He left his humble quarters late in the evening. He needed to think, to come to terms with his sister’s sudden estrangement. He no longer felt that he was the most important person in her life, yet she was still the one he cared most about. Never would he have guessed that Parceval’s prediction would come to fruition so early… He suddenly felt very alone.

He found his horse well-groomed. It had been fed and brushed, and its stall was clean. He smiled to himself at his page’s devoutness. Canil was a diligent and hardworking boy, he had been lucky to get him. He really should give him more attention, the boy deserved it. He was from a small noble house in the north of Azure, in the duchy of Karamaine. His family owned a small piece of land with a single village and a few farmsteads. They had no castle, only a little mansion. Still, Arthan had no land, but his coffers were full and his combat skills plenty, so they had allowed Canil to become his page. He was riding on the wings of his skill and glory, yet he knew that wouldn’t last in the long run.

Sure, he might be taken in as an instructor late in his life, but he was more ambitious than that. He wanted his own castle; he wanted his own people and his own land. In his dreams, he saw a humble but well-built castle atop of a cliff looming over the ocean, with the constant soothing music of waves swashing over the beach. Behind the castle, there would be golden fields of wheat and whatever the peasants could cultivate.

And travellers would come from far to see the legendary knight, Arthan Karendis, only to gaze at his face and perhaps even exchange a few words with him. He smiled to himself at the image. He would be a powerful man, who few would dare cross. Stella would, of course, live not too far off, someplace where he could keep a watchful eye on her and make sure that her gentle husband behaved.

But this was only a far-off dream, and the narrow and difficult path to its realisation seemed more impossible than ever. He would be strong somehow though, or else there was no point.

He reached the gate of the palace, where the guards stationed opened it for him and told him to have himself a good night with meaningful looks and even a few winks and grins. He did not doubt that there would be rumours in the following days, about him going out late at night. Was he going to the red-light district? Had he a secret lover? The attention on him would further explode in scale as he was now the future in-law of the great king of Azure.

He rode to Geraldine’s mansion, which was naturally situated on the isle. Only the poorest of nobles lived in the rest of the city, with a few notable exceptions.

It was strange, riding through the streets at this hour. The isle was heavily patrolled and no place for drunkards. It was mostly a residential area except for the few artisans whose presence didn’t annoy the nobles. There were no smiths because of the noise, or dyers or butchers because of the smell. Most Nobles had their personal cuisines too. But there were tailors and dressmakers to quell the insatiable needs of the wealthy.

He recognized her mansion by the stone arc over the door, painted red in the Kroman style. There was no exterior wall or garden, apart from the house itself. The mansion was built like a square, with a flat roof. It had high windows though and the stone was solid and well-cut. Space was tremendously expensive in the isle.

He was about to knock when he noticed that the gate wasn’t closed. He hesitantly slipped his fingers in the small gap and pulled it wide open, entering warily. He regretted the fact that he had forgotten his weapon at home and he suddenly felt dangerously vulnerable without any protective gear. He was clothed only in a loose silk shirt and black pants. He scanned the first room, which was an entry hall with stairs leading to the first floor and doors to the adjacent rooms.

“Geraldine?” He shouted out, going for the stairs. Something was wrong. “It’s me! Arthan!” He mounted the stairs three by three and quickly got to the first floor, where he heard a muffled scream.

Throwing the door open, he saw a short but bulky man stand over Geraldine, his hands tightly wrapped over her throat. Her hands were desperately trying to loosen his grip, while her face was stuck in a shocked and agonizing grimace. The man’s head jerked around and their eyes met. The bulky man’s eyes were swollen red and had lost all sense, like those of a wounded beast backed into a corner.

Arthan bolted forward without hesitation. The bulky man threw her to the side and tried a wild swing, which glanced off Arthan’s chest as he tried to evade it. The knight successfully countered with a ruthless punch to the jaw. He felt it dislocate and then he followed up with a kick to his lower chest. The man was thrown back against the wall, with at least a bruised if not broken rib. Arthan took a moment to make sure he wasn’t getting up, but he seemed down for a time, not even trying to get on his feet.

He then turned to Geraldine who was coughing weakly, rubbing her throat. “Thanks…” She croaked so feebly he barely heard her.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He muttered with concern, wondering if she could walk. He was about to ask her when a tumbling step alerted him. He spun around to the assailant, who was on his legs again, breathing hard and with wide-open but hazy eyes. And somehow, he had gotten hold of a dagger, which he was holding in a fist so tight his knuckles were whitening.

Arthan took a step forward to put himself between the man and Geraldine, all his senses focusing on that one dagger. The man charged. Arthan tried to catch his wrist, stepping in close and using his superior size to push him back. He couldn’t retreat a single step, or he would put her at risk. The dagger opened a long gash on his forearm. Arthan clenched his teeth and attempted to rip the man’s dagger out of his arms, and they wrestled brutally for the weapon. He had almost succeeded when his opponent suddenly headbutted him in the forehead. He lost his focus and the bulky man tore the dagger away and shoved it back.

Arthan felt his stomach explode in pain as he grabbed the man’s head and headbutted him back, right in the nose. The man stumbled away; his hands suddenly empty. Arthan stood steadily, breathing deeply but hardly. Then he looked down, swallowing astoundingly as he saw the handle of the dagger stick out of his stomach. His legs betrayed him, and he collapsed to the floor.

He found himself on the side, his fingers locking around the handle. Through a fog of agony, he considered pulling it out. A wound to the stomach was a slow and agonizing death. It could take days, he had heard. He would die quicker if he bled out. He remembered his sister and decided to let it remain in. Maybe someone would find him? But even then, was this not a mortal wound? He lost all strength and his hand limply fell to the floor.

To his horror, he then heard heavy and unsteady steps circle around him. The man was still conscious. He walked past Arthan and soon after, the knight heard low gurgling and gasping from Geraldine. She was being strangled again.

He sighed softly as the sounds died out and the man dragged himself away. In the end, it had been for nothing. His death.

He regretted not pulling the dagger out, but it was too late now. His strength was gone.

*

Leslian rushed through the gate, calling eagerly for his mother. The middle-aged governess mumbled irritatingly to herself, wondering how he had gotten in. Shouldn’t the door be locked? The boy’s lesson had been late in the evening, night had already fallen. Even though it was safe on the island, it was still common-sense to not leave doors open for any curious soul to enter.

Suddenly the boy’s yelling went quiet though. She hoped he hadn’t barged into the bedroom again, only to find his mother with some new stranger. Needless to say, she disapproved, but Geraldine was her employer and it was not her place to say anything. She needed the money too. With that in mind, she rushed into the room, ready to apologise and tow him out if necessary but she nearly choked upon the words at the scene that came upon her.

The lady lied at the foot of the bed, her face contorted into a painful and dreadful expression though her eyes were now emptily staring into the ceiling. Blue bruises covered her previously long and graceful throat.

On the other side of the room, a man was lying on his side curled up around his stomach. He looked slender but strong, his blond hair spread out on the floor. A pool of blood had assembled at his stomach. And his large spot on his stomach, around the handle that stuck out of it.

The scene was picturesque. And horrific.

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She pulled the boy to herself and screamed for help.

*

Stella’s face lost all colour as the guard detailed the incident. The man looked calm but understanding.

“But he’s alive?” She asked in a panicked voice. “Right?”

The man nodded. “Barely. But a wound like that… You should go see him, milady.” The guard said hesitantly and bowed his head. Before it’s too late. His eyes conveyed what he couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

It felt like a sucker punch. And then a slap to the face. She gasped for breath, just as she turned around and began rushing through a series of giant and luxurious rooms that constituted the king’s quarters.

“Arkansas… Arkansas!” She called, tripping and almost falling because of the long dress. She reached the bathing room, where a large pool had been filled with hot waters. Arkansas glanced at her lazily from his comfortable position in a corner. She realised that she had never called him by name before, but it was quickly pushed it to the side. “My brother is dying! He needs your help, please!” She pleaded to him.

He tilted his head. A moment passed, and she feared he would refuse. She would beg on her knees if need be. She was just about to when he nodded. She realised what she was asking of him. Arthan’s condition must be well-known by now if it had even reached her ears. For him to suddenly recover after a visit from the king would be highly suspicious.

“Very well. Show me the way.” He exited the bath while servants eagerly came with clothes to him, helping him in taking them on.

As they left the palace, more and more men joined with them until it became a veritable retinue of royal guards and knights, as well as a few doctors and healers. Arkansas even sent for his personal healer, Tomaire, an old but very knowledgeable man. He had been the caretaker of the previous king too.

They entered a carriage pulled by four magnificent mares, but Stella didn’t even notice that. She was having a hard time containing herself from biting her nails off, even after years of careful attention to them. A steady hand suddenly enveloped hers. Arkansas seemed calm, almost serene.

“You shouldn’t worry. All will go according to my will.” He assured her. “I am sure that he will, for many years, become my most loyal servant.”

She grabbed his hand tightly, trying to take comfort from it. “If you heal him, I am sure that he would be very grateful! You would be able to trust even more than me!”

He arched a brow with a hint of amusement. “Is that so?” He said lowly, unconvinced. “I am sure that there are none more faithful than you.”

“He has protected me all my life, you can depend on him. Just… save his life.” She pleaded again, unable to keep her desperation from showing. Arthan’s death? A world without him would be cold and cruel, empty from happiness and hope. She sometimes had terrible nightmares, of eternal winters and his corpse lying dead in the snow, eye lifeless but fixed on her, as if blaming her for his death. ‘Why couldn’t you protect yourself? Why is your life more important than mine?’

She was about to plead again when she realised that she was boring Arkansas with her unceasing praise of her brother. His attention was already elsewhere, somewhere far beyond the bumbling carriage, her or Arthan.

They reached the place, and the door to the carriage was opened by a royal guard. The rest of them had formed a corridor to the house, keeping him separated from the people. The streets were thankfully mostly empty at this hour, though quite a few had still been attracted to the scene and were now pointing and gasping at the king and his companion.

Stella hasted in, followed by Arkansas who walked steadily and unperturbed.

They took the stairs up and entered the room of the incident. It was filled with people, healers, soldiers and even a couple of priests. The brother of the king’s betrothed lied mortally wounded, of course, it would garner attention. Many would probably see it as a very bad omen for their union, Stella caught herself thinking. Then a wave of guilt surged forth from her stomach. Her brother was dying, and that was all she could think of?

He had been placed on the bed, which was now soiled with blood. After having overcome the initial shock, she went to his side, taking his hand in hers. His pale and sickly complexion broke her heart, it was like someone was tearing it up from inside. His shirt had been ripped open to reveal the dagger in his stomach. Beyond that, his forearm had been sliced open too. “Brother…!” She muttered, tears coming to her eyes. “What have they done to you?”

His eyes tiredly focused on her. His chest rose and fell weakly, but he looked appeased at her sight.

“He’s weak.” A voice muttered from the other side of the bed. Stella had been too focused on her brother; she hadn’t seen Sir Gallivan. “He won’t make it through the night.”

“He’ll make it!” She replied violently.

She tore her eyes from Arthan’s pale figure and focused on Gallivan instead, feeling ire at how quick he was to give up hope. When she met his eyes, however, she saw genuine pain in them, and then compassion and pity when he met hers. She immediately regretted her outbreak at him. He had always been nothing but kind and respectful to her, and a good comrade to her brother.

He spoke. “I’m sorry, I really am. His loss is a terrible blow to our order and he was a dear friend of mine. I will mourn him deeply.”

She looked to the king, hoping that he would deny the knight’s ghastly predictions, but Arkansas hadn’t followed the conversation at all.

He was looking down at the wounded figure, a smile slowly forming on his lips. “He’s perfect.” He murmured to himself, his pale grey eyes sparkling.

“My king?” Stella muttered uneasily, while Gallivan frowned indignantly.

“A fallen knight has the claim for respect, even from you.” He said, facing the most powerful man of the kingdom, and perhaps even the continent, without backing down an inch. “This is not a scene for one of your paintings.”

“All of you… leave the room.” Arkansas ordered, ignoring him. Most obeyed him, but Gallivan stayed, his glare unflinching. Arkansas lazily switched his attention to the knight, seeming surprised by his lack of obedience. “Are you not under my command? Why do you disobey?”

“Your Majesty, I would die to protect you without a moment of hesitation. In return, you must respect our right to honour and dignity. I will not leave my comrade in his final moments to your… personal interests.”

Arkansas tranquilly switched his attention to the knight. “Leave the room.”

Gallivan quickly found himself surrounded by royal guards, one of them grabbing his shoulder heavily. Gallivan gave him a dark glare and removed the hand slowly, by bending one of the fingers until the man was forced to stand down. It made the guards go from firm to alert though. “I will leave, Your Majesty. I only hope that you remember my words.” He added as he passed Arkansas. With a last apologetic glance to Arthan, he left.

The room soon was empty, apart from Stella, of course. The reactions of the men were mixed. Some thought the king wanted to honour the knight by staying with him for the last moments, others like Gallivan thought this was more a sort of morbid interest of the king’s. They were all wrong.

Arkansas wrapped his hand around the dagger as soon as the last man had closed the door. He pulled it out and leisurely threw it to the floor. Stella yelped, but then covered her mouth, fearing to interrupt him.

The room seemed to grow darker and the air heavier as Arkansas slowly passed his hand over the wound, as he had done with the eagle. The only oil lamp illuminating the room seemed on the verge of going out, and Stella wrapped her arms around herself as the room grew colder. Stella thought she saw black fumes rise out of the wound unless it was the hallucinations of her tired and aching mind. He did the same to the forearms’ wound though.

Arkansas’ mouth widened into a satisfied smile as he suddenly jerked his hand away, hiding the palm in his fist. His hand was covered in blood from the wound. “It is done.” He said, looked very pleased with himself.

She slowly looked at the wound, and it was almost too good to be true. Under the layers of dry and still wet blood, the skin was smooth. The wound had closed, leaving only a faint scar. The wound in the arm was still there, but it was not endangering his life. She could no longer contain her wildly flowing emotions, and her eyes watered as tears of joy began freely flowing down her cheeks. Arthan was safe. She gave the king an adoring look of gratitude.

“He should be up in a few days,” Arkansas said, presenting his arm to her. “We’re leaving.”

She hesitated, wanting to stay with Arthan to make sure he was okay, but she couldn’t refuse the king, not after what he had done for them. She placed her hand inside his elbow, and they walked out together. She managed to get a last look at him, verifying that his wounds were truly gone.

She was relieved but also strangely satisfied, as they walked out. Wasn’t it thanks to her that he was still alive? If she hadn’t been with the king, then he would have died of that wound. For once, she had protected her brother’s life. However, it also made her more convinced than ever of the necessity of the king’s protection against the forces of the world. Love was only a bonus. As long as she was with him, then no one she cared about would die. Her brother, her future children, herself, they would all be safe as long as Arkansas was there for them.

On the way out, they met Tomaire, He was older and thinner than she had thought possible, with him still walking around with relative ease. He greeted Arkansas respectfully.

“I leave him in your care,” Arkansas said, barely slowing down.

They took to the carriage. Once they were along, she proceeded to thank him with a loving kiss. He guided her head down to his pants though, and she followed his guiding, eager to please.

Meanwhile, Arthan was resting soundlessly while the room filled with healers and priests, marvelling at the wound. Everybody was talking and yelling, some were shouting for demons while others were thanking the heavens and the Almighty for the healing. Gallivan pushed his way through the crowd, using his larger frame and weight to his advantage.

He reached Arthan, looking at the wound with a frown. “It’s not possible…” He muttered to himself in disbelief. How had the king pulled this off? He was in theory supposed to be the chosen one by the Almighty to lead the nation, but still… This was nothing short of a miracle. The last times the true god had directly intervened was in the legends and myths that the holy scriptures described.

He scanned Arthan’s features thoroughly, to be certain that it was him. His friend was sleeping, however, and probably hadn’t caught what the king had done. Only he and his betrothed would know. His sentiment of relief and happiness were restrained by his reason, trying to understand this turn of events. And usually, when something inexplicable happened, it was linked to sorcery. But this was a good deed, wasn’t it? To save someone from death? Unless a terrible price had been paid, like in some of those bedtime stories.

Anyhow, Hadrian would want to know of this, he thought to himself and left promptly to inform him.