Chapter Forty-Five: Truth and Lies

“Some say that truth is always best

Though others say that you should lie,

Sometimes lies are truths well dressed;

Something I cannot deny.

To tell the truth or tell a lie,

Which do you think I should try?”

—Samil Tian, Wandering Bard

“Please, Your Honour!” the man cried. “My daughter is dying. There was no other way for me to reach Caerlon!”

“The Council has passed their judgement. You have committed a crime of serious nature, and as such, you will pay the ultimate penalty. Take him to the dungeons, Kingsblade Gilfred. He will be executed come dawn.”

The balding man continued to plead for mercy, falling down on his knees before the Halls of Judgement. Gilfred tried to look away but he was the prisoner escort, and as such, it was his job to lead the man down to the cells. He sighed and stepped into the centre of the hall.

“Please,” the man rasped. “I… I didn’t mean it. I just needed a way to get to Caerlon… to see my dying daughter… and everyone was asking for so much money…”

“The times are hard,” Gilfred said softly. “No one wishes to venture outside of Aldoran, least of all while the relicts are still there. That doesn’t give you an excuse to injure an innocent civilian and steal his horse.”

The man’s face was a mess. Snot was dribbling down his nose and into his lips, tears springing from bloodshot eyes. He wasn’t very high of class; a simple labourer at best, nearing the end of his working years. All he’d wanted was to visit his dying daughter.

Yet he’d broken the law. The King and his Council couldn’t just let criminals walk free. Everyone was growing desperate; the fraying threads of justice were the only things keeping society from breaking down.

“I’m sorry,” Gilfred said, grabbing him up by the arm. The man stood up and allowed himself to be taken through the gates. Behind him, the Silent Council called for the next offender.

They headed down the hallway and into the stairwell, plunging into the dank smell of filth and human waste. Taking prisoners to the holding cells was one of the things Gilfred hated most about being a Kingsblade. Sometimes they were monsters, humans who’d been born without a conscience, who felt no compassion and had no sense of morality. Those were the best ones. He could be rough with them, order them about as if they were vermin and maintain a clean conscience.

But more often than not, they were simply people who’d made a mistake. People born under less fortunate circumstances forced to lead a life of crime to get by. The most undeserving prisoner he’d walked to the cells and later on the gallows was a fourteen year old boy who’d been sentenced for killing his father. Gilfred had known the father personally, and had their places been swapped, he would have done the same. The boy was perfectly sane; a long-suffering victim of abuse who’d become reclusive and anti-social as a result. No one else knew his story. Only Gilfred, the last man to share a conversation with him as he’d been marched to the hangman’s noose.

There were other things he hated about being a Kingsblade. The fact that the eyes of the public were always upon him, looking to him as their role model, criticising his actions when he dealt with offenders on the street, calling him for help when riots broke out. He was one of the right hands of Faengard, answering directly to Aedon himself. One of the King’s golden knights. Heroes of the city.

The man was silent as Gilfred took him to the prison guard’s office. The guard met him by the doorway, taking a key off the rack.

“What’s this one in for?” he asked.

“Armed robbery,” Gilfred said. “Pleaded guilty.” He wanted to add on the man’s circumstances, but held back. The guard didn’t care. Most guards didn’t—to them, a prisoner was just another statistic, another number in the ledger.

“Alright. Come with me.”

He grabbed the man roughly by the manacles and towed him into the torchlight. Gilfred followed three steps behind, looking left and right.

You could tell how long a person had been imprisoned by how much they moved and how bright their eyes were. A young boy kicked and screamed at the bars, hair long and ragged, feet bare. A few days at most. A woman lay on her mattress, weeping silently. A week or two. An old man sat facing the wall, unmoving. One month. The dungeons were built to sap the will from its prisoners, with its disgusting floor and its plain walls, and the vile slop they served for meals. Gilfred had never spent a night in the dungeon, but he knew young troublemakers who had, and they’d emerged as new people.

“In there.” The guard opened the cell door and gestured. Gilfred steeled himself and pushed the man through. The gate slammed shut with a click, and the guard left.

Gilfred stayed behind for a while longer, thinking. The prisoner was crying silently.

“What’s your daughter’s address?” Gilfred asked.

The man gave it to him. He took out a scrap of paper and noted it.

“I can’t save you,” he continued. “But I’ll see what I can do for her. At the very least, I’ll make sure she knows her father loves her before she dies.”

“Thank you,” the man said, and broke into tears anew.

“It’ll be quick and painless,” Gilfred continued. “The hangman does a good job, and it’s a much better fate than the guillotine. I hear the head continues to live for several seconds even after it’s been severed.”

The man seemed unconvinced.

“Be glad you’re only here for one night. I’ve known men who have gone mad and lost the will to live after just a month.”

Gilfred turned around before he could change his mind and headed back towards the guard’s office. Along the way he kept his head down, away from the haunted faces that loomed on either side. It wasn’t right, the prison system. There were good, poor men who lay in those cells now, and bad ones who’d gotten away with a fine or a bribe.

He was so busy concentrating on his feet that he didn’t notice Celianna as she came spilling out around the corner, golden hair and skirts and all. It wasn’t until he was upon her that he realized and stopped, catching her before she fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry, milady,” he gushed, bowing vigorously. “I didn’t see you.”

“Gilfred!” the Princess steadied herself and withdrew her hand from his grip. “You should really keep your chin up, you know. You lose a lot of height when you look down.”

“Yes, milady.”

Celianna sighed. “I wish I could have you fired. You need to learn how to follow orders.”

“I’ve not disobeyed a single order you’ve given me.”

“Then why are you still calling me ‘milady?’”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Because that’s the decree of His Majesty your father,” Gilfred said. “It wouldn’t do well for a bodyguard to become too close to his charge. Distance must be maintained. Calling you by your name isn’t a problem for me, but it might not sit well with others.”

“Do it in private, then!”

“We’re never in private, milady. You never know who’s watching.” As if to make his point, Gilfred pointed to the dull-eyed prisoners in the cells.

Celianna rolled her eyes. “Okay, Gil. Let’s get out of here; it’s too dark for my liking.” She began walking again.

“If I might ask, milady, what are you doing down here?” Just the sight of her made the dungeons a little brighter. In a lot of ways, Celianna Uldan was the very definition of what a Princess should be. Beautiful, fair, and gentle, like a blooming flower.

However, she was much more than that. She also had a mind like a blade and a stubborn streak rivalling the King’s. Of all the people she was close to, including her brother and parents, Gilfred probably knew her the best. He’d been watching over her since his training as a Kingsblade had begun, when he was barely a man and she barely old enough to walk.

With that being said, the Princess continued to surprise him every day. She was simply too eccentric to predict, like a leaf dancing in the wind.

“I was visiting someone,” Celianna replied, staring ahead with a serious expression on her face. “Alend Thoren. Do you remember him? He used to be a Kingsblade as well.”

Gilfred swallowed. Alend. The lies and accusations the former Kingsblade had made still stung him. “I know him well—or at least, I thought I did.”

“I knew his brother as well, Edric—Wyd bless his soul. They were good people.”

“Did he say anything to you?” About your mother? And my father?

Celianna shook her head. “He didn’t speak at all. Just stared into the distance. I feel terrible for him, poor man.”

“You should stay away from him.” They nodded to the custody manager and began climbing the stairs. “He is not one to be trusted. He is a Deserter, a man who your father once considered a ‘friend,’ who betrayed him and fled for the borders of Faengard.”

“That’s the thing,” Celianna said. “He’s not a bad man. I can’t understand why everyone says he is. Do you know Ein Thoren, the boy from the country who was here only a few days ago?” Gilfred nodded. “They’re father and son. Ein seemed like a nice person too; I can’t see the two being anything but.”

And what about your mother? Is she a ‘good person’ as well? “People are not always what they seem, milady.”

“Oh? I’ve always thought myself good at guessing people. Call it a sixth sense if you will. For instance, I knew you were good the moment I laid eyes on you, when you barely had a hair on your chin and you couldn’t stand being around any of the adults.”

Gilfred flushed. That had been a long time ago, when they’d first taken him to recite the Vow. Ironically enough, the only other person he’d been able to stand had been Alend. He hated everyone else, for no reason other than the fact that they’d forced him onto this path.

“Is that so,” he said. He slowed down a little to allow the Princess to catch up. He always forgot how long it took ordinary people to climb stairs. “What if I were to tell you I’ve been scheming against your father all along, planning to take the throne?”

“Then I’d laugh, like I am now.” Celianna let out a mocking cackle as she did so, bringing a smile to his lips. “You don’t have it in you to lead a nation, Gil. Even the people can see it. Otherwise the protests would have begun a lot sooner.”

She was referring to the unrest that stirred the streets of Aldoran. Though no one openly voiced it, there were rumours of followers loyal to House Leonhart emerging and preaching to others, convincing them Gilfred was a better leader than Aedon—that he would be able to solve the problems caused by the Great Winter and the relicts. It was silly. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the way Aedon ran the country. Perhaps the only thing Gilfred could criticize was how the old King seemed to dismiss prophecies. In Gilfred’s opinion, the words of seers were too important to be ignored.

“Perhaps I’m not after the throne,” Gilfred shrugged. “Perhaps I’m just after the King’s beautiful daughter.”

A flicker of something that might have been surprise passed across her Celianna’s face, but she quickly regained her composure.

“Then you’re a good actor. You’ve been the most gentlemanly guard I’ve ever spoken with.” Celianna stopped in the middle of the stairwell and turned around, looking down at him. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

Gilfred frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no one else around. Aren’t you going to profess your love to me?” She gave him that annoying smirk of hers, the one she reserved only for him.

Gilfred fought to keep himself from snapping a reply. She was right, he realized with a start. They were alone in the staircase, deep beneath the castle floor. There was no one to overhear them.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t find her attractive. She was the Princess, whom knights and lords from other city-states pined after, renowned throughout the land for her beauty and kindness. He had fantasized about being with her many times, as much as he was ashamed to admit.

But duty came first. Gilfred lived and died by his honour.

“I won’t do anything of the sort,” he said stiffly.

“Are you sure?” Celianna teased. “Why bring it up in the first place, then?”

“It was a joke. A poor one, on my behalf.”

The Princess smiled. “I see. In that case, this shouldn’t have any effect, should it?” She hesitated and then spoke: “You will give in to your true desires.”

Immediately Gilfred reached out to her, a wave of heat washing over him. His hand stopped inches from her cheek, quivering in place. He clamped his teeth, locking his jaw so hard it ached. The Princess watched him without blinking, making no attempt to stop him, an amused look on her face.

“What... are you… doing…?” he gritted.

“Won’t you show me the wonders of being a woman?” She said coyly, batting her lashes at him.

Gilfred’s brain nearly burst inside his head.

Wyd almighty, he swore. She was too daring for her own good. He was not going to do it. On his honour, the lion pride of his House. Leonharts did not go back on their word. He’d sworn to protect the Uldans, to place his life before theirs, even if it had been against his will. There was nothing in the oath that said consortation was okay.

He tried to close his outstretched hand into a fist. It continued to shake, hovering inches from Celianna’s milky skin. She smelled sweet as well, like blooming wildflowers…

And at last, the sensation passed and he fell to his knees in relief. Cold sweat poured down his back. Blood filled his mouth—he must have bitten his tongue—and the joints in his fingers burned like flaming hell.

“You have no idea what could have happened just then,” he said angrily. “That was the most reckless thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“I knew you weren’t going to do anything,” she smiled brightly. “I told you so already. I can tell good people from bad, and I know you have a good heart.”

Gilfred sighed. “At least your obstinance remains consistent,” he said testily. Before he knew it, his lips were moving. “If you’re so convinced Alend is good, then explain why he accused your mother of consorting with my father.”

Burn me, I said it. Celianna’s expression became dark all of a sudden. “What do you mean?”

“He told me the reason he Deserted was because the Queen tried to kill him. He overheard her making plans with my father to overthrow King Aedon and confronted her. She tried to assassinate him afterwards, and that was when he left.” He’d already said it. The words continued to spill out of his mouth, the words he’d been mulling over for several sleepless nights.

Celianna was silent.

That’s right. Who to trust? Your own mother or a man you barely know? The decision had been harder for him, infinitely so. Did he trust his own father or the man who’d mentored him, the man who was like a second father to him?

Two lions cannot rule alongside each other. It was something his father, Rainier, had always said. But surely it didn’t apply to court politics?

“Tell me the truth. Are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” He held her gaze.

Celianna reached a hand to the wall to steady herself and then looked away. “My mother is not a bad person,” she continued. “Neither is Alend. I’ve never been wrong before.”

“There’s always a first time.”

She looked down uncertainly.

“Not all prisoners are bad people, either,” Gilfred continued. “Sometimes good people do the wrong things for the right reasons.” To himself, he wondered if there was a reason Alend had lied.

“There must be more to this than meets the eye,” Celianna said. “There has to be. I’ll speak to Mother; maybe—”

“No. Are you mad?” Gilfred made no hesitation to grab her shoulder this time. “Don’t say a word of this to anyone, least of all her. She could have me executed.” And Alend will probably be killed, too. Even now, without even realizing it, Gilfred was trying to defend him.

Kalador will pass his judgement, he thought. I’m just making doubly sure before I condemn him.

Yet he knew that was a lie. He didn’t want to believe Alend was a traitor and a liar. Did that mean his father was the traitor, then?

Celianna seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. He nudged her on and they continued to climb the stairs to the Keep in silence.