All Through The Knight - M. Jade Glock (the beach read .TXT) 📗

no one but Moonrise dared cross him for fear of what he'd do.

"Nealan, talk to me."

They had made it outside and were nearing that training area.

"Nealan."

"What?" Nealan raised his voice, exasperated. "Are you going to tell me what an insolent child I am? Maybe that I'm not fit to rule a kingdom and I never will be." Nealan's eyes were narrowed, as if challenging Moonrise. Moonrise could have easily taken offense at the young prince's words, his disrespect-fullness was getting too far out of hand, but having worked with the boy since childhood he knew better than to add more fuel to the fire.

Moonrise raised his hands, palms facing outward, a sign meaning no threat.

"I didn't become your teacher to belittle you or raise you to a position higher than you are able to control. You are young, still in training."

Nealan's muscles relaxed slightly, though their edge was still obvious in his demeanor.

Nealan's gaze turned away from his teacher. He stared at the ground, grabbing his short red hair at the roots, waiting for the rage to pass.

"It's like an infectious disease. I can't control it and I don't know what I'll do to the people around me when it happens."

Moonrise nodded in understanding.

"Why am I so angry all of a sudden? Answer me this." His question could have sounded like a plea, but Moonrise would never point it out as such. Moonrise couldn't answer his question either. He didn't understand why people had the emotions they did and what made them feel certain ways towards certain people, events, situations.

"What was on the parchment?" He attempted to get Nealan's mind away from the morbid thoughts but the prince caught on anyway, though he didn't reveal it.

"I'm to hold court."

"Is that all?"

"It will be trials for the allegedly convicted. I'm to put a judgement on every man's head"

Moonrise then understood the young man's frustration.

"You don't want innocent blood to be spilled." He said to no one in particular.

The prince rubbed his temples.

"When we practice combat it is different. I don't put a name or a face to the person before me. They will be enemies of Fornhagen. Scum that would need to be eliminated. But these people. They will be from provinces from all of our land. Allegations will be said against them and supposed evidence will be put forth, but how will I know that what they say is true. How do I know that the evidence hasn't been falsified?"
Moonrise didn't know that the prince had thought so deeply about the situation and that it would effect him so. Not knowing what to say he rested a hand against Nealan's shoulder.

"I will be there to help you."

Nealan looked up at him, perplexed.

"You do not have an adviser, I will be that such person."

Nealan smiled a sad smile. "Thank you."

He clasped the older warriors shoulder as well in friendly camaraderie. "With you there I believe I can manage this more efficiently"

Though Nealan wouldn't admit it out loud, the man before him, Captain James Moonrise, was more of a father to him than anyone else, even the king.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had ridden for hours and had finally stopped at the edge of the forest where the river interrupted the monotony of trees. On the other side was another forest, but it was the province of Fornhagen, the kingdom. Aracane wasn't used to so much time on a beast, much less one that wasn't saddled or bridled. Her whole body ached from the exertion of energy that she barely had. She was completely spent and couldn't even dismount on her own. The man who rode with her had to take her off himself, though it didn't seem to tax him in the least. He carried her in his arms as you would carry a ceremonial pillow. She wasn't used to being treated this way, with such care. She would have thought about it more if pain wasn't the forefront feeling or thought to her being. Gently, he set her down next to the water's edge and went about setting up a makeshift campsite. Aracane was tired but did notice that her rescuer had no problem finding fire wood. A small fire being established some distance away from the river Aracane had a much more clear view of the figure in front of her.

He wore a hood, one of a hunter's green color she would have guessed, that covered his whole face excluding his chin which had brown facial hair that contoured around his lips. It was odd to her that he had facial hair at all. Where she grew up youth was valued more than anything else and keeping yourself clean shaven, whether man or woman, was practically an unwritten rule. As he got up from his laborious work he wiped his hands by sliding them together, only making slight contact as they went back and forth. It was then that she noticed they were covered by brown leather gloves. He turned in her direction and walked towards her. His outfit was complete by leather breeches and boots, both of which were the same brown color of his gloves. Aracane didn’t notice either detail, she was more nervous as to why he was coming towards her. She looked down at the river, unable to take his intense gaze. He knelt down next her, reaching into the chest area of his cloak. She was going to die right here and now, she just knew it.

She winced, waiting for a blow, a stinging pain to her already screaming body, anything, but it didn't come. She opened her eyes to see him soaking pieces of cloth in the cool water of the river. She looked at the back of his head, confused. What did he want with her?

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, never glancing her way.

He continued soaking each wad of cloth that he had in his hands until they were all bathed in the river's water. Aracane didn't say anything, though he saved her, she was skeptical about the man sitting so close to her. He turned to her after his task was finished. He applied a cloth to both bleeding hands. They had stopped their flow a long time ago but they were still tender and caked with blood. Aracane flinched at his touch, every muscle in her body tense, but grateful for the cool feeling the cloth gave her. After gently wrapping her hands he started working on cleaning her face. Her eyes narrowed in pain as he dabbed at her lips, inhaling sharply.

"You're lucky you got out with what you did. Your wounds would be a lot worse if someone didn't step in."

She scoffed in her mind. She knew she would have been dead, and in some ways it was what she wanted. She saw his lips change to that of, could it be, concern? She looked into the darkness of the hood, the one that only revealed his mouth, and wished she could see his eyes.

"Do you always wear that green hood over your eyes?" Aracane inquired, changing the subject.

His mouth turned, then, into one of amusement. "I do." Was his short answer.

"What do you plan to do with me?"

His lips then changed into that of seriousness. "To the capital, you are to go on trial."

Aracane felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. So that's what he wanted? To save her and then throw her back to the lions? Immediately she started to think of ways that she could escape his clutches, but then again, wasn't death what she wanted?

"You can escape if you wish, I won't bound you, you're free to leave at any time."

She arched an eyebrow at him, she truly didn't understand this man. At the first invitation she felt like getting up and leaving.

"Could it really be that simple?" She thought. But she banished it, she could barely move much less walk.

"I think I'm fine right here." She whispered, barely audible to herself.

She thought she saw a smile spread across his face but she didn't think about it.

"Here, come to the fire." He said, bending down to pick her up.

When she flinched and her muscles tensed even harder he withdrew, not wanting to push her.

"I can do it myself." She said, shakily.

He offered her a hand so that she could grab it and pull herself to her feet, but she refused. She couldn't get herself off of the ground, the pain was too much. Falling hard she lay there.

"Here." He tried again to help her and this time she didn't object, too caught up in her own pain. Instead of carrying her he let her lean on him.

"I don't understand why you're doing this." She half moaned, half spoke.

His lips spread into a knowing smile. "Lean not on your own understanding."

She would have laughed, or at the very least smiled at the irony of his words if her lip wasn't split open.
Laying her near the fire sleep soon consumed her. She was surprised, at first, that she didn't even notice earlier how severe her bodily exhaustion was, but she welcomed the rest.

"Sleep well." The man in ranger's garb whispered into the wind as she closed her eyes and let herself drift from reality.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nealan sat upon the throne, back straight, chin level, his hazel eyes ever staring into the faces of prisoners. Since taking his seat that morning his heart had been nothing but a band of galloping horses, pumping hard and fast. Never in his life had he been more grateful to have Moonrise by his side. Whether he was an accepted official or not didn't matter to him, the Captain's presence alone was all the peace he needed to get through the days events. Weeks before there was much bickering between Nealan and his father's adviser. He had insisted that he was to accompany Nealan next to the throne because of his qualifications and experience. He had informed the man that Moonrise was as capable as anyone else and that he would be the one to stand by Nealan.

"And if you so much as dare usurp me I will see to it that you are tried for treason and are judged with the rest of the prisoners." The advisers face had turned an angry red but was wise enough to keep his voice lower than yelling.

"You impudent child! I am the royal vizier and I will see to it that your father hears of your disrespect towards me!"

Nealan just smirked "The king is in no condition to make any decisions at the moment," leaning in close, he allowed a smug expression to dominate his features. "And as his successor I'm the acting king."

He put emphasis on the I'm

. He slowly backed up and walked away, leaving a speechless adviser in his wake.

His calm demeanor didn't falter under the impact of the memory. Most of the day people had been found guilty, something which Nealan would ache for later, but emotions had no room within this court, especially in front of so many. It made him sick to the