The Crown Conspiracy

The bishop looked down at the blood-soaked body at their feet. “I fear the guilt of killing the king was too much for the poor man, and in the end, he lost his mind completely. Perhaps he was certain you were dead, Alric, and seeing you in the hallway he took you for a ghost or a demon back from the grave to haunt him.”

“Perhaps,” Alric said skeptically, “well, at least it’s over now.”

“What about the dwarf?” Arista asked.

“Dwarf?” Alric replied. “How do you know about the dwarf?”

“He was the one who set the trap in the tower. He nearly killed Royce and me. Does anyone know where he has gotten to? He was just here.”

“He’s responsible for far more than that. Mauvin run and tell the marshal to organize a search immediately,” Alric instructed.

“Right away,” Mauvin nodded and ran off.

“I, too, am pleased you are all right, Your Highness,” Archibald told the prince. “I was told you were dead.”

“And were you here to pay your respects to my memory?”

“I was here by invitation.”

“Who invited you?” Alric asked and looked at the slain corpse of Braga. “Him? What dealings does an Imperialist earl of Warric and a traitorous archduke have in Melengar?”

“It was a cordial visit, I assure you.”

Alric glared at the earl. “Get out of my kingdom before I have you seized as a conspirator.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Archibald returned. “I am a vassal of King Ethelred. Seize me or even treat me roughly and you risk war—a struggle Melengar can ill afford, particularly now with an inexperienced boy at the helm.”

Alric drew his sword, and Archibald took two steps back. “Escort the earl out before I forget Melengar has a treaty of peace with Warric.”

“Times are changing, Your Highness,” Archibald called to the prince as guards led him away. “The New Empire is coming, and there is no place for an archaic monarchy in the new order.”

“Is there no way I can throw him in the dungeon, even for a few days?” Alric asked Pickering. “Can I try him as a spy perhaps?”

Before Pickering could reply, the Bishop Saldur spoke. “The earl is quite right, Your Highness, any hostile act made against Ballentyne would be considered by King Ethelred to be an act of war against Chadwick. Just consider how you would respond if Count Pickering here were hanged in Aquesta. You wouldn’t stand for it anymore than he would. Besides, the earl is all bluster. He is young and merely trying to sound important. Forgive him his youth. Have you not made errors in judgment as well?”

“Perhaps,” Alric muttered. “Still, I can’t help but suspect that snake is up to no good. I just wish there was some way I could teach him a lesson.”

“Your Highness?” Hadrian said, stopping him. “If you don’t mind, Royce and I have friends in the city we’d like to check on.”

“Oh, yes, of course, go right ahead,” Alric responded. “But there is the matter of payment. You’ve done me a great service,” he said, looking fondly at his sister. “I intend to honor my word. You can name your price.”

“If it is all right, we’ll get back to you on that,” Royce said.

“I understand,” the prince said, revealing a hint of concern, “But I do hope you will be reasonable in your request and not bankrupt the kingdom.”

“You should address the court,” Pickering told Alric.

Alric nodded and he, Arista, and Mauvin disappeared down the stairs. Pickering lingered behind with the two thieves.

“I think there’s a chance that boy will actually make a decent king,” he mentioned once the prince was too far away to hear. “I had my doubts in the past, but he seems to have changed. He is more serious, more confident.”

“So, the sword is magic after all.” Hadrian motioned toward the rapier.

“Hmm?” Pickering looked down at the sword he wore at his side and grinned. “Oh, well, let’s just say it gives me an edge in a battle. That reminds me, why were you letting Braga beat you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you fighting when we first came up. Your stance was defensive, your strokes all parries and blocks. You never once attacked.”

“I was frightened,” Hadrian lied. “Braga won so many awards and tournament competitions, and I haven’t won any.”

Pickering looked puzzled. “But not being noble born, you aren’t allowed to enter a tournament.”

Hadrian pursed his lips and nodded. “Now that you mention it, I suppose you’re right. You’d best see to your wounds, your lordship. You’re bleeding on your nice tunic.”

Pickering glanced down and looked surprised to see the slice Braga gave him across the chest. “Oh, yes, well, it doesn’t matter. The tunic is ruined from the cut anyway, and the bleeding seems to have stopped.”

Mauvin returned and trotted over to them. He stood next to his father, his arm around his waist. “I have soldiers looking for the dwarf, but so far no luck.” Despite the bad news, Mauvin was smiling broadly.

“What are you grinning at?” his father asked.

“I knew you could best him. I did doubt it for a time, but deep down, I knew.”