Dedicated to a random commenter blobbyblob30 - Thank you for reading and supporting this story! :D

Chapter 20: An Eye for an Eye

In the past weeks, Drake did not sit idle. While some of his men scoured the lands for the missing Crown Prince, Drake set off on a marathon around the Northern Lands.

For weeks he went from estate to estate, meeting with one lord after the other, talking his mouth dry. More often than not, a bit of bribery here and there also helped. In times like these he could not help but appreciate the wonders of a deep coffer.

Amongst the meetings and endless exchange of messages with assassins and spies, the time flew by like a bird soaring through the skies. The trained men he'd arranged to keep watch on Amelia along the road to Lyons also used that time well. Under his orders, they acquired the fastest horses all along that road and stocked up on travel supplies.

Thus when the time came, Drake raced across the kingdom at a speed that could drive many to their deaths. For a journey that normally took a full moon on a swift horse, he condensed it to ten days of hard riding, made possible by the ability to go from one tired horse to the next fresh one lined up for him. He could only hope he did not kill any of those beautiful beasts.

As for himself? It was easy to look past the physical exertion when all his spare moments were dominated by thoughts of Amelia. Days ago, he received word of the upcoming coronation. The Duke of Marlborough had given in. Since then, he has ridden through nightfall, stopping only for less-than-satisfactory feeds on dried meats and fruits.

Prince Warren could not be allowed to accede the throne. Had Warren not tried to kill him and harm his beloved, Drake might very well have left him be. But now, who knows what an erratic, tyrannical king could do as a personal vendetta against a duke who had vehemently denied his ascension. There was every possibility that he would kill that duke's daughter.

As Drake came up to the stables of an inn half a day's ride away from Lyons, he leapt off the tired, slowing horse and took up the reins of a magnificent stallion from the innkeeper, one of many good men who worked for him within the vicinity of the kingdom's capital. Here, he tarried, for the innkeeper passed on another valuable message: the Crown Prince had been located.

Then in a final race against time, he charged down the road to Lyons, past the gates, weaved through the city streets, and right into the royal palace. He told himself the guards who tried to stop him obviously did not know their arses from their elbows. The palace must have been made for this, for why else did these Southerners build it with such tall arched ceilings?

When he charged up to the dais though, the scene before him was not what he'd expected. All the news he'd received said Warren was to be the one coronated. Yet there he was, restrained by guards and yelling louder than Amelia ever did. Dane, on the other hand, was about to wear the crown his brother coveted. From what Drake knew of the princely brothers, this was not possible—not yet.

He could not work out what had led to this, but he bent the knee, for Dane's legitimacy and accession served his purposes. In fact, it was the very outcome he'd planned for.

* * *

The new King with the smug smile gestured for the crowd to rise, and they all obeyed. Lord Barrett directed that they move to the dining hall for the coronation feast, and they all obeyed—except one.

Out of the corner of Drake's eye, he spotted the Duke of Marlborough tugging a reluctant Amelia out of the hall. Their gazes met for one second before she tossed her head away in anger. As she did, his eyes zeroed in on the thin scar across her cheek. And he saw red.

As the guests departed the throne room, as some guards took the struggling Prince Warren away and others removed the stallion, two remained in place. The Emir, standing tall in all his slovenly, muddied glory, stared up at the King, regal in black on his throne of gold.

"Your Majes—"

"Cut to the chase, Rohan." Already, King Dane seemed a different man to the subdued Prince who hung back in Warren's shadows. Perhaps he'd always been a lion waiting to be unleashed.

But Drake was not the sort to cower in fear and deference. "What crimes will you impose on His Highness Warren?"

"Crimes?" Dane scoffed. "I know not what you speak of. My brother has committed no crimes."

So this was the game Dane wished to play. He might have stolen the crown right out of Warren's fingertips, but they were still family. A brother that the King would protect. Except this also concerned Drake's family, so there was a price to pay. "He abducted my wife, took her father hostage, along with many—"

"Those are very serious allegations, Emir," Dane snapped, tapping his fingers on the arm of the throne impatiently. "What proof do you have that your wife was abducted by my brother? The Duke of Marlborough and his daughter are our esteemed guests. What would my brother have taken hostages for? Or are you suggesting"—Dane lowered his voice in warning—"that the declaration proclaiming my legitimacy was obtained by fraud?"

Drake smiled at him then. A smile that did not reach his eyes. The knowing smile of a man too clever to be fooled so easily or intimidated. "I would not dare, Your Majesty," he answered in a tone that suggested he very well would dare. "But I would request a trial of His Highness' crimes."

The King rose and descended the steps to meet Drake eye to eye. Both flaming with indignation. Challenging one another. Neither backing down.

"There are no crimes," Dane gritted. "My brother thought the declaration stated his name. He is delusional, and for that reason, he is unfit to hold office. What he needs is a healer, not a trial." With that, Dane pushed past Drake and stomped down the carpeted length of the Great Hall. Pausing between the wide doorway, he threw an admonishing glare at Drake. "I do not wish to commence my reign with the execution of an Emir, but I will if you continue to defame my family. Watch it, Rohan."

Drake met the stern cautioning with another daring smile, unafraid to pull at the whiskers of an enraged lion. So Dane would strip Warren of his powers in court by reason of 'illness', but let him remain an illegitimate prince in name. In a life of still considerable status and luxury. That will not do for anyone who has harmed a single hair on his wife.

Now that he has paid his respects to the King by giving him a chance to hang Warren's head for abduction of nobility, it was time to see that the King commence his reign with the execution of a prince, for the greatest crime one could commit.

* * *

In a spare guest chamber of the palace, Drake took his sweet time to polish himself up. The next segment of the show deserved a more presentable version of himself.

By the time he strode into the dining hall—fashionably late for the second time in the day, the feast was well under way. Many of the guests were fed and half-drunk. Some chattered loudly about the latest fashions and renovations to their estates, while others whispered animatedly about the thrilling coronation earlier in the day. Of them all, the only ones who gave him full attention as soon as he'd appeared were his own wife, and the King.

Amelia was thinner than when she was in the north—almost malnourished, rather. Another reason why he could never let Prince Warren off lightly. Yet she was still as charming as ever with her upturned frown and eyes of glittering flames, threatening to burn him alive and reduce him to ash. Drake suppressed his mounting desire to sweep the infuriated witch into his arms and soothe whatever resentment was coursing through her veins. But such things would have to wait.

Walking up to a long table, he picked up a silver goblet and tapped it with a fork. The dulled ring of metal instantly captured the attention of the sober half of the crowd and another stony glare of from the King.

Before Dane could utter his command for the delinquent Emir to stand down, two burly Northmen entered behind Drake, supporting a half-unconscious man between them. Fresh blood dripped from him, painting a trail of blood wherever he moved. Members of the royal guard followed closely behind.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dane demanded from his seat at the high table, next to a graceful woman who looked too enchanting to be of this world.

"Apologies, Your Majesty." A senior guard stepped forward and bowed. "I-We didn't know... We couldn't..."

"They couldn't very well deny the entrance of a prince, could they, Your Majesty?" Drake pursed his lips and brushed an invisible piece of lint off his spotlessly clean shirt. "A crown prince who lost his claim to the throne is still a prince."

The crowd gasped, for only the umpteenth time of the day. Even the half-drunk were suddenly awake and ramrod straight in their seats. Though their expressions were full of shock, they secretly indulged in the drama. Especially drama that concerned the highest ranking family of the kingdom. 'Twas not everyday the royal highnesses aired their dirty laundry.

Dane pushed away from the table and rose slowly, his face pulled long and scornful. "Emir Rohan, you cannot waltz in here with a bloodied man and make a preposterous claim like..."

Drake placed two fingers under the injured man's chin and raised his head, revealing the man's beaten face and a gaping eye socket, oozing blood where an eye had been ruthlessly gouged out. Gasps turned into a ripple of groans and screams as some guests covered their faces and others threw up into their bowls and goblets.

The man may be mutilated, but to those who knew him well, it was not impossible to recognise him through his stature, the brown of his matted hair and the green of his one good eye.

From the other side of the hall, the King stood frozen as his unmoving gaze locked onto the former Crown Prince, who was now simply Prince Geoffrey. His brother of another mother. The brother he'd never loved, but his brother nonetheless. He knew Warren had whisked him away in the deep of the night, but he did not know Warren had gone so far.

"D-Dane..." the heavily injured prince hissed through pain-clenched teeth.

Dane cleared his throat and moved towards them. "Emir Rohan, thank you for finding my brother," he said, so politely that the only ones who could detect any bitter undertone were himself and the Emir he addressed. Then he turned to the guards, "Take Prince Geoffrey to his chambers and call for the best healers."

"Not yet, Your Majesty," Drake interrupted and ignored the dirty look from the King. "Are you not interested in who did this?"

"Now is not the time. Geoffrey needs—"

"What would be the time, then, to hold His Highness Prince Warren accountable—"

"Cease this at once, Rohan." Dane growled low as the guests watched their confrontation with undivided interest. A Northern lord with few allies in the South versus the newly-inaugurated King. The man was not only uncivilised, he was clearly dumb or mad too. Or both.

Fearlessly defiant, Drake continued in a voice loud and clear, "For abducting the Crown Prince, torturing him—"

"I'll not have you throw baseless slander—"

"—and poisoning his own father, King Theodore."

The hall fell deathly quiet, so much so that each sharp inhalation of breath could be heard. The calm and collected expression Dane wore had long since given way to a deep scowl of contempt.

But the King could neither strangle Drake nor throw him into the dungeons. After all, he'd done what seemed like a favour to the crown by bringing the missing Crown Prince. And unlike Warren, Dane had no desire to be labelled a tyrant, least of all from the first day of his reign. "And the evidence?" he argued in a last-ditch attempt to save his brother.

"Me... I am... evidence," the former Crown Prince muttered, weak and raspy, before he fainted.

"There are, of course, other witnesses," Drake said, afore the King formed the idea that he could kill Geoffrey in order to eliminate the only piece of evidence. Then he fell to his knee and bowed his head in respect. "Your Majesty, I request a trial of His Highness Warren, for treason of the highest order."

And all the lords and courtiers of King Theodore's inner circle—the ones who loved and respected the late King most, the same ones who signed the declaration that propelled a bastard prince to the throne—rose from their seats and bent their knees in support of the same request.

Soon, and for the second time that day, the entire crowd followed Drake's lead, leaving the King standing alone in a roomful of men and women. This time, the King clenched his fists and did not smile.

* * *

Feeling mightily accomplished for a day and severely underfed, Drake made his way to Amelia, who continued to look at him with deep resentment in her eyes. Surely she could see by now that he had been attending to other matters and had come as fast as he could? Well, perhaps she could, but women were never as simple. Especially not Amelia.

"Your Grace," Drake greeted first to the Duke of Marlborough.

"There's no need for that, son," the duke clapped Drake on the shoulder and gestured for his son-in-law to take his own seat beside Amelia.

"Papa, no." Amelia pouted and pulled at her father's sleeve to halt his departure.

The duke patted her hand and removed it with the doting smile of a father. "You've not seen each other for a while. You must have a lot to talk about." Before Amelia could protest any further, he left her to Drake's capable hands.

As Drake lowered himself into the seat, Amelia folded her arms across her chest and turned her head away from him with a snort. So he'd not been completely useless during her time in captivity, but whatever he did, it did not excuse him from not having tried to save her and abandoning her for so long. The fact he dedicated his time to saving the Crown Prince instead of her made it all the worse.

So she would ignore him. And he would have to beg for forgiveness. And she would ignore him some more.

And now that the kingdom was safely out of Warren's grasp, she might just beg her father to find a way to divorce them.

And if Drake begs more, then maybe—just maybe—she would agree to marry him again. But he would need to really, really beg for it.

And her lips pulled wide in glee as the world of her imagination sparkled and exploded into a million stars.

But when the stars died, as all stars eventually do, she was left to wonder why Drake had not yet said a thing. Turning back around, she found her husband stuffing his face with mutton and quail and fish, munching on like he'd not eaten for weeks.

Where was the begging!

Every slice of his knife, every stab of his fork, every quiet movement he made instead of the cooing and pleading she expected was oil on the fire that burned inside her belly. Red-hot anger simmered through her veins, hissing, screeching for release...

Until he slipped a hand under the table and placed it over her knee. A comforting warmth seeped through the silken fabric of her gown from his hand, banishing at once the rage that threatened to boil over. With each passing moment, the gloom and grimace that marred her features made way for a puzzling frown.

She studied his face for clues, and he gave none away. But she saw the deep circles under his eyes, the slight sunkenness of his cheeks, the bristly stubbles that had grown over the angular shape of his jaws, and she wondered if he, too, might have suffered in the days of their separation.

As if in answer to her thoughts, he squeezed her knee once before bringing his hand up again to resume his meal.

For the remainder of the feast, Amelia was so lost in thought that, not once, did she notice the pensive grey eyes that watched the two of them from across the room. Fuming, seething, as he watched them very, very closely.

———

Happy Easter everyone! What a unique Easter we're having this year...