Honour

Chapter 2-2

The port was surprisingly quiet. Most sane men were tucked away in the arms of someone warm, not scowling through air cold enough to chill the lungs by mere breath. Only the ships remained, tilting and clunking along with the swaying water, frigid skeletons waiting patiently for the return of man and product.

“Is it always so cold?” Aleyn asked.

“No. Sometimes it rains. And sometimes there’s so much fog that you can’t see your hand in front of your face.” Emmett chuckled and set his brown broad-rimmed hat that much tighter on his head. It had been gifted to him in Spain, and though it didn’t fit with the trends on their current shores, Emmett didn’t mind. The wide brim kept the sun and the wind off his face but more so, it helped keep his shoulder-length black hair from stealing across his face in greasy tendrils, like the clinging tentacles of sea life.

“But when does the sun shine?”

Emmett stomped his feet in an effort to both shake clean the tall leather boots, tops turned-over in the requisite fashionable manner, and to restore feeling to his numbing toes. “Never. This is England. The sun refuses to dock.”

Aleyn walk-ran to keep up as Emmett strode quickly over sand and rock, seeking a more hospitable environment. He needed a bath, if he could secure one—a bowl of hot water at the very least. Something warm to eat would be nice too, and maybe somewhere comfortable to sleep. “That is your sarcasm again, yes?” Aleyn’s eyes searched him out and Emmett merely smiled.

“Who, me?” Emmett hopped over deadened grass and brush and reached back to help Aleyn do the same. “Sarcastic? Surely I don’t know what you’re talking about, boy.”

“Ah, ha,” Aleyn grinned. “And there again. See? I am learning.” They walked in silence, pausing only once to look back at the ship as the rest of the crew began to disembark.

Emmett winked down at Aleyn and spun past him into a jog. “Quick now, Aleyn. Over the bridge. If we get to the Public House first we can get the best rooms.”

Aleyn grasped the cape around him and ran alongside Emmett’s jog. “Emmett?” he panted.

“Aye?”

“Can I get a room for a coin?”

Emmett blew out a breath. “No. But don’t worry about it.”

“Why? Will I stay with you?”

Breath became a snort. “No. But I said don’t worry about it.”

There was only a moment’s pause while Aleyn thought but Emmett heard the change in Aleyn’s voice. “Will I have to stay with one of the others?”

The bridge to the city loomed in front of them and they slowed to a walk when their heels touched the stone pathway. “No,” Emmett said. “Now hush for a moment and let me talk to the guards.”

Words exchanged and tithes were passed as, somehow, Emmett mused, the acquisition of un-posted fares always seemed to manifest at gated cities. His dagger was examined for length and width, a necessity that both amused and annoyed Emmett to no end. As though it was, somehow, the King’s right to choose his weapon; but Emmett held his tongue and saw the safe and quick passage of both his and Aleyn’s way in the sacrifice.

“Through here, Aleyn,” Emmett called, stopping short when he didn’t hear Aleyn’s footfalls. Aleyn stood, gaping in open-mouthed fascination and Emmett was unable to check his grin at Aleyn’s expression. He stepped back the four paces required and secured Aleyn by the collar of the cape. “This is only the bridge. Just wait until you see the city.”

Where there had been no life along the shore, activity had sprung up around them in a matter of moments. Stalls and carts, both with and without horse, displayed meats and fowl, fish and fabric, beckoning to travellers and locals alike. “Buy nothing here,” Emmett advised Aleyn under his breath. “Wait until you are off the bridge. This passage is a cesspool of thieves and pickpockets. Besides, you will find the barter far more reasonable once we’re inside the walls.”

The streets of the city were as lively as promised. The walls helped keep some of the cold at bay, the proximity of structure and bodies assisted too, and Emmett granted Aleyn the leave to gaze as they made their way to the city’s core. “So many people,” Aleyn said again and again, repeating it so often that Emmett was about to reprimand Aleyn for no other reason than ordering him to find something original to say, when Aleyn gasped and pointed. “What is that place?”

Emmett didn’t need to trace Aleyn’s fingers to know what it was Aleyn asked of. “The castle.” Emmett drew Aleyn from the street to avoid a carriage. “It’s a renowned structure here in England. One of the most stately in Europe, or so the royal family tells it.”

“It’s—” Aleyn held his arms open wide, struggling for the correct word.

“Overpowering,” Emmett offered. “Ridiculous. Enormous. Ghastly, even.” Emmett shot a dark look towards the opulent construction. “No man needs that much space. No family needs that much power. Look, Aleyn,” he pointed to the humble folk around them. “See how they work to exchange their wares? Finery for food, labour for shelter.” Emmett shook his head. “While these people struggle to survive, selling everything from product to body to soul, the lucky few live in comfort and elegance. And for what? Because they work hard? Because they are better people? No. For nothing more than the fact that royalty runs in their blood. As if that, somehow, makes their souls more valuable.” Emmett stared for a moment, his lip curling in distaste. “Disgusting process.”

“I wish I had royal blood,” Aleyn mumbled.

“Do you?” Emmett smirked. “Not I.” He ruffled Aleyn’s hair. “Come on, this is where we need to be. Let’s get something hot to eat and find ourselves somewhere to wash and sleep.”

It took Aleyn a second longer to stop staring and as he turned, pirouetting in the way that only a boy his age could do without thought, the worn sole of his slippers found no purchase on the icy cobbles. Grace became a clumsy fall as Aleyn’s ankle twisted. He cried out, arms circling, and into the street he fell before Emmett had the chance to react.

“Aleyn!” A horse’s angry squeal echoed Emmett’s call, the sharp sound of hooves clacking harshly against hard surface roared too close, and Aleyn turned over in horror as the body of a white horse, easily eighteen hands tall, reared above. It was only by the act of instinct and the speed of something unworldly, that Emmett managed to reach, secure and yank Aleyn out of the way by his ankle. Another holler, again from Aleyn, advised Emmett that it had not been the best choice of handhold, but it was lifesaving nonetheless, as the flailing hooves once again found ground with an angry slam.

“Aleyn!” Emmett sat Aleyn up, “Are you hurt badly?” His hands had only begun to travel Aleyn’s body when Aleyn was yanked up and away from him.

“Insolent brat!” a furious man bellowed, shaking Aleyn by his shoulders so hard Aleyn’s teeth rattled. “Do you know what you almost did?”

Just as infuriated, Emmett found his feet and the man’s thick wrist at almost the same moment. “You will, sir, unhand my charge. He has done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” The man’s voice rose to a pitch that threatened to make Emmett’s blood boil. The grip on Aleyn’s collar tightened so much that Aleyn gasped at the constriction of his throat. “This clumsy oaf almost caused Lady Amethyst to upset her rider—”

Emmett cut off the rant with a twist to the man’s wrist. “He fell. It was no act of insolence. The boy slipped and lost his footing. He meant no harm to either horse or rider.”

The man began to sink to one knee with a look of surprise as Emmett increased pressure on the limb he’d secured. “Can you control your movement, kind sir, as I hold you now? I see from your descent that you cannot, else perhaps you wish to be on your knees in front of me? As such, how do you expect this boy to stop himself from falling into the street when his own movement fails him? Are you so old and weak that you should expect to be forgiven an act which you can’t forgive of a mere child? There are many things I can tolerate, sir, but cruelty to a child is not one of them. Un. Hand. My. Charg—”

The sudden click of tongue and two subsequent ones were loud enough to quiet Emmett’s words. The rider of the white horse, apparently unscathed and somehow far more amused than Emmett would imagine a normal person to be, waved at the man now faltering at Emmett’s feet. Without further word the man released his hold and Aleyn stumbled back. With a flump and an, “oof” Aleyn landed hard on his behind.

Emmett did not offer the same pardon back. He stood his ground, held his captive and glared at the rider as the man lifted, drew a leg over the horse, and dropped to the ground.

The rider’s outfit bordered the fine line between garish and fantastic: a hip-length cape of pink satin lavishly embroidered and trimmed over a severe white jerkin. When the cape was flung aside, it revealed a gold doublet, slashed to give a clear view to the puffed white linen shirt below. A large but unstarched reticella collar topped it all and a similar fabric and pattern adorned the rider’s cuffs. Even the rider’s feet were sumptuous: polished white leather topped with silver and gold rosettes the size of a grown man’s fist. Only the rider’s head was bare, a grey capotain hat clipped to his mount and left there, to vainly display the cascades of untethered blond curls.

Emmett didn’t know whether to snort in distaste or fall to his knees in awe. The man was beautiful: white, flawless skin, stunning blue eyes, and lips that had been well protected from the abuse of weather and thirst—he walked with the slow, purposeful steps of a man with rank.

The rider looked down at Emmett’s hand, still gripping the sweating man, and lifted a questioning eyebrow. Emmett swallowed hard but did not release. “The boy meant no harm, sir. I will not have him punished for the lack of repair on these streets.”

The man’s second eyebrow glided up to mirror his first. Undaunted, Emmett continued. “Until you give your word, sir.”

When the man began to speak, Emmett was sure the choirs of heaven could not have sounded sweeter. A trained voice, no doubt, to both song and language. “Do tell me, sir. Do you wear the fur that lines your jacket as a show of disrespect to the royal family and their ordinances? Or are you merely ignorant to the laws?”

The question startled Emmett. While he was familiar with the decrees regarding who could wear what and the supposed reasoning behind them, Emmett also knew they were rarely challenged and scoffed at by most. Emmett narrowed his eyes and glared at the rider. “I wear the fur, sir, because I like the feel of it against my skin. And the sumptuary laws are both ridiculous and pointless.”

Once again elegant eyebrows sought to claim further height. “You believe it wise to say these things aloud, sir?”

Emmett snorted. “It is merely opinion. Is that so wrong to have?”

The rider pantomimed thought. “Dangerously forthright more so than wrong. In my…uh…opinion.”

“Emmett!”

Emmett flinched at the sound of his father’s voice. Had they been so long as to allow the crew to catch up with them? Damn. He’d hoped to make it to the Public House first…

Emmett’s free arm was seized at the elbow and he turned an annoyed glare on his father. “Unhand that man-at-arms,” his father hissed, horrified.

“Never,” Emmett lifted his chin and shook his head. “I will not allow Aleyn to be punished without cause. This man is a tyran—”

“Your Highness.” Stunned, Emmett watched his father sink to his knee in the street, even as his father continued to speak over Emmett’s sudden stuttering. “Your Highness, please accept my apology on behalf of my fool-hearted son. While he means well, he is impetuous and quick-tempered. The boy is his friend and—”

“Your Highness?” Emmett repeated, cutting his father off in kind. “As in…” The blood in Emmett’s head began a quick rush down to his feet. He released the guard as though the man’s hand had burst into flame. The smirk on the rider’s face was more than enough confirmation.

“Kneel!” his father ordered, jabbing Emmett in the back of his right leg and Emmett’s knee buckled in response. Emmett dropped and sent a quick look to Aleyn who, catching the implication quickly fell to his knee as well.

Emmett was too horrified to speak as the…king? No, far too young…prince? His mind traced over every memory, story, and piece of art he’d seen. Could it be? The beautiful, ridiculous man was the prince? The prince? Prince Andrewe? First in line and heir to the throne?

The prince moved closer and Emmett closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Damned. He was damned. Worse, he’d probably dragged Aleyn into the beating of his life as well.

“So,” Prince Andrewe drew directly in front of Emmett’s lowered form. “I believe you were telling me how my father’s streets are in disrepair and his laws ludicrous.” A gloved hand found Emmett’s chin and tilted it upwards. “Was there anything else you wanted to speak out on? Perhaps my mother’s virtue? Your distaste for God?”

Emmett couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “Of course not, your Highness. And my apologies on my bold statements. I didn’t realize—”

“Opinions,” Prince Andrewe rolled the word off his tongue. “Were they not? Mere opinion, you said.”

“Your Highness,” Emmett took a deep breath, shook his head again, and dove in with both feet. “My opinions are merely the chirpings of a ship rat. You see, had we, on board my father’s vessel, boards that caught the feet of my crew and tumbled them into the sea, I would make it my soonest priority to correct that at any cost. Not just for the care of my father’s men, but also to ensure against loss. Furthermore, had I, on my father’s ship, a law that told this crew member or that to wear this jacket or the other so that I may tell who is who and what is what, I would question not only my own sanity but my ability to do something as simple as recall another a human being. But I am not a prince, nor a king. I am only a merchant’s son. I do not assume to know the difficulties or the burdens that come with those titles.”

Emmett did not look over when his father whined. He did not look up when he heard Prince Andrewe’s clothing shift as arms were crossed over chest. He only dared one quick glance at Aleyn and the admiration he found shining in Aleyn’s eyes fuelled him. “Regardless of my opinions, or my musings, your Highness, had I known whom I addressed I would have held my tongue out of nothing less than respect. I beg your mercy, sir. Not for myself, but for the boy. Please do not hold my lack of etiquette against him.”

A huff sounded beside Emmett and he quickly added, “Nor my father.”

Silence met the close of Emmett’s impromptu speech. Emmett gave it a moment, and then another, before he finally looked up.

“So,” Prince Andrewe said, clicking his tongue in bored distaste. “Your opinion is this,” he waved his right hand. “Which you believe strongly enough to argue of to a stranger.” He held Emmett’s gaze. “Yet because of who I am you would suddenly choose not to hold those beliefs?”

Emmett licked dry lips. He flicked his eyes towards the guard that gripped a wrist with a scowl, to the two that stood alongside, and finally back to Prince Andrewe. “I would choose, sir, not to speak them.”

Prince Andrewe leaned forward, until their noses almost touched, and breathed out words that were rich with mint. “Then you are a coward.”

It took all the control Emmett could muster not to reach for his dagger in prideful retribution. “No, your Highness,” he whispered back. “I am wise. You are a mountain and I am but an anthill. While that makes me no less important, it does make me easy to destroy.”

“And do you fear your own destruction?”

“I will do my best to prevent it, your Highness.”

Prince Andrewe grinned and the transformation to his features was stunning. He reached out with an open palm. “Do rise, sir. The stones are hard on the knees.” Emmett accepted the fingers and rose with as much grace as he could manage. When Emmett reached verticality, he was tugged forward and Prince Andrewe once again leaned close, his words for Emmett alone. “Although the sight of you on your knees is a most attractive one, ship rat.”

Emmett heard Aleyn’s sharp intake of breath as he quashed his surprise and Emmett sent him a sharp rebuke with eyes alone. By the time Emmett had turned his attentions back, the prince had released his hand to reacquire rein and saddle horn. With a single fluid move, Prince Andrewe was back on his horse and only then did Emmett become aware of the cold again. It could have been the movement of air through Prince Andrewe’s hair that made Emmett realize wind again—the way it picked up golden locks and danced with them. It could have been the suddenly empty space in front of Emmett that no longer blocked February’s chill from rushing forward. It was certainly not, Emmett was mostly sure, the fact that proximity had provided any other heat, regardless of how beautiful finery and stature. Yet Emmett mourned the removal of it and shivered with the change.

“Enjoy your visit,” Prince Andrewe grinned before lifting his eyes to the crowd amassing to watch the scene.

“Long live the King,” Emmett nodded.

“Long live England,” Prince Andrewe replied with a smirk.

Emmett grabbed Aleyn’s shoulder and turned on his heel. His father was going to have his head. He’d been back on English soil for less than an hour and had managed to insult the heir to the throne, make a fool of himself in front of a crowd of spectators, and—Emmett looked down at his knees and hissed out loud—destroy his favourite breeches. There was far more force behind his push through the door of the public house than necessary and Aleyn stumbled to keep up with him as Emmett made his way across the straw-littered room. He flung himself into the nearest available chair, tucked his ankle up, and rubbed voraciously at the knee of his pants with an angry pout.

“Emmett?” Aleyn’s voice was timid and his eyes widened when Emmett looked up with a bitter frown.

“What?”

Aleyn caught his bottom lip between his teeth and he chewed it for a second before releasing it to speak. “Thank you.”

Emmett gave up on the stain and let his foot fall from lap to floor with a thud. “Don’t mention it.” Emmett caught Aleyn’s eye and gave him half a grin. “I mean, literally. Don’t ever mention it.” With an impatient wave, Emmett called to the proprietor, shouting their order before the man even arrived at the table. “Two pies, hot. Two mulled wines, also hot. And have you rooms still?”

“Aye,” the man replied. “Will the boy will be sharing your—”

“He will not.” Emmett snapped. “The boy will have his own room. And God have mercy on your soul if I find out he’s been disturbed in any way.”