Page 16 of The Prince's Curse

“You are the prince and royal heir, not some backwater farmer,” Janelle said. “There are those who might see advantage in harming you. And given your father’s…condition…”

She stopped, trailing off. Haldric glanced at her, curious even as the mention of his father spiked his already frayed nerves. He dreaded meeting his parents and had been grateful the king hadn’t summoned him the instant he arrived yesterday.

“Condition?” he asked.

Janelle pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. Both her and Grand Magus Dexil had been tightlipped during their return to the palace, fearful of overwhelming him before he regained his full memories. Haldric let it drop, focusing instead on the space around him.

He hadn’t experienced much of the palace yet beyond his own quarters and the dungeons, but what he had seen put Baron Simmons’ rural keep to shame. Though the Ilthabardian aesthetic was far more austere than the gold and marble preferred by the Khordanite nobles to the east or the colorful silks and intricately carved woods of the Sanjarkan merchants to the south, the simple stone adorned with banners depicting famous warriors and ancient battles possessed its own harsh beauty. Like Ilthabard itself, function generally ruled over fashion…his garish blue dress tunic notwithstanding.

“What will happen once we get there?” he asked.

They passed a tapestry depicting a man wielding two shields shimmering with pale soulflame fending off what looked like an entire army on his own. Such scenes were a relic of Ilthabard’s glory days, when the martial schools of the Akkadia still trained new generations of soulflame warriors to defend the kingdom. But that had been centuries ago. Little remained of the Akkadianow except rubble and myth—just another symbol of Ilthabard’s decline.

Janelle glanced at him, a notch appearing in her brow. “We’ve been over this. Dexil will perform the ritual to restore your lost memories so we can put this whole nasty business behind us.”

“What will the ritual be like?”

“Honestly, Haldric, I have no idea. I’m not a mage like you or Dexil. My expertise lies in strategy and battle, not arcane rituals.” Her annoyance softened when she glanced over and caught him chewing on his lip. “Though Dexil assures me it will be perfectly harmless.”

Harmlesswas a far cry from painless, and somehow Haldric doubted that regaining a lifetime’s worth of altered memories would be as simple as snapping your fingers. Still, he kept his doubts to himself.

“And what about after?” he asked, giving voice to his other growing source of concern. “What happens once our memories are restored?”

His aunt appeared taken aback by the question. “Well,” she said after a lengthy pause. “I suppose you return to living your life.”

She shared a glance with Fendrel that seemed laced with hidden meaning, though Haldric couldn’t decipher what. Clearly, there was something—likely multiple somethings—that they weren’t telling him about his former life as a prince. Yet again, he decided not to press. He was nervous enough as it was. His princely duties could wait until after he’d regained his memories.

“And Benjin?”

At the mention of his husband’s name, Janelle’s expression hardened. “If he’s innocent, he’ll be released. If not, he will stand trial for his crimes.”

Haldric swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. He could guess what the likely punishment for cursing and kidnapping a prince would be. Whatever Benjin may or may not have done, Haldric had no intention of letting that happen.

I got us into this, Benjin, and I swear to the Goddess, I’ll get us both out of it.

They passed a pair of royal guards dressed in more ornate armor than the others he’d seen, their gold and silver accents complementing the usual golden trim. Frowning, he glanced about the unfamiliar corridor. This section of the palace looked better suited for hosting nobles than performing magical rituals.

“Is this where the ritual’s supposed to take place?” he asked.

“We have one quick stop to make first.” Janelle’s fingers twitched as though they yearned to grip her axes, a tell Haldric had come to associate with her feeling nervous. “Your father wishes to speak with you beforehand.”

Haldric jerked to a halt in the middle of the hall. The rest of his escort halted a few paces further ahead. “You mean theking?”

“Very good,” she said dryly. “I see you studied up on what it means to be an Ilthabardian prince during the carriage ride.” When he still didn’t move, she sighed. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Haldric. He knows your memories haven’t returned yet. All he wants is to see that you’re safe.”

Her reassurances did little to soothe his churning stomach.Don’t panic, he told himself when they reached a wide set of doors embossed with the royal seal and flanked by more guards. Inside stretched a long sitting room filled with a mix of guards and other attendants. Marshal Fendrel moved off to the side with the rest of their escort to wait as Janelle ushered Haldric through the room to a smaller door at its far end.

Then, there was no more time to think as they stepped into the king’s private bedchamber. Curtains had been drawn over the windows to block most of the morning light. The cloying scentof incense and recent magic hung in the air. Several chirurgeons bearing trays of healing charms hovered beside a massive bed draped in crimson silk with a figure propped up in it.

Just like in my vision,Haldric recalled past his nerves, thinking of the hand he’d seen reaching for him. Unsure what else to do, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Majesty. Um, it’s me. Haldric.”

“My son…” The rumbling voice from the bed sent a thrill of déjà vu skittering over him.“Go! Leave us.”

Haldric blinked, momentarily confused until he saw the chirurgeons bowing and retreating from the bed. One by one, they funneled past Haldric out the door. Pale soulflame infused at least one, the white glow winking out as he exited. Janelle gave Haldric a supportive nod, then followed them out. She shut the door behind her, leaving Haldric alone with the king.

My father…

“Come,” the king said. “Let me see your face.”

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