Chapter Text
Every part of Shane’s body ached. It had been two weeks of hard riding, steering his steed through treacherous mountain passes and early spring rivers. He missed his bed. He missed having a bed at all. Shane would never regret accepting his knighthood, but he was beginning to regret accepting this quest.
As his horse tread dutifully down a rocky path, Shane let his mind wander. Somewhere out there, his parents were eating dinner. Were they talking about him? Wondering where he was? Or had the conversation moved on to nicer things?
What about Queen Rose of Landry? If Shane were at her dinner table right now, he’d be holding back a few choice words.
What was it she told him? I need you to do a favor for King Alexei of Rozanov. You’ll be back by the end of the month.
End of the month his ass.
Apparently the good King Alexei had a little brother. Apparently said brother had been kidnapped several years ago and was now trapped in a hidden tower just past Landry’s southern mountains, making it Shane’s job to stage a quiet rescue mission that wouldn’t cause any international stir. No big deal. Oh, and apparently despite this being a hostage situation, King Alexei didn’t think there was anyone actually guarding the tower. For some reason. Super trustworthy intel.
If Shane died out here, he was going to haunt Rose for one million years.
The past four days had been nothing but mountains, mountains, mountains, save for a few hours in a small mining village. Everyone had looked at Shane funny when he asked about the tower, but no one had denied one’s existence just a few hours beyond the base of the mountain. A charming young lady with curly hair had even pointed Shane in the right direction. It had, actually, been the completely wrong direction, causing him to waste a day and a half backtracking, but he was doing his best not to be angry about that.
Finally, finally, the mountain path levelled out, leading Shane and his steed into a forest.
The first buds of spring hung gently from the trees above, framed by fresh green leaves. Shane gave himself a moment to marvel at them. Winter had been long this year, especially in the capital up north. He had almost forgotten that spring was coming.
There was still half an hour left until sunset. Now was probably the time to make camp. Shane’s eyes traced the last rays of light as they slipped through the canopy, falling gently on the beaten path—
There was a knight standing in the middle of the trail.
Shane’s blood ran cold. Of course the king’s intel had been wrong. Whatever enemy faction had kidnapped the prince probably had a dozen knights stationed all around the tower, ready to tear apart any fool who ventured too close. How else could one be here, still miles out from the prince’s prison?
But… wait. Shane squinted. Was it a knight? The man ahead was wearing nearly a full suit of armor, sure, but none of it matched. The breastplate, the helmet, the greeves... they all looked as though they'd been pulled from different suits. None of them fit quite right. Only the sword in his hand seemed to suit the man well.
Not a knight then. Not even a soldier. Just some fighter, roughly 30 yards down the path. Maybe he was here by coincidence? Perhaps he’d be happy to let Shane pass by?
“Handsome knight!” the fighter shouted, waving his blade. He had a thick Rozanovian accent. “Here to rescue me?”
Shane drew his sword. “I am Sir Hollander of Landry! I command you to lower your weapon!”
The fighter sighed, heaving his chest dramatically. "Here for prince, no?"
Shit. Okay. Well. New plan then.
Shane nodded. "I'm not looking to cause any trouble. Just let me through, and I'll spare your life."
A snort. "My life is fine. You? You turn around."
"Not an option. I'm here on behalf of Rozanov to rescue the king’s younger brother, Prince Ilya."
The fighter stiffened. "Brother? King Grigori is prince's father."
Shane fought the urge to roll his eyes. Where were they getting these thugs from? "Haven't you heard? The old king is dead. He passed away six months ago."
The fighter didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. He just looked at Shane, helmet hiding his expression.
“So new king sends you?”
“Just step aside, please,” Shane said. “Don’t get involved.”
“Oh, I am involved.” The fighter was walking forward now, closing the distance between them. “Very involved.”
Fuck. Shane quickly took stock of the situation. Normally, being on horseback would have put him at a clear advantage, but the trail was too thin and the brush was too thick. His horse couldn’t do more than move slowly in a straight line.
“Run away, Hollander,” the fighter shouted. He was only 15 yards away. “I do not want to kill you today.”
Shit. Shit. Shane slid off his horse, stepping ahead of it with his sword raised. He was in no state to fight right now. Every part of him was already sore and tired, and he wasn’t wearing his full suit, just his chainmail.
But he had fought with less.
As soon as his opponent was in range, Shane shot forward, aiming for the man’s left side. The fighter’s shoddy armor had a wide variety of weak spots. Any one of them could grant Shane the winning blow.
This time, though, the fighter stepped back, easily dodging the knight’s lunge. He then raised his own sword, forcing Shane to stumble back as he parried the blow.
The pair fell into a quick rhythm. Shane would attack, the fighter would dodge and counter, Shane would parry and attack again. The man seemed intimately aware of his armor’s faults, luring the knight in with false openings.
Shane couldn’t let this drag on. His opponent was lighter on his feet, full of energy. Shane, meanwhile, could barely keep up. He was too tired for this. It was only a lifetime of training, drilled into his very instincts, that kept him in the fight.
“You serve King Rozanov, but you are from Landry.” The fighter’s blade clashed against Shane’s, pushing hard. “Why?”
Shane gritted his teeth, shoving his opponent back. “I don’t–” he heaved, “–serve the king. This is just a favor.”
“Favor. You cross mountain for favor?”
Shane scoured his brain for some smart retort, some insult or observation that’d let him win both the verbal and physical spar, but before he could come up with anything, his foot slipped.
At once, Shane was on the ground, a blade hovering above his face.
The fighter was smiling, panting hard as he pulled his helmet off.
Shane stopped breathing.
The face above of him was like marble made man, jaw chiseled and nose strong. The fighter’s hair, golden in the evening sun, curled around his head like a halo. He was the most beautiful person Shane had ever seen.
With a start, Shane realized that he might also be the last.
“You die for favor?” the fighter asked, grinning wildly.
Shane stopped himself from shaking his head. The blade was too close for that. “I die for my queen.”
“Ah. Boring.” The bastard was clearly savoring the moment. Shane wanted to kick his stupid teeth in. “Very boring. Just like your fighting.”
Shane did not say anything. There was nothing to say. If he had to die, he would not beg. Knights did not beg. Hollanders did not beg.
It suddenly occurred to Shane that his parents would never see him again. Would they even find out what happened to him?
The fighter kicked Shane’s sword from his hand, stomping down hard on his left wrist. Shane bit his cheek to keep from crying out.
Blade still above Shane’s face, the fighter reached down to pick up the dropped sword.
“Very nice,” he said, examining it closely. “Trade?”
Shane was too shocked to respond as the fighter tossed his old weapon into the woods. So shocked, in fact, that he didn’t think to brace as his opponent kicked him in the gut.
The fighter strolled back down the trail as Shane gasped for air, still on his back. The sun was setting quickly now, giving the stranger new shadows to disappear into.
“Do not come back!” the fighter shouted over his shoulder, giving Shane’s sword a twirl. “I will kill you!”
And just like that, Shane and his horse were alone.
It took him twenty minutes to find the discarded sword in the dark. He made camp right there, too tired to light a fire.