True Warriors Sing - Rowan Erlking (the alpha prince and his bride full story free TXT) 📗

the king has forbidden his son, the prince from taking the trial? He loves him too much to lose him!”

“That has made him weak!” LjuBa’s countered.

“Agreed,” MiKial answered in a soft voice. “Very weak. Which is why I will not forbid LjuBa from her path.”

They knew that was the final word. SoFija and S’vjeTa sat down, struck as if with a hard blow. LjuBa stood tall though, glad her father saw it her way.

“With our future king to be so weak and useless,” MiKial said with a dark look at his pathetic squire also who hunched even lower over his soup bowl, “We need all the brave warriors we can get.” He then looked to LjuBa. “Maybe Jodis will be so impressed with your bravery that he will heal your heart.”

She nodded to him, grateful. LjuBa went back to lighting the lamps.

When she returned to the table and the uncomfortable silence was over, her sisters cleaning up most of the soup, putting it into tins for the trip their father and his pathetic squire, SoFija murmured over the pear she was sectioning for all to eat, “I wonder how we will survive with such an heir to the throne….”

MiKial chuckled.

S’vjeTa remained silent, watching LjuBa pick up a piece.

“What does a prince do if he is not training to be a warrior, I wonder?” LjuBa said, glancing to SoFija. “Isn’t the strength of KiTai in the warrior king?”

“It is,” their father said.

“I heard he’s charming,” S’vjeTa answered, shrugging.

Their father stared at her as if scandalized. “Don’t you dare entertain that thought! The prince is a pathetic weakling. I’ve tried to train him myself. He is an incorrigible coward.”

“Coward?” SoFija made a face, sharing a look with LjuBa who flinched.

“In fact, the only war he ever has is with words,” MiKial added, snorting. He took up another pear slice. “Words, words, words. All unsubstantiated.”

“You mean, like threats?” LjuBa asked, tilting her head to the side.

MiKial chuckled, shaking his head. The squire perked up his ears to listen.

“No. More like a fool who doesn’t know what he is talking about.” MiKial then laughed more. “His Highness the king ordered him to lead an army into Westhaven, and the prince, typical of his cowardice, refused.”

All three sisters stared at him then shared a look.

“How is that cowardice, uh, exactly?” SoFija asked, wishing not to look foolish.

“Westhaven is full of demons,” S’vjeTa chimed in, nodding.

LjuBa also nodded, agreeing. “Everyone knows that, Father.”

MiKial smirked. “Yes, that has been the rule for the last two thousand years. But that was not the prince’s objection. You see, our scouts snuck into Westhaven recently and discovered that the demons that used to rule are no longer in power. The peasants had risen up and defeated them. The prince is aware of this change, as is the king. The king has decided that now is the time our people enter Westhaven and put the land back into order, just like the way it used to be.”

“Oh.” SoFija nodded. “I see.”

“It is no longer overrun?” LjuBa asked again. “When did this happen?”

Shaking his head, MiKial replied, “Who knows? What we do know is that the barbarians that live there have enslaved their former demon overseers. We can bring back the song of life to their land, make it civilized again.”

“What was the prince’s objection then?” S’vjeTa asked, puzzled. “That we couldn’t do it?”

Cringing, MiKial replied. “No. That we shouldn’t do it.”

“Shouldn’t?” all three sisters echoed at once.

He nodded. “He’s a fool.”

It was silent again. The fire crackled and popped, and the squire set his bowl on the ground, scooting his stool closer to the heat with his arms pulled tight across his chest.

“But what were his arguments?” LjuBa asked.

MiKial looked over to her. “They are irrelevant. He disobeyed his father, the king.”

“That takes a certain level of bravery,” S’vjeTa murmured.

Her father whipped a glare to her. “It is dishonorable!”

She retreated a little, her eyes on his face, as were the eyes of his other daughters.

“Listen here,” MiKial said, nearly through his teeth. “That prince is a good for nothing until he gets out into the world and acts like a man. Pampered, book learned, and raised like a breakable glass—that is no king. And I would sooner leave this land than serve a…boy not even worthy to be called a squire!”

The sisters stiffened.

SoFija leaned in, whispering, “Will you really leave? You know, when he is crowned?”

Moaning, MiKial set a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps I will just start to travel again. I have tried my all with that fool prince. Nothing gets through to him. I will soon be forced to do something drastic if it keeps that way.”

“Drastic? Like how?” SoFija asked.

He was about to answer, but there was a pounding on the front door, then someone calling for MiKial in a sonorous voice.

“MiKial! Captain MiKial! Come to the door! Something urgent has happened!”

Rising, MiKial pointed one finger at Ljev, glaring hard. “You, make yourself scarce, I don’t want them seeing you here in my home.”

The squire nodded, ducking into, of all things, the broom closet. The three sisters rolled their eyes with shared looks for the pathetic man.

Their father kicked off his boots and strode over the clean wood to the front door, stepping down into his clogs. He lifted the latch, peering out. “What is it?”

Two of the king’s men stood in the doorway begging entry. MiKial stepped back and let them inside. They did not remove their shoes but remained on the rough ground. One said, “It is bad news. The crown prince has done a rash thing. He has run away from the castle. We can’t find him anywhere.”

Rolling his eyes, MiKial cringed. “When did you find out?”

With a glance at the three daughters watching in the doorway, the warrior nodded and said in a lower voice, “Two hours ago. His sword is gone as is his armor. We think the fool intends to avoid leading us into Westhaven.”

“He can’t avoid that,” MiKial murmured. “It’s the king’s orders.”

“You saw the way he shouted at the king this morning,” the warrior hissed. “He’s gone out of his mind.”

Sighing with a glance over his shoulder at the kitchen doorway, MiKial then gave a small apologetic smile at his daughters. He said to the warrior. “Fine. I’ll get my horse and a squire, and we’ll help in the search.”

The warrior set a hand on MiKial’s shoulder. “This is no time for training squires.”

Shaking his head, MiKial replied, “This one, I must. But don’t worry. He won’t hold us back.”

Nodding to him, the two warriors departed, marching out to go to the next warrior’s home to spread the news. MiKial turned around and closed his door. He looked up to his daughters. Kicking off his clogs, he stepped onto the wood. “I have little time. Fill my bags with food and water enough for both me and that fool squire. I’ll get my winter cloak.”

“Yes, Father,” the sisters said, curtsying then rushing back to the kitchen.

SoFija drew water, filling the bladders. S’vjeTa gathered up the dried meat. LjuBa collected and wrapped all the bread fit to stuff into his pack. His pack was ready when he returned to the kitchen to pull on his boots.

“Squire!” MiKial shouted out, looking for Ljev.

They heard a clanking in the closet, then a rattling of the doors. The catch had fallen down and locked him in when he had shut the door in haste. Rolling her eyes, LjuBa lifted the catch and opened the door.

Ljev stumbled out.

“Can you be more of a fool?” MiKial snapped with a glare, grabbing the scruff of Ljev’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Ljev murmured.

MiKial slapped the back of his head. “Didn’t I tell you not to speak in my house? You are not worthy to have your voice sounded in my walls, understand?”

Ljev nodded.

“Now, let’s go,” MiKial snapped. Ljev rushed to the door, opening it. MiKial called after him, marching out. “And practice subtlety!”

The door nearly slammed after them, the cold wind grabbing hard. The walls seemed to shake.

“Wow,” SoFija murmured, sitting down in a chair at the table. “The prince has gone missing.”

S’vjeTa shook her head, walking over to the fire, taking the tongs to select the coals for their bed warmers. LjuBa was already taking the warmers out, opening the lids.

“I still think,” S’vjeTa said, “that it is awfully brave to defy the king.”

“Stupidity isn’t brave,” LjuBa replied.

Putting down the coal scoop, S’vjeTa peered at LjuBa. “Which is why I think you should not become a warriess. It is stupid for a person with a weak heart to do.”

LjuBa stiffened, her eyes fixed on her older sister.

“Enough!” SoFija pushed between them. “We need to clean up. LjuBa, hurry and carry the coals to our beds. And S’vjeTa, clean up the dishes.”

S’vjeTa rolled her eyes then snapped while filling the third metal bed warmer, “And what are you going to do?”

“I have to clean the floor and tie everything down for the night,” SoFija said, her posture strong though she glanced to the ceiling, her ears taking in the pitch of the wind. “It sounds like it is going to be a great blow.”

The evening wind rattled the windows and doors only for a while, as the women of warrior’s home went about their business, SoFija’s song calming the home until all they heard was the whistling and moan as the wind past. The patter of rain soon followed, but by then, the kitchen was cleaned and the ladies of house were washed and dressed for bed. They climbed underneath their silky blankets, puffed out by layers and layers of warm silk batting. Only their heads peeked out as they huddled together, humming a sleeping song until all three nodded off.

 

*

 

Dawn and the light of the sun caught on the drips that ran off the roof of the home. All around in the village doors opened with song. Mothers woke their children with song. Fathers started their work and dressing with song.

The warriors were still out, looking for the prince. It seemed to leave a strange hole in the fabric of the village harmony, and when LjuBa opened the kitchen door to feed the chickens in the coop as well as gather their eggs, she listened with dismay. In a way, she had wished her father had taken her to look for the prince. A warriess in training ought to have gone. But MiKial did not even think of her that night.

Tossing out the corn, LjuBa exhaled mournfully. The chickens rushed into the mud pecking near her skirts. A warriess did not feed chickens. No. She was just fooling herself. Perhaps S’vjeTa was right. Perhaps she ought to satisfy herself with her lot and accept that a person with her heart would never win battles. But that alone made her clench her chest with pain.

In the middle of the morning song a familiar sound hurried over the melody, the clopping of horse hooves. It rushed up at a speed, stopping with a skid, whinny and a thump of feet that pounded into the yard at a run and around the corner to where the kitchen door was. LjuBa looked up expectantly in hopes to see her father return, triumphantly declaring he had found and whipped that insolent prince soundly on his rump. However, skidding though the mud was that squire, Ljev.

His lips were white, his tied back red hair dripping with mud and rain, the man’s face was smeared with it also though he looked flushed. Grabbing her, panting hard, Ljev stared into LjuBa’s startled face. “You have to come! Your father….”

“What about my father?” LjuBa asked, blinking at the squire, looking for wounds or at least the sign of blood, as it was clear he had been frightened by something.

Swallowing first, Ljev said, “He’s been captured by bandits!”