All characters, places and events are fictional regardless of how unbearably hot our universes sometime seem.
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Prologue
As the children streamed into the courtyard below, the enormous stone eagle stood watch, silent but sinister, its gargantuan claws biting into its perch above the promenade no less than if it had been the perpetually tantalizing liver of Prometheus.
Princess Steyan wiped a tear from her eyes before anyone might see and not a moment too soon for Keane quickly found her… as he always did. Keane smiled and bowed even though such protocol was not necessary during recreational occasion. Keane loved her and, though but thirteen years of age, as far as he could tell he always had.
As always, the coarse grey stone face of the Lesser Ward felt inexplicably comforting to the children. They ran about running their hands over the sharp features of its many statues and meandering banisters entirely oblivious to the fact that it was simply the warmth captured in the stone that lightened both heart and mind… though not for everyone.
“What’s wrong?” asked Keane. “You’re upset! Tell me who wounded you so and I shall set more than their ear on edge!”
“It’s nothing!” blurted the nine year old more boisterously than she wished. “It’s a bit of sand on the wind is all… why must you always assume the worse. Do you think me too small to fend for myself?”
“Hardly,” confessed Keane, scrunching his face as he studied her. “I only wanted…”
Thwack! A large body slammed into his from behind and Keane was thrown forwards. His body struck Princess Steyan hard, propelling her slight frame over the wide stone rail. He leaned out with both hands as far as he could and only just caught her, saving her from a face first fall of more than two full spears. He froze awkwardly realizing both his hands had disappeared and were wrapped about a medley of lace and silk the likes of which he’d never allowed himself to even try to imagine.
“Put me down!” insisted the Princess still hanging upside down and fighting to keep her skirt from following her unruly raven hair. Keane pulled her back, careful not to scrape her bare white legs. He then noticed his hands were still firmly affixed to the Princess’ pink petticoat for her skirt had caught upon his forehead as he put her down.
Once again he froze, unsure of what to do while she, with an equally red face, quickly pulled his hands clear of her skirt. He heard laughter behind and his hackles rose like an army of spirecactus until he heard Bram’s mocking voice. Bram and he were best of friends— though most certainly not always.
“Ah, I knew I should leave you two lovebirds alone! But then again, as I mull over it… I am the King’s son and shall burn as I damn well please— and definitely not cater to any of the many daft-eyed fools about me!” Keane reached for Princess Steyan’s hand but she brushed it away, flicking her raven braids out of her face with a well-practiced toss.
Bram grinned wickedly, “So, apparently the popular consensus that you can do no wrong isn’t quite true after all?”
“You should really watch where you’re going,” said Keane not amused, “Steyan might have been seriously hurt or even killed!”
“That is Princess Steyan to you… YOU who needs to learn a great deal more respect for your betters!” scolded Prince Bram.
“And you for your peers!” chimed Steyan.
“Peers? I have no peers! I am the King’s son and brightest heir to the Sunship of Halyshae! Keane is but another son claimed of the Captain’s Guard… and you, perhaps a princess, but from a distance land and one overrun with customs the likes of which we do not honor here. Mark my words well little girl; we shall conquer you yet— every last wanton one!”
Keane grabbed Prince Bram’s arm and squeezed it. “There is no point to such chatter! One should apologize when one stumbles— rather than evaporate every last nuance of courtesy hanging in the air.”
“Stumbles? Why you ignorant cuss! It’s you that shall be left hanging!” Bram raged. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly.
“Set the course! Now! And I want the full course—not some sunlit sham! The full hilt— every last damn hole and pointed pinnacle to climb— for it seems I have a challenger!” Bram cleared his throat and spat upon the head of the nearest statue below him, smiling with satisfaction as it sizzled till but a stain of discolored gristle. A decent crowd had gathered about him and he raised his hands before pointing to Keane.
“It seems one of the Guards’ rotten bastards wishes to be buried in his proper place!”
“I’m afraid that’s just not possible,” spoke a voice walking out from the cooler shade of the eastern wall. It was Elessar Yot; the Prince’s long time tutor and Chief Emissary to His Royal Highness himself.
“Your father wishes your council at once pertaining to a most urgent matter.”
“No! You tell him no! I’m not going— not this time!”
“As you wish,” said Emissary Yot, bowing low and turning away.
“Wait!” Bram called after a moment to better assess his curt reply. “If my father wishes my council— who am I to deny him?”
“Wisely said,” Emissary Yot agreed, his unkempt moustache nodding in mutual grey waves of accord.
Bram stepped to follow but, at the same moment, his right elbow shot out to catch Keane squarely in the chin. “This isn’t over!” Bram whispered hoarsely.
“Then that would be your foolhardy mistake,” cut in Princess Steyan, before blushing and walking quickly away.
“Why must you treat her so?” Keane asked, fighting the urge to rub his chin. “Can you not see how lovely she is?”
“Lovely… like the rest of her promiscuous nomadic kin? She is of tramp blood… little better than vagrants and drifters! I will meet you in the Barrier Pursuit soon enough and then—“
“You shall lose,” said Keane and he turned hurrying after the light footsteps of Steyan.