Caracara's Hunt 78 The King's Gif

Light pushed through Corwal's eyelids, forcing him to open them up. He blinked a couple times to clear his vision and wondered where he was. His last memory was of being lauded before the crowd as someone lifted him up and waved his good hand.

The king said some kind of speech, but his recollection of it was hazy. There was mention of some great deeds and hidden training as well as dedication to live as the normal people do, but he couldn't make out any details. By then, he was standing only because he was being held up. The moment they took him out of the spotlight and lay him down on a bench, he was out cold.

"Brother, you're awake!" a familiar cheerful voice called out.

Corwal blinked again, and the blurry figure which stood holding onto the curtains coalesced into the princess. There was a bright smile on her face. For some reason, she looked to be in an extremely good mood.

"Did something happen?" he asked once he found his voice and tried to push himself into a sitting position.

His left arm twinged with discomfort, but held. He turned to it and saw that it had been repaired to its original condition. The only problem lay in the newly grown muscles which were still a little unused to being moved. He would need to stretch them for a few days to get rid of the discomfort.

'So he healed me in the end… I guess a one-handed crown prince didn't fit into his plans.'

The princess rushed over and sat down on the bed by his side. "Of course it did! You returned alive!"

He hmmed in agreement, not sure what else to say. Him being alive and healthy was a double-edged sword. It meant that the king could give him more tasks which would make him want to cut his own heart out.

"But you forgot your present," the princess said, pretending to be disappointed. It didn't work though when her eyes shone with joy and she could barely hold back her smile.

"My mistake. I'll do better next time," he said and leaned back against the headboard.

He was back in his room. It was a nice touch, but also spoke of something not being right. What crown prince lived in an abandoned west wing? Was he in hiding once again? It was fine with him, but he didn't believe it would be that simple.

"How much time has pa.s.sed?" he asked while ma.s.saging his forehead.

The princess looked out the window and thought for a moment. "Half a day. It's evening now. The doctor had said that you should only wake up in two days." She turned her curious eyes to him. "How are you awake?"

'A lifetime of near-death situations teaches you to not spend too much time unconscious.'

But he didn't say that aloud. No matter how much the princess knew about the hounds, she didn't know what went inside the Kennel. And she was better off not knowing.

"I have a good const.i.tution. I've always healed faster than everyone else."

His explanation seemed to pacify the girl, and she let it go. In a change of topic, she told him all she had learned while spying on the servants through a secret pa.s.sage she had found in one of the rooms. It was all about how Corwal had stunned the ma.s.ses, and how even the foreign dignitaries were amazed by his prowess.

All of them wanted to meet him, but the king had said that he would need time to recuperate before making a public entrance. Although he won, his injuries weren't light.

'More like he doesn't want me to interact with anyone and make alliances. Despite having a thousand things on me, he's still paranoid of me staging an upraising.'

It would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic. His whole life had ended up going sideways and straight to h.e.l.l because of that single fear. As the only acknowledged son of the king, he was the prime suspect whenever any problems arose in the country.

"Right, I have to go and tell Jordan that you're awake. I was only allowed to stay with you if I promised to inform them about it right away."

After saying that, the princess smiled sadly at him and left the room. There was understanding in her expression that made Corwal feel uncomfortable. He didn't like being seen through. It always ended him in trouble.

He was too tired to ponder it for a long time, however. Closing his eyes, he rested for the couple minutes he still had. If the king wanted to see him the moment he woke up, something was afoot, and he was sure it wouldn't bode well for him. None of the king's orders had ever brought anything good for him. The only question was just how bad would this time be?

He had already fought a beast aided by a lion and a bear for people's entertainment and lost an arm. Was it really necessary to make his day even worse?

Before he could even fall asleep, the door opened and a servant walked inside. It was the king's trusted hand, and he brought clean clothes for Corwal. He took a while to get dressed, feeling slow and lethargic.

His mind might have been awake, but the couple hours of rest had done nothing for his overexertion. The mere act of standing was almost beyond his capabilities.

With a sigh, he drew in a wisp of ether. There was no way he could meet the king in such a weakened state. Even if it slowed his healing, he needed his mind to be quick and sharp. There were too many things he kept to himself and would hate to be forced to reveal.

The ether revitalized him, and he walked out of the room by himself. The servant led him to the king's private chambers, which was a more familiar meeting place. It relaxed Corwal a bit. Maybe the next task wouldn't be as bad as he expected.

Once inside, he found the king standing by the window overlooking the city. There was a gla.s.s of wine in his hand, and he sipped from it slowly. Corwal stood near the door, which the servant had closed behind him, and waited.

In a while, the king turned to him with a faint smile on his lips. "I thought of the gift for you."

"Gift, my king?"

"For successfully surpa.s.sing my expectations time and again. You're like a c.o.c.kroach that simply refuses to die. No matter how many times I give you impossible tasks, you return battered and bruised, but alive. Always alive."

There was reluctant admiration in the king's voice, and cold sweat broke out on Corwal's back. He barely forced himself to stay still and not run away. Hatred and disgust was something he knew how to deal with, but admiration? That was unnatural. He was the hated son, the only one truly deserving death.

"In that sense, you're quite like your mother, you know that? She was a warrior too. From a minor n.o.ble, she went up the military ranks till she became the general of the whole army despite all the opposition and all the people that had plotted her death. No matter what the world threw at her, she hit back, and with more force so her opponent would not be able to stand back up again."

Corwal stood still, not saying anything. This wasn't the first time he had heard how amazing was the woman who had birthed him, but it was the first time the king had said anything. Usually, he just told him his task and sent him out to another dance with death.

After taking another sip of his wine, the king left the window and walked to Corwal. Stopping by his shoulder, he whispered, "You still make me sick though. Why do you and that cursed monster get to live while she died? No matter how similar you look, you're not her, and you won't replace her in my heart." He chuckled and pulled away. "John, bring them in!"

A side door opened, and Corwal saw John, who was a sort of nemesis of his. They had been friends once, but after graduation, the king had always set them up against each other. It didn't turn them into real enemies, but they had become wary of one another. It was impossible to keep a friends.h.i.+p when they could never tell if the other had been ordered to make their mission fail.

There were two small humans in John's hands, and he threw them before Corwal. His eyes went to the bundled up people, and his heart clenched in pain. Mutallu and Eliot had been bound up to the point they could not move a muscle. Onyx handcuffs were on their wrists, and rope bound their legs. A ball of cloth was stuffed into their mouths to prevent them from speaking.

Eliot still tried to say something, which resulted in a couple whines and groans. Annoyed, John kicked the kid in the gut. "Quiet. You're in the presence of the king."

Frightened, the boy aimed his pleading eyes at Corwal. He didn't seem to understand why he had been brought over or treated like a human vegetable.

"They're your gift," the king said with satisfaction.

Despite Corwal not reacting outwardly, the king knew him too well to not understand the turmoil in his heart. His mocking smile grew wider, and he motioned for John to pick up his burdens once more. "Carry them to the cages. They'll be executed with the rest of the traitors."

That sentence should have sent Corwal into utter despair, but he had seen his world shatter way too many times. He retreated in his mind and just watched with morbid fascination as the last good thing in his life was slaughtered. Not a single emotion flitted across his face.

"Do you not like my present? You haven't thanked me yet."

Like a puppet that he was, Corwal went down on one knee and bowed. "I thank you for your generosity."

The king laughed. His voice was full of undisguised gloating. "Don't worry, I'll bring the rest of your children to justice as well. You hid them well, even bringing them out of the country, but I'll find them. No one can know who you are. You sentenced them to early grave by approaching them."

It was the truth, and Corwal had told that to every child he had saved. Their time had always been limited. The moment the king found out about them, they would be hunted down like animals. Yet all the children had come with him anyway. In their eyes, a death in the future was preferable to starvation.

"If that is your wish, my king," he said without the slightest hint of emotion in his voice.

Reality seemed to be hundreds of miles away from him. He was speaking from far away, barely knowing what words he uttered. At some point in time, they had lost all meaning.

"You're no fun," the king complained with a frown. "Even if I know you're suffering, it's not rewarding if I can't see it affect you. Tell me, do you even care that they're going to die?"

The last few words were said in a commanding voice, which had been beaten into Corwal till he would die to follow them. He was answering the question before his mind could even think of what to say just to avoid being late. The excruciating pain of his bones being broken one by one was hovering at the back of his mind, reminding him what awaited those who didn't follow the king's orders.

The fear was illogical and overpowering. It took over his mind like a wildfire, incinerating all thoughts of resistance.

"They're my children. I brought them up and found them home. Any suffering they face I feel amplified. They're the only good thing I've done in this world."

"Good, good!" The king laughed, his mirth having returned. "That means I didn't go to the trouble of bringing them over for nothing. Enjoy your present, my son. The execution's in five days." His eyes flashed with a dangerous light then. "You're not allowed to see them nor think of helping them, understood?"

With another bow, Corwal excused himself from the king's chambers. The moment he entered a less traveled hallway, a shudder ran through his body, and he fell to his knees. With his hands against the ground, he stared at the floor with all too clear eyes. He wanted to cry, to scream, but his face remained the emotionless mask from before.

The training in the Kennel had been thorough. Tears were a sign of weakness, and those who showed weakness were killed. The king didn't need people, but weapons. Hounds—and he was a hound—were nothing more than a dagger in the king's hand.

"I need to get back to my room," he whispered to himself, but didn't move.

There was nowhere he wanted to be at that moment, and there was no one he wanted to see. The children he had worked so hard to save were about to die, and he could do nothing but watch from the sidelines and repeat 'Yes, my king' for the hundredth time.

"You've lived through worse. Don't falter now," he told himself.

Yet the words rang hollow in his mind. How many times could a person lose everything before they could take it no more?

Every time he was forced to do something atrocious to survive, he had told himself that he would help someone in return. It wouldn't change anything, but at least someone would get a chance at life from it. After all, even if he didn't kill the people he was ordered to kill, the king would send someone else in his place.

For years, this knowledge that he was doing at least some good had kept him sane. Not okay, but moving. A part of him had felt that his existence could be excused, that he was just doing the best he could under the s.h.i.+tty circ.u.mstances.

Yet now… now it was all over. The king thought that he would break Corwal with this, but he was wrong. Corwal had been broken since the moment he entered the Kennel. Since then, he had simply been good at pretending that he was fine, that he was still a functioning human being.

The loss of the orphaned children he had saved would do to him what neither the Kennel nor the king had managed—it would destroy him.

With a broken laugh that sounded more like a sob, he drew in more ether and rose to his feet. Staggering a little, he made his way toward the king's private winery. If he was going to lose it all, he might as well do it while drunk. Maybe the alcohol would finally fill up the hole where his heart had once been.