RISE OF THE UNFAVORED PRINCESS - Chapter 144

Chapter 144: Ch. 143: Panic! At the Coming of Age Ceremony

It would almost be funny if my life wasn’t on the line.

I look to one side and see this fanatical fake guard cutting through the guards faster than they can put their bodies on the line. I look to the other side and see my father sitting there with his arms crossed and ignoring the chaos.

I look to the stage to watch Augustus escort Aria carefully down the stairs as if he too isn’t being pursued by assassins. Being a member of the imperial family truly changes a person.

Heck, even I’m not freaking out the way I’m supposed to.

So I decide to think instead. These assassins aren’t solely attacking the crown prince, but the emperor as well. On that basis alone, that takes Empress Katya out of the mix. With her pining stares and her desire to put Julian on the throne, taking out Emperor Helio would be the exact opposite of what she wants.

Not to mention, this attack is a touch sloppy. It feels passionate, like a tiff between scorned lovers rather than a calculated sting operation. But that doesn’t mean it’s ineffective. Passion can make a difference in life or death situations. After all, in the few seconds since I’ve witnessed the flaming hatred within this man, he’d carved through 4 more guards without breaking his stride. It’s a good thing I’ve gotten over my visceral disgust for blood and guts otherwise I’d be having a much harder time right now.

Blood is splattering, splashing onto my skirt and skin like paint. It serves as a time machine, dragging me back to the boiling hot war days when I’d hardly felt like I could catch my break from the grievous injuries I had to treat. And then I realize, I really can’t catch my breath, because a hand is gripping my throat and I’m looking into those passionate eyes I’d been monologuing about in my head.

…..

Shit.

The movies make it seem like getting picked up by your neck isn’t a big deal and I’d like to correct that narrative tonight. Breaking my wrist in 7th grade was far less painful than your entire bodyweight being suspended by your neck, which is simultaneously being crushed in someone’s hand. The fanatic clutching my neck is saying something and I tune in to catch his last words as he waves his glass sword around.

“-otherwise the princess dies!” He says, finishing up a threat I never heard.

My fingers slip down his arm as I try and fail to pull myself from his grasp. They slip onto the bare skin on his wrist and just like that, I can feel every injury on his body. There’s a scrape on his temple from a guard who got in a lucky hit before being chopped in half. His right shoulder is recovering from a ligament tear, a speedy recovery considering how easily he is holding my neck right now with that arm. His knees are sore with thousands of faint pinpricks, they’ll bruise tomorrow.

It is this injury that intrigues me. Was he crawling around at some point?

You’re being choked out, my brain reminds me, now is not the time to play Sherlock Holmes.

But just as soon as I remember my predicament, I’m tossed to the side. The relief of being relinquished from the chokehold is brief, however, as my head smacks into the stone floor. My ears are ringing, my mouth tastes salty as I cough and sputter back to life. Yet the words that are spoken may as well have been blasted from speakers.

“Dragon scales fashioned into swords. You came prepared,” my father is up on his feet, standing within a short distance of the assassin who is surprisingly willing to talk at the moment. The reason becomes clear in a moment. “And yet, you still cannot come close enough to deal the killing blow.”

The assassin’s boot taps impatiently on the floor, a beast trying to free itself from a chain. This conversation will not be long.

“Who sent you? You must surely realize by now that they knew you would fail from the start, no?” My father maintains the calm of an emperor, his feet are still as ever as Julian slyly sneaks to my side and tugs me back. The tremors of his hands can be felt through the fabric of my dress. Afraid? Why would Julian be afraid?

A thought briefly runs through my mind, but the burning in my throat distracts it from blooming into suspicion.

“Silence, dog emperor! You know nothing! You dare to pollute the imperial family with cursed magic, if I do not purge you today I shall disgrace my ancestors!” he bellows, spit flying from his mouth and landing not far away from my delicate slippers and the blood on the ground. It reminds me of how close I came to death just now, and the same jitters that run through Julian begin to contaminate me as well.

He raises the glass sword as if to strike my father, but the distance between them is still too great for the sword to overcome and it is clear that he realizes that if he steps in too close, he will die.

In fact, I can now see that in a way, my father is toying with him. At any second, he could expand his aura and kill this man. But instead, he is baiting him to talk and reveal traces of who commanded him. Emperor Helio’s hands are relaxed by his sides, betraying his confidence. As for the assassin’s hands?

My eyes sickeningly trail from the stump on his right arm to the open hand that is but a few feet away from me. I can’t see a blade on my father’s person, yet somehow he just cut off this man’s hand to free me. No wonder the assassin is even more worked up than before, I’d be too if I had my hand cut off without even seeing how.

“Hand!” I want to yell. But it comes out as a raspy, “Hhhhh…” That chokehold really did a number on my poor throat.

The assassin lets out a sickening smile, raising his bloody stump. “You think this is a game, Bartholomew?”

Uttering our father’s old name causes Julian and I to catch our breath in fear, our eyes swinging to Emperor Helio. The guards on the periphery prepare to move in again, but my father stops them with a simple hand gesture. Meanwhile, the air seems to drop by 10 degrees as he looks at the assassin once again without any of the former calm.

The cat grows weary of playing with the mouse and prepares for the kill.

“Let me assure you, it is not,” the assassin hisses with eyes shining like a mad man. I get a bad feeling in my stomach even though my father still clearly has the upper hand. I cannot help but recall the old saying, in a fight between smart and crazy, crazy wins. “The Devourer always comes to collect what he’s owed. That darkness he gave you is not a gift, but a curse. Helio’s darker half has never been fond of gifts, you know.”

The fake guard turned assassin may as well be speaking another language. I look at Julian, but there is also a giant question mark floating over his head. Empress Katya, who has avoided most of the melee and is protected by a group of elite royal guards, pales and takes a seat at this moment too. The amphitheater is almost completely empty. Dead bodies dressed in black litter the seats and I cannot see Augustus anywhere, but I’m certain he is alright.

I’ve had the great fortune of experiencing enough assassination attempts to know that something about this one feels fishy. First off, I should not be alive. Second off, this man is talking too much, almost as if he’s stalling for time.

My father has grown weary of the idle, fanatical prattle as well. “Who sent you?” he asks, cutting to the chase. His eyes narrow dangerously in a way that would have any member of court stumbling over their words and sweating, but the assassin smiles even wider.

“The only one who can command my spirit! Helio himself compelled me to come and confront the imposter emperor who dragged the imperial family into darkness!” he yells like a mad man.

They’re dangerous words, the kind that could get a family killed if they dared utter such within earshot of the wrong people. If anyone who wasn’t in the imperial family had heard that just now, I’m afraid they would not be allowed to leave the amphitheater alive.

“Wilhelm? You came for him?” Emperor Helio picks through the fake guard’s words with the delicacy of a surgeon, focusing on the underlying message. This time I’m truly frozen in shock at hearing the name of my father’s dead older brother, the former crown prince.

The wind changes direction and my father’s head veers to the left as if he can see something in the distance. A gruesome smile cuts across his face like he can see all the pieces of the puzzle.

“Clever. A distraction,” he says without any anger or ire. “You won’t find what you’re looking for.”

The fanaticism in the assassin wavers for the first time, my father must have hit the nail on the head. A strange feeling bursts in my chest, pride followed by a wave of rumbling anger that bubbles in my gut. Emperor Helio is wicked smart, I could not pick a better person to fulfill the ruthless persona needed to hold a throne. But a wall is erected around him, an insurmountable one I will never cross.

I shake my head, realizing I missed a few words between the two of them. How can I be bitter about our lack of a relationship when I don’t need one anyway? All I need are Marie and Emma to be alright, and perhaps Jack and Elias too.

“-you can hide it today, but you can’t hide it for a lifetime. Someday we will find it. But until then, I shall leave you with a parting gift, Your Majesty.” The sarcasm is dripping as he addresses my father by his title one last time.

“Your Majesty, get down!” a guard yells, sprinting over. He’s too slow naturally.

“Hahaha! You didn’t expect that did you-” The assassin’s words cut off violently and I know he’s dead without laying my eyes on him. Nonetheless, he managed to trigger something before going off to meet his maker, courtesy of my father.

There is a flash of bright yellow light, the kind I haven’t seen since my past life. A pop follows, like the illegal firecrackers my next-door neighbors once used for the Fourth of July but a tad louder.

My ears buzz and I fear I’ve gone deaf permanently. I’m lying on my side and the world has turned into a jumble of motion as people run around me. It’s like watching a black and white silent movie, the moonlight above coating everything in silver light. Each blink of mine is slow, like a camera catching snapshots of motion.

A figure is at the bottom of the camera frame. It moves in closer and closer, a boy. One I recognize. His blonde hair is a mess, there is soot on his face. Julian comes into focus and a tinny sound reaches my ears. His gold eyes are frantic and bright, like a child who’s suddenly found themselves in the deep end of the pool.

“Winter! Winter! Winter, wake up! Winter, go save father!” Cotton seems to have been stuffed in my ears but I can hear him just fine.

“I’m awake, asshole,” I grunt. My throat burns in punishment for my profanity.

“Your highness!” a familiar voice calls. I shake my head, unable to believe my eyes as I see Finn, now a duke, beside Julian as well.

“Sir Finn?” I whisper out. Just the sight of him makes the taste of lemon tarts and blood fill my mouth.

Hands tug at my body, uncaring of my surprise as they drag me to a sitting position and pull me along. “Father! You must save him!” Julian yells.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying and failing to free myself from Julian. He’s panicking, bad.

“Your highness,” the newest Duke of Avernall calls, coming in close so I can hear him properly. “Can you hear me?”

Finn Rensley has grown up since I last saw him. That vivid youthfulness that was a part of his spirit has dimmed and his shoulders that I’d once napped on have filled out as well. He must be well into his 20s now that I think of it.

“I can hear you. What just happened?” I gasp out. I rub my forehead and am surprised by the soot I see on my fingers.

Finn’s face is dark with anger. “I cannot confirm it yet, but I fear it may be the same deadly weapon we faced during the Sarsavalian War. However, more importantly, His Majesty has been wounded by it. Guards have gone to fetch the imperial physicians, but some haste may be required with this injury.”

“Father’s hurt?” I teeter to my feet before I know it, the world wobbling around me before settling. So eager to help, a voice in my head jeers, like a pathetic lapdog seeking attention.

Julian’s already dragging me over, leaving Finn behind to command the situation in the way only a former royal guard could as a few straggling noblemen with considerable positions in court begin to creep over. The remaining royal guards hover over a still body in front of us, calm from their training but clearly putting pressure on a wound.

“Heal him! Quick!” Only Julian would dare speak to me like that, but I can feel the anxiety and silent begging from everyone on the scene.

“It’s okay, Julian,” I say, not used to seeing him this worked up. As long as a breath of life remains within my father, my power will always be able to save him.

“I said quickly, dammit!” Julian barks, spurning my reassurance.

I shrug and turn around, guards parting like the red sea. A hush falls over the chaotic scene, one that eerily reminds me of the hush that fell when the coming-of-age ceremony had just started. Who would’ve thought that the happy event would devolve into an event none of us would be able to predict coming?

Emperor Helio is not unconscious nor in any visible pain. He looks at me and I look at him, but neither of us says a word. It is a cruel reflection of the day he’d called me to his tent and tested the extent of my abilities on the Sarsavalian prisoners of war. Oh, the irony, for it to be him on the ground instead of a stranger.

A fat piece of shrapnel is lodged in the lower portion of my dad’s chest near his appendix, staining his formal white military jacket a startling red. I settle my hands on his body, surprised at how they shake. A deep breath settles rampant emotions within me as the ticking seconds turn a frightening possibility into a sickening reality.

The nausea that fills my mouth only confirms my worst fears.

My father, like that imprisoned bombmaker and Elias, is resistant to my abilities.