Chapter Text
What can you sense?
The voice was small and persistent, a tingling at the back of the ear. A barely comprehensible push to consciousness.
Can you open your eyes? What do you see? What do you hear? What can you sense?
The voice was louder now, and Eliot recognized it as his years of training: “ Teach yourself how to rise to consciousness, my little knight,” Sir Hansel had told him. “ Every morning when you wake, let this be the first question you ask yourself. It will come naturally one day.”
So, what could Eliot sense? It was cold, and drafty. The breeze bit particularly cold on the right side of his face. Could it be wet? Probably blood. He must have been knocked out. There was a low murmur of voices, far off and echoing, a drip of water. And then— oh, the numbness of his arms. He knew where he was.
Eliot tried opening his eyes to confirm what he already knew. It took blinking a good dozen times to clear the black fuzz at the edges of his vision. Yes, he was in the dungeons. And he was not alone.
There, hanging by their wrists from the far wall, were three men; he turned his neck painfully from side to discover two other men on this side of the cell as well. All five were still unconscious. Eliot didn’t recognize any of them.
Dammit. Think. Eliot’s brain was still foggy—could he be concussed?—but he needed to remember. He knew where he was, but how did he get here? The palace wouldn’t have imprisoned him, which could only mean—
Invaders. Yes, he remembered it now: He had been up on the South Spire playing poker with Sir Hansel and a couple Crown Guards. He kept winning, and the guards accused him of cheating: such a young man shouldn’t be so proficient at cards. Hansel slapped them on the backs, and said that Eliot had learned from the best. It was about time he surpassed even his teacher.
Before the guards could protest, the alarm bells clanged their warning note. Eliot jumped from his seat and looked down at the castle courtyard, and what he saw was fuel for nightmares. The sight was unmistakable, despite Eliot’s distance from the scene. A man stood in the center of the courtyard, holding a knife to the throat of the King. Surrounding the two figures in a ring were about half of the castle guards. Their swords were drawn, but what could they possibly do without risking the King’s life?
“Hansel, you seeing this?” Eliot said.
“I am,” Hansel responded.
Eliot looked to the other spires, to the high palace windows, all shut. “Where the hell are the archers?”
“Disposed of, I suppose,” Hansel mused. “If that man made it this far with our King, he must have help on the inside, either imposters among the staff and guards, or soldiers who snuck in directly before the attack. But!” (He clapped Eliot’s armored shoulder.) “Who needs archers, my boy? This palace has two knights!”
“A whole two knights,” Eliot grumbled, taking his helmet from the table and placing it over his head. The hot metal had been suffocating when he first tried it on as a child, but now it was a comfort.
Sir Hansel laughed and addressed the guards. “You two think poker is the only thing I taught this boy? Come, Sir Eliot, let’s show these invaders how the knights of Haerdia protect their King!”
Drawing their swords, the knights scaled down the smooth stone steps of the South Spire, the two Crown Guards following hot on their heels. “Divide and conquer,” Hansel whispered when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll take the guards and rescue the King, you get to the bottom of this, and ensure the safety of the royal family.”
Eliot nodded and went off to the right, toward the chambers of the Queen. Under Sir Hansel’s guidance, Eliot had trained night and day to move soundlessly despite his metal armor, and, as much as he wanted to bash in some enemy heads, sneaking proved faster. He had a duty, after all, and his own desires could wait.
The carpeted floors muffled Eliot’s footsteps, and he was able to move fairly quickly down the halls, glancing into each room before moving on. So far, there were no signs of intruders. No disturbances in the heavy, quiet castle air. No swish of the velvet curtains, no creak of the wooden floors.
Eliot reached the Queen’s chambers. The heavy wooden doors were shut. The guards were gone. He couldn’t detect signs of a struggle, no scuffing of the floors, and no blood or bodies, but that didn’t mean anything. As long as the Queen was in her chambers—which she usually would be on a Sunday afternoon—the guards should be waiting vigilant in the hall. Eliot gripped his sword tighter and kicked the door open.
It was too late.
Eliot had fought in countless bloodbaths on the battlefield, scrubbed the red sand off his boots in the sea. He could remain stoic and impartial as his comrades died around him. But seeing the Queen bloody and unmoving was something else.
Eliot dropped his sword.
A man turned to face him (and only then did Eliot realize the room was filled to the brim with red-clad invaders— from the country of Forwich, judging by the crest on their armor —what was wrong with him?). The invader wiped the Queen’s blood off a short silver knife.
“Pardon my intrusion,” the man said, in a lilting Forwichian accent. And his soldiers attacked.
Eliot didn’t have time to pick up his sword, but that was alright. He could fight just fine without it. Sir Hansel always reproached him for his liberal use of his fists, but if anything, Eliot fought better like this. Within seconds, the dozen invaders were out cold.
“A fighter, are we?” the murderer said. “One of the Crown’s warriors?”
The man wasn’t worth an answer. With an inhuman roar, Eliot raised a fist and closed the distance between himself and the man who killed his Queen.
The next thing he knew, Eliot was waking up in the dungeons. Somehow, he must have missed an invader. He must have been knocked out from behind.
“Never let your emotions cloud your senses,” Sir Hansel always told him. “ They’ll impede your ability to fight.”
Eliot cursed his heart. Warriors weren’t supposed to feel , whether they were measley soldiers or mighty knights. Eliot knew that feelings clouded judgment and senses and ability. Yet he couldn’t help it, seeing his Queen dead. He let himself see red, and now he was here, shackled in the dungeon.
He wanted revenge.
No.
He needed to protect the rest of the royal family. He needed to protect the Prince. It’s what Hansel told him to do, and it’s what he, logically, knew was right. That would be his revenge, to save the Queen’s son.
There was no time for questions, no time to wonder if Hansel had rescued the King or, perhaps equally as importantly, why the relatively peaceful Forwich was attacking Haerdia. He had to act as quickly as possible. Figuring out the why would come later.
Eliot tugged at the shackles. They were loose on his wrists, but nowhere near loose enough to slip out of. The chains attached to the wall gave just slightly; maybe, if he had the strength, he could pull them clean out of the stone, but Eliot was concussed and exhausted from the fight. Plus, he couldn’t even feel his arms.
If he couldn’t feel his arms, he wouldn’t need an anesthetic— he might be able to gnaw straight through them.
No, he couldn’t save the Prince without his arms. His concussion must have been worse than he thought, if he had even considered the possibility. If he couldn’t muscle his way out of this problem, that left only one option.
“Guard!” he called. His voice was weak, but that would add to his story. He waited a moment, then called again.
The sound of approaching boots on stone, and the cell door opened. Damn . The guard was hardly more than a kid. Then again, Eliot was no older when he started fighting for his country.
“Someone better be dying,” the kid said.
“What time is it?” Eliot asked.
“By the ancient dragons,” the guard muttered, and made to shut the door.
“Wait!” he called. “Please, if I don’t get insulin, I’ll die. I need it every twelve hours— I need to know how long it’s been…” Eliot let his voice trail off. “Is it dinnertime? I feel faint.”
The guard looked down the hallway, then uneasily back at Eliot. So, he had been out for at least four hours. “Where does the castle keep its insulin? I’ll send someone to fetch it.”
“I’m concussed, man. I can’t fight. Just let me show you where it is. I can’t think straight enough for directions.”
Eliot sure couldn’t think straight enough to come up with a better lie. Insulin? Seriously? He’d have to hope his concussion seeped into his speech, and that that was enough to convince the kid. Or, at least, that the kid was stupid enough to buy it.
The guard hesitated for a moment, then strode forward, taking keys from his belt. The satisfying clunk of one shackle, then two being unlocked, and Eliot fell forward onto his hands and knees. Ow. The fiery tingling from his shoulders to his fingertips, coupled with the pounding of his head and his scraped knees was enough pain to rival any of his battlefield injuries. Only then did his addled brain realize that whoever had put him in the dungeon had also removed his armor. That would be no problem.
With the help of the enemy soldier, he stood.
Clinging to the kid’s shoulder, Eliot took a few tentative steps. By the time his legs had stopped shaking, they had reached the guard post. Only two other guards. Good.
Just as the Forwichians looked up, inquisitive, Eliot kicked out. On a normal day, the hit would have shattered the kid’s kneecaps, but Eliot wasn’t exactly starting at 100%. Nonetheless, the kid went down, howling. A kick to the head, and he was out cold. The other two guards rose and drew their swords. The fight would have been a piece of cake if Eliot could use his arms, but the damn things still seemed to be offline. Burning like dragon fire, but unresponsive. Whatever.
Eliot stepped inside the blade of the closest guard. A knee to the crotch had him doubled over, making him the perfect target for a headbutt. One left. A kick to the chest sent that guard winded against the wall; Eliot swept his feet out from under him, and a kick to the head knocked him out too.
Should he free the Crown Guards? No, just trying to wiggle his fingers told Eliot his hands were still too unresponsive to handle the keys to the shackles. He didn’t need any Guards to save the Prince. They would only hinder him. He would do this alone.
Eliot stumbled down the dungeon halls. The fight had not helped his concussion; now, he was seeing double, and the press of his shoulder against the stone wall was the only thing stopping him from falling on his face. He couldn’t stop to rest, though, not when the royal family needed him.
A flight of stairs, a clumsily opened door, and dusk light illuminated the palace hall. No enemies in sight. Fortunately, the kitchen was not far off. Eliot could make it.
More good news—as Eliot walked, his vision stabilized, and his balance was mostly restored. His fingers, too, regained warmth and feeling, and the tingling pain dulled. His shoulders ached from supporting his weight for so long, but he was used to pain. As long as he could curl his fists, he could protect his Prince. He could only hope that Sir Hansel would rescue the King.
Eliot only encountered a few enemies on his way to the kitchen, and ducking into doorways or behind suits of armor was enough to avoid their gaze. He raced down the kitchen steps (nearly tripping as they blurred beneath him). If the invaders had decided the kitchen staff was worth imprisoning, Eliot was doomed. He prayed to whatever ancient god decided to listen…
“Sir Eliot!” Natasha, the head chef’s daughter, was a sight for sore eyes. The look in her eye—fearful, but determinedly hopeful—told him all he needed to know. The Prince had not been found.
“Where is he?” Eliot barked.
“Come,” she said. She led Eliot toward the meat freezer in the back of the kitchen. “You know not to hesitate, to take him and run,” Natasha said. “The staff can take care of ourselves. We trust you to keep the Crown alive.”
Eliot nodded; he hadn’t even thought to feel guilty about leaving the palace staff behind. If Eliot, a knight, wasn’t killed immediately, he doubted the staff had anything to fear.
Natasha opened the locker, revealing a shivering Prince. Eliot could have laughed with relief. Then Natasha shoved him in the freezer as well, and shut the door behind them.
“Your Highness, Prince Alec,” Eliot bowed (and tried not to stumble).
“Nuh-uh,” the Prince said. “Don’t ‘Prince Alec’ me— the whole point is I’m supposed to pretend to be palace staff. I’m not supposed to be locked in a damned meat locker! Do you want me to freeze to death?”
“Let’s go, my liege,” Eliot said. Not many people knew the face of the Prince. Eliot, in all his status, had only interacted with him on a few occasions. Somehow, he always managed to forget how annoying the man was.
“Go where? We’re in a meat locker , Knight.”
Eliot huffed and stomped to the back of the freezer, dragging a rack of meat away from the wall to reveal a secret door. He opened it, and gestured grandly. “Secret passage.”
Prince Alec rubbed his arms, then looked between the freezer door and the secret passage. Eliot didn’t think they were very difficult options to weigh, but the Prince took his jolly good time doing so. Eventually, with a deep frown, he stalked past Eliot into the passage.
“‘Secret passage,’” the Prince muttered. “Aren’t knights supposed to be eloquent? If you’re gonna order me around, you could at least do it in iambic pentameter, or something.”
“Who’s this benefitting, Your Highness?” Eliot asked, and shut the passage door. It was black as pitch. Eliot could only trust Natasha to push the rack of meat back against the wall, and hide their exit.
“It sure ain’t benefiting me,” the Prince said.
“Then can it.” For a long moment, the Prince was silent. Eliot doubted he had ever been told to can it before, but Eliot was concussed and generally having a bad day, and he frankly could not care less.
“Sir Knight, I could have you executed,” the Prince said. “It would not be hard.”
“Yeah, sure, after I’m done saving your life.”
Eliot grabbed the Prince by the collar of his royal cloak and dragged him behind himself down the passageway. His eyes had finally adjusted to the lighting, and he was sure to step over the broken mops, the assorted rodents’ nests, and so on. The secret passages had been built for the palace staff to travel quickly among the rooms of the castle, but the royal family no longer cared that their staff go unseen and unheard. So most of the entrances had been sealed, boarded or painted over. All but a select few that the knights could use to rush the royals to safety if need be.
As part of his training, Eliot had learned these paths like the back of his hand. He exercised that knowledge now, dragging the Prince down hall after narrow hall. Or, so he tried, but the annoying goddamn Prince dug his heels into the floor after the third turn.
“Wait, wait, you’re just taking me and running, right?”
“I am.”
“Not even a thought in your head of saving my parents, right?”
“Yessir.”
“Alright, alright. Yeah, we don’t leave without Parker.”
“Lady Parker isn’t a royal. She’s none of my concern.”
“Lady Parker is my betrothed. She’s as much of a royal as I am.”
“We can find you another damn wife. Your life is my priority.”
“Okay, how about this. If we don’t turn around and find Parker right now , imma find the nearest enemy soldier and turn myself in.”
So, Eliot was going to have to knock out his Prince and carry him to safety over his shoulder. He could manage.
“What are we talking about?”
Eliot nearly had a heart attack. He turned on his heel and raised his fists, placing himself between the Prince and—
“Parker! Thank the ancients. Are you alright?” The Prince pushed past Eliot, sending him stumbling into a wall, and embraced his betrothed.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“This knight was escorting me to safety,” the Prince nodded at Eliot, who offered his deepest scowl.
“Safety from what?” Lady Parker asked.
“Parker, we’re under attack.”
“What? That’s what all the commotion is? I thought we were testing out the defenses. So that’s why you’re all beat up?” She turned her attention to Eliot.
“Lady Parker,” he said. This time, he did stumble when he bowed, just slightly. The Prince and his betrothed didn’t seem to notice, which was just fine by Eliot. “Come with us, I’ll get you both out of here.”
“Actually— wait,” the Prince said.
“What now? ”
“I have to get something from my room.” Eliot glared at him, but the Prince matched his gaze. “It’s of the utmost importance, Sir Knight.”
Eliot held the Prince’s stare, for one beat, then two. Every moment they remained within the castle, the Prince was that much more likely to be captured and killed. But this Prince was stubborn, possessing a bull-headedness that only came with being raised royalty, used to getting anything you want handed to you on a silver platter.
Eliot huffed. “Fine, let’s go.”
He led the way down the cramped passageways. Some were wider and taller, and Eliot and the nobles could stand and walk; other paths were low and cramped, and the three had to crawl on their stomachs. Eliot hoped the nobles’ clothes didn’t pick up dust; the last thing he needed was more complaints from the lot of them.
Eliot stopped once the passage grew wide. “Alright, wait here. This is the closest exit to your chambers, but it’s still down the hall from your door. Tell me what you need me to retrieve.”
“I’ll get it,” Lady Parker said.
“No offense, My Lady, but I don’t think you can sneak past all the armed guards waiting on the other side of this door.” Eliot could count the footsteps of six different enemies. They couldn’t have been Crown Guards or knights; the metal of their armor had a very distinctive ring to it as the arms brushed the body.
“There are only six guards out there,” Lady Parker laughed. “Piece of cake. Oh! I’ll get you a spare sword too!”
Before Eliot could protest, the Lady cracked the door and slipped out into the hall. Eliot bit back a curse, and instead commented to the Prince, “So neither of you are normal royals, huh?”
“‘S why I love her,” the Prince smiled.
“My lucky day,” Eliot muttered. “Your girl has seven minutes. If she’s not back by then, I’m assuming she’s dead, and we’re leaving.”
“You just watch her work her magic.”
Eliot grumbled. Was he devoted to the royal family? Of course. Were they a royal pain in his ass? Always.
Not three minutes later, Lady Parker slipped back into the secret passage. Strapped to her hip was a sword, across her back was…
“Is that a violin case? You made me bring you back for a violin case? ”
“It’s a very important violin case— thanks, babe.” The Prince took the case from her and slung it over his shoulder. “Did you get the other thing?”
“It’s in there,” Lady Parker said.
Prince Alec nodded. “Now, we can go.”
Eliot took the sword from Lady Parker and strapped it around his own waist, muttering all the while about how stupid these goddamn royals were and how maybe it would be better to allow the coup to progress. The Prince merely patted him on the back and offered his (insincere, if Eliot might say) condolences. Finally, Eliot was able to lead the two down to the exit closest to the stables. Without distraction, it only took about five minutes, and soon the trio were standing hidden in the clump of trees on the east side of the palace.
“The stables are just past these trees, maybe a hundred yards due east,” Eliot said. “The trees protect escaping royals from being seen from above, but once we’re on animals, we’ll have to hope that speed is enough to save us.”
“Everyone knows that,” Lady Parker said, as Eliot helped her over a fallen tree. “The palace grounds are designed to make getting into the palace hard, but getting out of it easy, as long as you know its layout.”
“Wait, wait, not everyone knows that,” the Prince said. “I sure didn’t.”
“Nobody expects you to,” Eliot said. “You’re the Prince. Hell, nobody expects the Prince’s betrothed to know either. How’d you get inside the walls in the first place?”
“I thought everyone knew about them,” Lady Parker repeated.
By the flying dragons’ wings, why were nobles so weird?
Five minutes later, the trio had snuck through the grove of trees to the stables, and climbed in through the back window into the tack room. (Or, Eliot and Lady Parker climbed through; Eliot practically had to throw Prince Alec, who was apparently 0% muscle.)
“Who the hell trained you, man?” the Prince grumbled, rubbing his hip which had, unfortunately, hit the floor first. “Didn’t they teach you not to manhandle the royalty?”
“Add it to the list of things to execute me for, let’s go.”
“Wait, we have to walk through the stables?” Lady Parker asked. Eliot nodded, eyebrows raised. Duh. “I— uh— would rather not.”
“She doesn’t like horses and horse-beasts,” the Prince supplied.
“I once saw a pegasus kill a court jester.”
Eliot could tear his hair out. “It’s like you two want to die. Do you want me to leave you here and run? It would be so easy.”
“Hey, watch your attitude toward the lady,” the Prince said. “It’s one thing to sass me. Whole other thing to sass Parker.”
“I’m going to prepare a steed to get me off this damned island. If you want to follow me, you can.” With that, Eliot turned on his heel and stalked out of the tack room. Halfway down the row of stalls, he looked back to check if the royal idiots were following. He sighed. The two lovebirds were walking tentatively behind him, the Prince’s hands covering the Lady’s eyes. When a unicorn nickered, the Lady flinched, and the Prince whispered a word of encouragement in her ear. It was so sickly sweet that Eliot could vomit. Or maybe that was just the concussion.
“So, where are our rides?” the Prince asked. Each member of the royal family (and Lady Parker) had their own steed, much unlike the knights, who traded their horses often so they wouldn’t grow attached, and mourn when they were killed in battle.
“First couple stalls,” Eliot replied.
Reaching the Prince’s unicorn, Eliot unlocked the stable door, and the horse-beast pushed past Eliot (he had to stop stumbling when pushed, damn this concussion) and trotted up to her master.
“Lucille! I missed you, baby girl.” The Prince released Lady Parker and placed his hands on the unicorn’s snout. Parker didn’t cower from the huge unicorn; instead, she reached up and pet her head too.
“What, so that unicorn’s okay?” Eliot asked.
“That’s Lucille,” Lady Parker said, matter-of-factly.
Lucille was a beauty, Eliot had to admit. Nothing less for the Crown Prince. Her body was black and slender, standing at at least 17 hands. She was lion-tailed like only the rarest of the unicorns, her stockings and the tip of her tail a faint purple when the light hit it just right. Only a few drawings survived from the time when there was said to be magic in the world, when unicorn’s horns could heal and pegasi could fly, and Lucille looked just like the creatures in those images.
Lady Parker’s steed was just as magnificent. A black antlered wolf, who burst through the stable door as Eliot opened it. He must have been imported from another country, because he was the only one Eliot had ever seen outside of books. His shoulders only came up to Lady Parker’s ribs, but antlered wolves were known for their ability to carry multiple riders, and their devotion to their masters.
These two steeds would make the nobles stick out like a sore thumb if they were trying to hide, but they could only benefit from the combined ferocity of a unicorn and an antlered wolf. The Prince and the Lady would need something to protect them if Eliot didn’t get this concussion treated soon.
For himself, Eliot chose the nearest griffin: an animal common enough that she wouldn’t stick out, while also being built for endurance. If Eliot gained her loyalty, she would protect the trio to her dying breath.
There was no time to saddle the animals. Eliot helped the Prince climb onto his unicorn’s back, before mounting the griffin, nestling his legs in front of her vestigial wings.
“Hope you can ride bareback,” he said to the Prince.
“Of course I can ride bareback. Who do you take me for?”
“A spoiled prince with no technical skills.”
“Alright, I’ll give you that.”
Finally , they would ride to freedom. Eliot turned the griffin’s head to the barn door and kicked her forward. With a bound, they were out in the open air. Wow. Eliot had never ridden a griffin. Unlike the smooth ride of a horse-beast, griffins bounded, their powerful back legs propelling them forward, their wings sustaining the jump, bones too heavy to allow them to truly fly. Any other day, the griffin would have felt wonderful beneath him, but today, her jarring stride exacerbated Eliot’s concussion.
The Prince and Lady rode on either side of Eliot, and together the three galloped across the palace grounds. Eliot could only hope that the palace walls hadn’t been secured by the enemy. If they were watching from the guardposts, the Prince would be caught. Dammit. Eliot should have taken the uniforms off some invaders. That way they could have snuck past, even if discovered. Damn his concussion.
All he could do now was hope. Luck had served him thus far, as much as he didn’t believe in it. So long as it lasted until they were off palace grounds or, better, off of Crown Island…
Over the next hill, Eliot could see where the palace wall met the ocean. The palace was built in a time of peace between all seven countries, which meant the architects were able to cut corners with the palace defenses. The palace wall, therefore, didn’t completely surround the palace grounds. Instead, it stopped at the sea to the north and east of the grounds. The guardposts at these two ends of the walls, as well as several Crown Guards constantly roaming the palace beaches, were meant to serve as defense from invaders from the sea, but really all they did was turn away the odd noble child whose curiosity got the best of them.
Times like today, the lack of a palace wall really seemed ridiculous. But at least it would make the Prince’s escape easier.
It was almost low tide, which meant the three wouldn’t have to swim around the wall. Eliot paid eagle-eyed attention to the guard tower, but all was dark inside. Heart pounding in his chest, Eliot led the nobles through the timid evening waves… and they were through. He spurred his ride into a faster gallop (pitying the poor thing, who hadn’t even been able to warm up), and soon the guard tower faded from sight behind them. Eliot led the nobles into the trees fifty yards from the shore, and slowed his griffin to a stop.
His griffin and Lady Parker’s wolf both panted, mouths open, and the Prince’s unicorn frothed at the mouth. But they were safe. Well, safer.
“Let’s get off this island,” Eliot said. His head was pounding, and his vision blurred more by the minute. And yes, the nausea was definitely from his concussion. He needed rest, but he’d be damned if he stopped before he ensured the Prince’s safety.
Eliot urged his griffin into a canter—he hated to work her more, but he’d like to be off the island by nightfall. The fastest and safest way to do so was to ride down to the southernmost point and swim to Golden Island. It was a mile across the strait, but he knew the animals could make it, and he probably could too, even with a concussion. He just hoped that the nobles could swim.
Cue two hours of riding, balancing the animals’ need to rest with their need for speed, sneaking around local nobles’ estates, and small towns of the lower upper class. The trio went unseen and unnoticed, and despite Eliot’s constant looking back, there were no enemies on their tail.
A half hour after darkness fell, they reached the south beach.
“Oh hell no,” the Prince said. Eliot sighed. He had enjoyed the brief couple hours when the Prince took his orders without protest. “You’re not making us swim across the channel, are you?”
“Yep,” Eliot said, dismounting. “Might be a little cold.”
“But I can’t swim!” the Prince protested.
“Then hold onto the griffin. They’re good swimmers.”
“You can hold onto Wolfy if you want,” Lady Parker offered.
“You named it—? You know what? Nevermind. Just get in the water before we’re caught.”
Luckily, the sea was calm. Eliot made sure the Prince had a tight grip around the griffin’s neck before letting him wade tentatively into the water. Eliot, on the other hand, grabbed onto the unicorn’s mane. Unicorns weren’t strong enough swimmers to fully support his weight, but this way, if he felt he was going to pass out, at least he’d have some false security. The Lady, on the other hand, pulled ahead of them both with a confident freestyle. She and her wolf looked like they were having fun.
Eliot swam close to the Prince (who shivered and cursed and generally tried to keep the fear out of his voice), avoiding the hooves of the unicorn on one side and the frantically kicking legs of the Prince on the other. He was thankful, for once, that the enemy took his armor, for it undoubtedly would have weighed him down. As it was, his sword was almost too heavy to lug across the mile of water, but he hated to think of losing two swords in one day.
“Are we there yet?” the Prince panted.
“I think your girl is,” Eliot responded. Lady Parker, in reality, was only about 200 yards ahead of them, and they were only halfway across the water. Eliot was starting to feel the cold in his bones, and once again, he could hardly feel his fingers. The sword was really starting to drag him down, his legs kicking twice as hard to keep him afloat. Dammit. He reached down and unbuckled the belt, letting the sword sink to the depths.
They swam on. After some time, the Prince went unresponsive, staring straight ahead and desperately kicking to help the griffin in any way he could. Eliot knew he should try to engage his Prince in conversation, make sure he wasn’t losing his energy or his will. But Eliot’s head was growing fuzzier by the minute, and he imagined that if it wasn’t already nighttime, the edges of his vision would be blurry. His movements grew lethargic.
Just keep going. Just get your Prince to the other side of this damned water. Then you can rest.
Finally, Eliot’s feet touched sand. He felt the unicorn’s hooves dig into it like a lifeline, and he let her pull him up onto the shore. Lady Parker was waiting for them, and she pulled Prince Alec to his feet. That’s alright, no thought for the knight who saved both their lives. Eliot dragged himself to dry land, and tried to stand.
He collapsed on the sand.
The fuzziness of his head turned to a buzzing in his ears. He knew he would pass out. But that was alright. The moon was full above him. It was a beautiful night to have served his kingdom.
The last thing Eliot saw was Prince Alec and Lady Parker kneeling above him, concern written across their faces. Then, the world faded to black.