The Prince of Aragon

CHAPTER FOUR: THE SOMMERVILLES

“Your Majesty?” Isla breathed in disbelief at the side of her friends, as their sudden halt had also put the soldiers and Emperor Salvatore to a standstill.

“Why are you all standing in my way like fools?” the emperor shouted vehemently, making all four jump in shock. “Move!” he ordered in an autocratic manner, and the four new recruits automatically moved to the corner by one stride.

Clueless to the thunderbolt which had just struck the Sommerville, the monarch trotted on followed by his bodyguards, leaving behind four completely stupefied persons who stared at his back at his retreat.

It took a long moment for them to recover from the bombshell, and they stared silently at each other all the while, mind reeling with numerous possibilities. Too taken aback to stick to any rationality, they didn’t have the sangfroid to go back to somewhere nobody would hear them.

“How is that possible, Cart?” Isla was the first one to break the heavy silence. “How is he still alive?!” she hissed angrily.

“Did you stab him properly?” Connor queried in the same hushed but ardent note. “Have you checked his pulse after you stabbed him? You were the one supposed to verify that he was dead!”

Novak was still too submerged with disbelief to formulate a decent sentence, as his eyes glazed over with frustration and anger. How come that brute was still alive when he’d made sure that the sword had pierced right through his heart?

“Relax, everyone,” warned Cameron pragmatically. “Discussing this in the corridor will jeopardize our mission. Haven’t we all seen him dead with our naked eyes? We need to figure out what happened.”

“I think he tricked us,” Connor said with a accusing finger in the direction of Carter. “After all, he’s not our blood. What do we really know about him? He could be anyone using us for stealing the emperor’s power. What if we were wrong about him?”

Novak clenched his jaw tightly and would have landed a punch on Connor’s face at his audacity but was restrained in the nick of time by Isla. “Boys relax,” she ordered in a steel voice. “Remember we’re all on the same side.”

At least, they were supposed to be.

The first time Prince Novak met the Sommervilles, namely Owen, Connor, and Cameron Sommerville, was the day he’d witnessed Emperor Salvatore savagely butcher Rose Sommerville, the beloved wife of Owen. Theirs had been a happy family before the wrath of the depraved and wicked King had fallen upon them. It happened five years ago.

“Boys!! Get down ‘ere,” Rose Sommerville, a pretty little flower with plump cheeks and auburn hair had shouted to the two boisterous kids. At an early age of fourteen, they were two rascals, always up to some mischief and tormenting their mama.

“One minute, mama,” Connor had responded by throwing a cut towards his brother Cameron with relish when the metal clung against another similar surface with a dull sound. “Let’s get this done with.”

“You always lose against me, little brother,” Cameron teased maneuvering the parry with perfection, allowing Connor to think that he had the upper hand. That was always the best way to defeat him – feed him with a certain level of cockiness.

“Don’t call me that,” Connor protested harshly, and threw another forceful cut towards his brother who responded with a beat, deflecting the blade by striking it and knocking it aside. “You’re elder by only five minutes.”

Cameron beamed sadistically. “You said it. I am elder.”

“By five minutes!!!” Connor roared violently, rising to the bait, unaware that Cameron was deliberately arousing his anger.

Cocking his head haughtily at Connor, Cameron thrust forward in attack and Connor blocked him by performing a prime, completed by sweeping the sword arm, fist inverted, across the body, ending with the sword arm parallel to the ground, and the tip of the blade pointed down.

“I’m impressed, little brother. You’re getting better,” Cameron taunted, and watched as Connor puffed his chest with vanity, and Cameron wasted no time to strike again, this time catching him unawares and pointed the tip of his sword inches away from Connor’s chest.

“Ha! Little brother fighting like a wussy,” Cameron gloated in a melodious tone.

“Shut up! You’re just annoying me. Stop it, will you?” Connor whined plaintively.

“Stop it, will you?” Cameron parroted in an exaggerated feminine voice with the sole attempt to goad Connor. Just as he was about to retort, a red-faced woman’s eyes crept in front of him causing him to step back in shock.

“Mama!!” he cried out as Rose Sommerville produced a rolling pin above her head in attack mode.

“Why don’t you try dueling with me?” the woman asked bringing the wooden utensil down on Connor’s bum, making him jump in pain as he rubbed the part where he’d been struck, and Cameron guffawing in his corner as he watched the scenery with obvious glee.

“But, Mama!!!” Connor protested heatedly. “Cam’s the one who started everything. He always does, and you just side with him!”

“Will you stop bickering like two missus and help me in the kitchen? Do you know that the King has ordered hundreds of delicacies for his birthday, and that I have to submit the cakes by tomorrow?”

“Mama,” Cameron cried out quickly. “I have to help Pa fix the sink,” he delivered with a blank innocent expression before balking in the direction of the shed, leaving a baffled Connor behind.

When the shock subsided, anger settled in. Will he have to bake cakes now like a wussy? Like the very one that Cameron had the habit of teasing him. Enraged, Connor felt his chest puff with outrage, and the emotions got the better of him.

“I am not getting in that kitchen. You can do your own thing,” he’d shouted to his discomfited mother, but he’d been too livid with pique to care for the moment. It had taken him hours to calm down, and when he’d returned it was to see his mother packing the cakes in brooding silence.

“Ma?” he coaxed gently, approaching his mother when he got no reply from him. “You angry with me?”

When his mother royally ignored him, the feeling of guilt crept up his neck as the latter had been working like a dog to complete the lavish order on her own. He shouldn’t have responded to Cameron’s bait and helped his mother complete the delivery.

“Do you want me to deliver that package to the Castle?” he’d asked in an attempt to cajole the sulking woman.

“No need,” the latter had responded flatly. “I will bring them myself. Why don’t you go and do your own stuff?”

Loaded with shameful regret, Connor had watched his mother walking towards the castle with the heavy baskets, his ego preventing him from following his mother, blissfully unaware that it was the last time he would see her beloved face.

Arriving at the castle, the kitchen help had rushed to help the woman unload her bakeries, and she had bene summoned by the Castle cook to wait before issuing the p*****t. She had needed the money for the school fees of her sons, so she’d stayed behind.

“His Majesty had given strict orders that we’re to issue payments only if he’s satisfied with everything.”

There had been a line of hardworking workers waiting for their earnings like Rose, so she hadn’t been too worried. Once her p*****t was issued, it would be easier for them to manage through the month, considering the ongoing innovations at the house. That was the reason she had accepted to work for the evil Emperor Salvatore – money had been tight with only Owen laboring.

Preparing the delicacies had been a good way to earn some coins quickly, so Rose hadn’t refused. In general, no one in her family was fond of the King, and they minded their own business, dodging any sort of involvement.

They’d heard rumors, of course. That his Majesty was unbeatable, undead. But they had also witnessed his caitiff nature. So, avoidance had been only the way for them to survive, until now.

Rose felt a sudden bout of unease as the hours stretched indefinitely, until someone summoned her to the main palace. She thought nothing of it as several of the workers were also following the guards.

The first time Rose Sommerville laid eyes on Emperor Aldo Salvatore, a shudder rippled through her as she faced the much-sought warrior who purported a cold-blooded and ruthless disposition. However, like the others she kept her head bent demurely, pretending not to be frightened by the barbarous look she saw in the gleam of those icy blue chips as he sat on his throne.

What was going on? Was there a reason he’d summoned them up?

“Who had the responsibility for the decorations?” the emperor of nine realms  drawled slowly, but his laid-back stance seemed like a smokescreen. The cold blue sparkle suggested a repressed anger, and even a hint of savagery as he brushed his finger over his sword.

Someone stepped forward with his head bent, and the Kind stood up to descend the stairs and approached litheness like a predator. “I thought I asked for golden and silver strips?” he queried arrogantly.

“Your Majesty…,” the man began with utmost humility, but he got no further. There was a general gasp when the man’s body fell to the floor after the king pierced his sword right through him.

“How many times do I have to say that I don’t need your bloody excuses? How many times? When I order things in a certain way, you just do it!!” he exploded with rage.

With frantic panic, Rose resisted the urge to flee, sensing that she was in a bad position. There was no way of escape anyway, not with guards surrounding the place within every mile. In sheer desperation, she thought of her husband and sons, willing for them to hear her cry of distress, even knowing that it was impossible.

Nobody defied the emperor. No matter how unjust or ruthless he was. Nobody dared say a word against him. He was too powerful.

There was once a mention of the King who preceded him, the King of Aragon but nobody found the person who spun such stories again. Days later, he was found buried in the sands of the Ficarra Deserts, miles away from the Kingdom.

Rose Sommerville knew that there was no escape for her.

Even as she wretchedly raked her brain for any mistake she might have committed in the baking, the imperial sovereign asked for the one who’d baked his birthday cake. Eyes closed, she waited for her execution, and was thrust forward by one of the guards when she refused to comply.

That would be her one act of rebellion – her last act would hardly be remembered but at least she wouldn’t die a coward.

Prince Novak, hidden as one of the palace’s help watched as the barbarous emperor surged forward with his glowing sword and shove the weapon right in the heart of the innocent woman for having dared to forget putting a cherry at the top of his cake.

“Be, and it is,” the Prince heard that nasty voice of sixteen years ago resonate in his head, a mantra he’d never forgotten. Had never allowed himself to forget. Those were the exact words the emperor had pronounced before beheading his parents.

Three remorseless murders of the poor peasants for his Majesty’s birthday, only because they had dared forgotten minutiae details. Although Novak suspected that it was a mere ploy to spill blood on such an occasion – the monarch was renowned for being thirsty of murder. Some said that his powers laid in the killings.

The whole Kingdom watched at the three dead bodies were lifted and paraded across the whole village like vulgar trophies. He made it a point to visit the bereaved, and that was how he’d stumbled upon the Sommervilles.

Clueless to what had happened, the males were waiting for Rose’s return and were staggered to find her dead body being paraded on the emperor’s carriages. Connor Sommerville had vomited his lunch on the spot, while Cameron had shrieked in horror. Prince Novak had been there to commiserate, nobody knew that agony better than he did.

“Mamaaaa!!!!” Connor had cried out, the anguish in his voice obvious as he had to be bodily withheld to prevent him from running after the carriage. When the soldiers heard him, they signaled the coachman, and they dumped the body on the dry soil before carrying on.

“Bastaaaaaaaaaaaaaards!!!” Owen Sommerville had lashed out before running to his beloved wife’s body and lifted her head in his lap. “Rose, wake up! Wake up. I told you not to take that order. Rooose!!!”

“Noooooooo!!!” Cameron had run futilely after the retreating carriage throwing stones in their direction. “This cannot be happening to us. Noooooooo!!!”

“Stop!!” Novak had attempted to halt the boy from getting slaughtered by grabbing him just in time. “Stoooop!!” he insisted harshly when Cameron attempted to struggle from his grasp. “We will get revenge, but not now. You need to calm down if you don’t want to end up like your mother,” he’d shook some sense in the boy who had just glazed blindly at him.

It was Connor who had picked up the nascent idea, submerged with guilt and shame, he’d been entertained with the prospect of retribution. “How?” he’d croaked, his voice laden with a huskiness.

“Our time will come,” Novak had assured with steely determination, lifting the two discarded swords from the ground, and initiated their relentless training.

With hindsight, Prince Novak realized that the two kids had never been given the opportunity to mourn over the deaths of their mother – he had enforced weapons and the drive to retaliate too early. However, he neither had the time or inclination to act like a big brother for the moment. He was too awash with frustration and guilt to be the one to offer consolations.

“The sword will call upon you as soon as you hold it, compelling you to kill in order to drain lives from your enemies.”

That was what Sorceress Amara had proclaimed, so according to the prophecy, he should have been the one to have gotten the monarch’s lives. All the assassinations that he’d committed had allowed him to reach immortality, which was actually a high number of remaining lives.

Prince Novak could not figure out how the emperor could remain undead.

“There’s no point blaming each other,” he delivered in a callous tone which he’d never used before with either Cameron or Connor. But they’d never doubted his abilities before. “Come, Isla,” and was grateful when Isla followed him without protest.

That set-back was unfortunate, but it made him even more determined to eliminate his enemy. “We’ll creep into the night to check my number of lives. If it has increased at all. Something is wrong.”

Isla just nodded at his request, meeting him that very night to infiltrate the secret chamber where the sword was being kept. Once again, Prince Novak took on the guard position, and the sword illuminated in the dark, scorching his hand but he was prepared for it.

The ruby glowed to show the number one hundred and twenty-six.

Like last time, he once again threw the sword away from him, while Isla sheathed it back into the scabbard. “Cart, your life has doubled? So, it has worked?”

Irritated, Novak turned to her, for once showing that he hailed from a bloodline of valiant conquerors, one who had ruled over Kingdoms for centuries as his hazel eyes flashed with a superlative regal arrogance and barely suppressed irritation at her comment.

He was still angry with Connor’s comment about him not being their true blood – he’d gone out of his way to accommodate those two boys in his life, and that harsh remark from who he’d considered as a brother had been uncalled for.

“You call this working?” he hissed angrily at the poor girl who had to bear the brunt of his anger. “He was supposed to be dead now, instead I find myself confused and unable to understand what’s going on!”

“Alright, calm down!” Isla soothed, and took him by the elbow to move away from that confined area. “Let’s get out of here first.”

The Prince clenched his jaw to remain silent and was dragged by to his bedroom by his companion, his anger subsiding to allow reason to settle in. “I will pay Sorceress Amara a visit soon.”