Excalibur's Seven - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

THE PRISONS OF THE castle were wet and dank, with chains so rusted, Eurion wondered how long it had been since they kept a prisoner. They would be easy to break, but she'd have to figure out what she would even do once they'd been snapped. She had to be smart about this, there wouldn't be an easy-in like the gates opening to floods of mages.
She noticed the key dangling on one guard's belt, but by the time the chains were undone he'd be well away from her before she could snatch them from his waist. And even if she succeeded by some miracle, she'd be hunted down before she could get far.
The wall was covered in dust and mold, but Eurion slumped against it anyways. There wouldn't be an easy solution to this, not yet at least. She was good at getting in. She was not so great at getting out.
A sudden cry left her lips as she felt something cutting into her thigh. She looked down to find blood staining her trousers, and she let out a string of curses when she realized what it was.
"'It'd cost an arm and a leg,'" she recalled aloud. She'd stupidly ran her mouth to a faery, rattling on expressions she should've kept to herself. She knew better than to use expressions on the Sídhe. And the faery replied, "as you wish," and bound her with a ribbon she couldn't take off. If she couldn't keep up with her promise, she'd lose two limbs as she rotted away in this cell.
It would take a miracle to get her out.
As the night fell over Avalon, the mages had all left for their inns, all but one. The druid still had to find out what it was about this prince that made their hair stand on end like the charge before a storm.
They ducked behind a doorway as a group of maids carrying baskets slipped past, and just as they thought they were safe, a nobleman turned the corner. They caught it just in time, though, slipping through the door and closing it silently before the man could see them there.
Their heart pounded in their chest. They could get thrown in jail right along with the thief if they stayed too long, but not if they didn't get caught.
They slid back out of the room, sneaking down to the foyer and hiding beneath a covered table. They cringed at the sight of a rotted mouse decaying by the foot of the table, but let their attention divert back to the task at hand.
They could feel that tingle again as the prince drew near to the throne room. He was not alone, they sensed two others escorting him who remained situated at the door when the prince stepped into the room. Chalice pressed their ear to the wall, straining to hear.
"Your Majesty," he greeted.
The King was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, they only caught bits and pieces. The King was upset with him, clearly. Criticizing him for causing a scene, something about the prince Connor, about the late Queen. Chalice knew nothing of the younger prince, but they knew this treatment was unwarranted and cruel.
It was over only after an agonizing wait. They waited until the guards moved to escort the prince again before they left their hiding place, pressing against the walls as they followed after him. But they could only get so far before even the guards were turned away from the royal quarters. At least now they knew where the prince was.
They followed a maid to the quarters, slipping into the back and finding a spare uniform in a dusty storage room. It fit a little loosely, but it hid the lack of telling curves that all the other maids seemed to have. It would have to do.
A stack of pins and thread caught their eye and they pulled out a few, stuffing them into their front pocket. They emerged from the room, only to land right in front of another maid. They didn't sense her somehow.
"What were you doing in there?" she asked, hazel eyes prodding. Something about the maid caused a much subtler buzz, but far more familiar. They couldn't place a finger on it.
"I was getting thread, I just ran out of my own," they lied, voice unwavering. The maid gave a suspicious look before accepting the answer and turning away, letting Chalice leave the quarters once more.
They walked with confidence. No one ever questioned a person who clearly knew what they were doing. They crossed the courtyard, weaved through the halls of the keep, and finally ended up before the prince's door. Naturally, they were stopped.
"What business did you have with the prince?"
"He needs me to fetch a shirt for him to sew up a tear." They held up the spool.
The guard quirked a brow. "I don't recall him sending for a seamstress."
"That's because he didn't send you," Chalice retorted. "Now, come then, don't keep His Highness waiting."
The guards exchanged a look before letting Chalice through. They wanted to scoff at how easy it was, but really they just felt bad. How poorly does a man have to be respected for such low-level security?
The room wasn't large, but it was open, with stairs that spiraled upwards into another room. He wasn't in the main room so they could only assume he was up there. They tiptoed towards it, expecting to see him there, but then they felt the tip of a blade at the back of their neck.
"Who are you?"
Perhaps they miscalculated. He'd been in the washroom, apparently.
"Does it matter? If I were here to kill you, it seems as though your father wouldn't even notice."
His sword faltered, enough to let Chalice turn to face him.
He stood there with a stupid expression, like he was trying to look tough and failing miserably. He was a mess, loose shirt hanging open to reveal a golden chest speckled with light hairs, a five o'clock shadow already growing in. All it took was a day, it seemed.
A look of recognition dawned on his face. "You."
Chalice sighed, removing their headpiece and the dreadful apron. They didn't have time for small talk, so they cut right to the chase. "The Gods are trying to tell me something about you, but I don't know what. I'm here to find out what it is."
This was the most they'd ever said to a single person. It was already exhausting.
"'The Gods,'" he repeated with a laugh. When Chalice did not, his face stoned. "Right. Carry on."
They walked towards a sitting area, taking a seat on a table.
"Please don't—"
They pull his hand, yanking him down to his knees in front of them. He made a face that only suggested he was ready to make an innuendo, but they clapped a hand over his mouth to silence it. Their other hand moved to his forehead, and he slumped as the magic took over.
Kit woke up in his bed, head pounding and his lights still on. He had no memory of how he'd gotten there.
"Finally."
He jumped at the sound of the voice, turning to face the druid and he suddenly remembered the moments right up until he blacked out. He leapt from his bed and drew his sword, feigning bravery, but he fell back against the wall.
"You're going to hurt yourself."
"Who are you?"
They stood at the other side of the bed and didn't reply.
"Well, did it work?" he asked, still pointing his sword.
"No."
He expected them to go on, but it was clear this druid didn't do a lot of talking.
He lowered his sword, but didn't let down his guard. His back slid down the wall and he let his throbbing head rest between his knees. He still didn't know what that druid did to him.
"Well, your mission failed. You can go home now, or whatever, clearly 'The Gods' mislead you."
This seemed to strike a chord. "The Gods never lie. Not to me. There's something here that's blocking your spirit."
Kit rolled his eyes and stood. "What the hell does that even-"
"The dark man." The druid turned away, slipping into the sitting room and yanking back the curtains to the window.
The prince scrambled to follow them. "Who's the dark man?"
They didn't seem to see anything from the window and moved towards the spiral stairs. He followed them up to the study, but was stopped by their hands on his shoulders.
"Calm down, I can't focus when you're buzzing like this."
"'Buzzing?'"
"No time."
They shoved past the prince, back down the stairs and out the door. There was no effort to disguise themself this time, which only made it harder for Kit to "calm down." This was the second time they threw their shot at becoming a mage, and he was starting to wonder if they really cared about that in the first place.
Guards chased after the mage, but Kit demanded they stand down. Though they refused to respect him as a prince, they respected him as a Knight of the Round Table and did as they were told.
The mage led him through twists and turns, up stairs and down them, as though they were following someone. But he couldn't see who it was, and he knew they wouldn't answer if he asked how they knew where to go.
Finally, they arrived at the King's quarters. Kit gulped, but he was starting to feel it, too. That dampening, something that felt like it was weighing on his soul. It was the nagging feeling he'd always gotten when he knew there was something he had to do, a promise he had to keep.
The two were stopped and surrounded by the fleet of guards protecting the King's quarters.
"We're not the ones you should worry about," Chalice warned, eyes darting up the wall. The guards looked up as well, as if to see what they were looking at, which gave them enough time to slip through their defenses.
"Cover me!" they called, and Kit obeyed, taking his sword and holding back the guards that tried to pursue the mage. He managed to hold them back just long enough for Chalice to break the lock and burst through the King's door before he was overtaken.
But a sword halted just before it swept across his stomach by another blade, a sword he knew too well.
"I'm fine if you cut him up a little but no one will be killing my nephew while I'm on guard. Stand down."
He looked up to see the face of his Aunt Selene as she removed her helmet.
"Thank you," he said, bowing his head to her in shame.
"Oh, cut it out, you little rat. I don't have time for this, your little friend seems serious."
She called to her men and Kit was dropped to the floor, recalling what he was there for in the first place. He scrambled after them, but didn't make it far. A hand clapped over his mouth and he was tugged against a figure, sturdy but thin, and cold as ice.
"If you make a sound, I'll kill you too," the stranger said, lips brushing against Kit's ear.
He wished he could say the shiver down his spine only arose from fear.
"You'd gain nothing from killing me, they hate me," Kit whispered back after worming the hand from his face. It was bizarrely easy. Perhaps it was because the knife against his throat did the trick.
"See, your King is going to die whether I kill you or not. If you die, I gain your silence."
"I don't know what you even look like, how the hell would I know what to tell them?"
The man gave a deep chuckle. "A blade to your throat and you still find the time to joke?"
"My charm is all I really have going for me," Kit retorted.
"Your stature says otherwise."
"Are you flirting with me?"
Before the man could reply, Kit was tossed onto the ground, distracting the guards making their way out from the room once more, followed by a pale-faced and fuming King Wylan.
"Kristofer, what in God's name are you doing here?" he bellowed.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I—"
"Your Majesty, he came to protect you along with the druid. You'd be dead without him."
It was Lady Selene who came to his defense once again, side eyeing him as if to say 'you owe me, kid.' It wouldn't be the first time.
The King continued to glare as Kit rose to his feet, but luckily directed his attention to more pressing matters.
"Who was it?" he asked the druid. "And is he still here?"
"He left," the druid said. "I don't know who it was, but I know one thing. He's Unseelie."
how's this for a fast beginning lol