. The girl closed her eyes and screamed, thinking that they were going to fall to their deaths. When nothing happened, she realized that they were miraculously safe on the ground. She could hear the man’s heavy panting as he sprinted to the barn.

In no time, Darian and Rachel were off on horseback, increasing the distance between them and the burning house. Rachel started crying, unsure why the stranger was taking her away from her family. In years to come, she would have recurring nightmares from seeing flames engulf the only home she had ever known.