Page 12 of Immortal Sentry

“Kerric? Will you take me up?”

“Up where, my prince?” Kerric failed to hide his smile. Most nobility overlooked guards, but not the young prince. That he didn’t use Kerric’s rank was of no consequence.

“All the way to the top. I wanna see the whole world.”

Kerric held Prince Eron’s hand while slowly taking steps to accommodate a child’s chubby legs.

They’d stood on the ramparts, gazing off to the mountains in the north and the Illiona Sea far to the south. Together, they’d watched riders approach the castle or workers scurrying below. The prince’s tutor remained nearby, monitoring his charge while occasionally sending knowing smirks Kerric’s way.

They’d meet in town later when the tutor wouldn’t appear so proper.

Kerric never knew when Prince Eron might appear but had welcomed him each time. Even though Kerric had risen through the ranks to captain, he’d made time, when possible, for his prince.

How much time would pass before Kerric’s circumstances changed? Would Prince Eron return and restore his family line? May he have a good life wherever he’d found himself. A better one than the tutor had.

If the prince had survived at all.

Kerric’s friends, family, and loved ones—all gone. Now, another one of Kerric’s men ended his life rather than spend barely an existence watching over the place where he’d made his worst mistake by trusting a man who should’ve been trustworthy.

So few were. Certainly none of the regular dwellers in the castle. The queen dallied with Crau, Bain dallied with any he could lure to bed, and the mage plotted to end them all.

Better to remain trapped in stone, above it all. Kerric couldn’t even tell which of his men perished.

Yet, Crau wandered free—was even awarded the title of duke and likely lands as well. He’d violated his vows. Crau’s debt would come due one day, for Ibrus demanded justice—as did Kerric.

Until then, he’d watch. And wait.

Chapter Five – Twelve Autumns Later

Afour-piece ensemble played softly in one corner of the grand ballroom, flickering candles and lamplight lending a further sense of mystery to the masked affair. Savory aromas drifted from the kitchen, making Eron’s stomach rumble.

Young ladies glided past, gesturing with their fans and gossiping to each other, giggling harder while making coquettish eyes at Eron through elaborate, jeweled and feathered masks. He adjusted his own mask, then chose a place against the wall to observe.

He found the whole pretentious event amusing, if frightfully dull.

A rather diminutive earl fingered the chain of an heirloom pocket watch. Eron could relieve him of the pretty bauble with an accidental bump. The earl’s eldest daughter wore a far too flashy diamond brooch Eron had relieved her of twice tonight already, just because he could, always returning it at a slightly different angle. She hadn’t noticed.

Kene didn’t allow hunting in their own home. Still, it didn’t hurt to keep his skills sharp. Eron tuned his ears to a nearby conversation between a bejeweled matron and her marriageable-age daughter.

The matron said, “But he’s only the baroness’s heir. You deserve so much more. I don’t care how wealthy his benefactor is. And he’s a foundling.” She cut a sharp glance Eron’s way, though she likely believed he couldn’t understand her language. Kene employed the finest tutors. Eron spoke the matron’s native tongue better than she did.

The overbearing mother continued, “There’s no telling his lineage. He might even be a beggar’s son. He’s from Tybos! They’re savages.”

Eron nearly laughed, then stopped himself. Tybos? Really? Where had such a ridiculous idea come from? Tybos was far away from the continent of Ala and her civilized countries, like Dillane and Hisar.

Although men often married women for heirs, the mother needn’t have worried. Kene had put no such pressure on him. Eron had no intention of ever standing before a priest. She’d also told everyone Eron came from Fashkein to keep the nosey from asking too many questions.

Affluent people didn’t speak openly of Fashkein, with their relaxed attitudes about most matters that nobles sniffed haughtily over.

Kene approached with two goblets of wine in hand, wearing a decorative owl mask, lace concealing her icy blue eyes. She wore her pale hair piled high on her head and dressed lavishly in ruffled silk. How very unlike the Kene that Eron knew. Tonight, she played a part. She’d chosen a rather voluminous dress that her maid would need to wear later, depending on the mask to hide darker blue eyes. Kene handed a goblet to Eron. He admired the way light played over the crystal.

“Do I recognize these, Lady Kene?” he asked, a wry smile on his lips. What excellent timing todiscoveran entire chest of crystal goblets a mere eight-day before their party.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Kene replied snippily, though a brief chuckle revealed her mirth.

“I believe you do.” Eron took a sip of wine. What a delightful vintage. “Ah, so the cask we liberated was worth the effort. I believe you owe me two silvers.”

“A lucky guess.” Lady Kene sipped her stolen wine from her stolen goblet. “Our guests should count themselves fortunate we never hunt at home.”

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