The Chosen Prince?

By Gina

            The water dribbled down his face, but he still didn’t stir. The two cloaked figures exchanged half-hearted concerned looks, until one of them stepped forward and tapped the man with his foot. He grunted, but that was all. They stood there for a few more moments before one of them said,

            “You’re the one that wants him to go. You wake him up.”

            A disgusted sneer.

            “I’m not touching him.”

            “Who said you had to touch him?”

            “How else would you expect me to wake him?”

            “Use a pole or something.”

            “I’m not looking for a pole.”

            “Well that’s because you’re a stupid and lazy cad.”

            “Am not.”

            “Are to.”

            “No.”

            “Yes.”

            “No!”

            “Yes!”

            “Excuse me, who are you and why are you here?”

            They whirled around to see the object of their argument staring at them bleary-

eyed and yawning. He didn’t show much interest in them, and he really didn’t seem to care who they were, as all he did was examine a scab on his elbow. A sigh of contempt.

            The figure on the right took down their hood and waited for the man’s gasp of surprise. It never came. A cleared throat. Nothing. Louder again. Still nothing. A throaty, gasping cough. Oh, an attention grabber.

            “Would you like some water?” he asked, still looking at his damn elbow. He glanced up at the unmasked person. A lifted eyebrow but no gasps of awe or stuttered compliments.

             “I believe you have a beetle in your hair,” he said, standing up and retrieving a flask from the end of his mat, ignoring the frantic swats the person made. He took a swig of the water before sticking his hand out. After no one took it, he shook his hand.

            “Come on, take it. I’m not going to hold my hand out all fuckin’ day.”

            He sat back down on the mat, and scratched his head, looking around for something. With a small cry of ‘ah ha’ he pulled a wrinkled and stained tunic up from under a pair of muddy and cracked boots. After a few good shakes, he put it on over his head and shook his hair out. He looked up at his visitors and finally took notice of a few key things.

            “That’s interesting. Judging by your lack of mud caked clothing and painfully clean skin, I’m going to assume you’re some sort of royalty. Am I right?”

            Beetle-hair glared at him before taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

            “My name is Roselyn Maria Gavin Machianni. I’ve been asked to find you and bring you back to Dunaley. I don’t really want you to know this, but… well, we’re betrothed.”

            “Well that’s lovely Miss Roselyn. But I’m in no mood to be in a monogamous relationship right now, so we may have to put that one on hold,” he answered, although he did give her a one-over. Long blonde hair, nice curves, slender neck, pretty face. Not bad. Attitude needs some work. He glanced at the other person standing there, whose face had yet to be revealed.

            “An’ you? Who might you be?” The man glanced at Roselyn, who gave a curt nod. The man, for the meaty hands made his gender obvious… and if it was a woman, well then bless the poor dear for possessing such masculine mitts, slowly tugged the cloak away from his face. Cringe.

            “I am Sir Henry Wallaby. I’ve come to-”

            “Excuse me, did you say Wallaby?”

            “Yes. Why?”

            “Oh, nothing.”

            “I’ve come with Lady Roselyn as a guide. We needed to find you and bring you back to the land of Dunaley, so that King Willoughby. Of course there will be an extravagant homecoming feast for you and-”

            “Yes, see that’s where I’m confused. What do you want with me? I’m quite content to stay here and continue working, and forget about you in a day or two. And what do you mean homecoming? Who do you think I am?”

            Sir Henry and Lady Roselyn exchanged confused glances. Sir Henry took a parchment from his sleeve and glanced between it and the young man standing in front of him.

            “Would you mind me asking if you happen to have a birthmark on your left buttock? Looks like a little freckle?” Sir Henry asked rather bluntly.

            “Yes…. I do. Have you been spying on me at the river?” He ignored Lady Roselyn’s disgusted scoff. Sir Henry shook his head.

            “No. And do you also have a scar –well it may be gone now- but possibly a scar on your chest? Right by your ribs?” Sir Henry asked again. A quick inspection through a hole in the shirt proved that one positive also.

            “Well that settles that. You are Prince Jayce of the Kingdom of Dunaley. King Willoughby is your father, Queen Mariam is your mother, and you have a few brothers and sisters but they’re not as important as you.”

            “Why is that?” Jayce asked, eyeing these strangers warily.

            “Because you’re the heir to the throne and they will never be as important as you. Unless you die. Then Dacen will become king. He’s only a year younger than you,” Lady Roselyn explained, looking at the condition of her nails. Jayce nodded a few times as he thought this through. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

            “Well, it was lovely to meet you but I must be getting to work. So maybe, in a few years or so, I can go see the king and be a prince or whatever, but right now… I don’t think I will. So, have a charming time here in Fleece and I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a room and such.” He stood in the doorway and turned around.

            “I’d say see you later, but hopefully I won’t. Good bye!” he called over his shoulder, bounding down the stairs and into the tavern. Sir Henry looked alarmed, and Lady Roselyn looked mildly peeved. They followed the man down the stairs and watched as he walked about the room, brushing shoulders with the tavern wenches and sharing a few smiles and winks with them. They stayed at the counter and watched him pour cups of mead for the few patrons there. A maid walking by with her friend muttered,

            “Goodness, if his smiles are any indication to how he is in bed, sign me up.”

            Lady Roselyn politely blushed appropriately at the comment, but pretended to have not noticed it, as her nails still proved far more interesting. After a few more minutes, Jayce looked up, spotted them and sighed.

            “You two still here? Listen, I don’t have enough rooms for you; unless you wouldn’t mind sharing one, but I’m sure that would be horribly indecent of you,” he joked, taking a gulp of the ale in his hand. Sir Henry put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

            “It would be wise of you to come with us now,” he said lowly, stepping closer to Jayce, whose only indication that he heard was an eye roll.

            “Listen, I’m not leaving with some stuffed-up, prissy nobles,” he sneered. He tried to move around Sir Henry but suddenly found himself staring up at him, and a throbbing pain emitting from his jaw. The tavern grew quiet as everyone looked at their pub tender sprawled on the floor and a hulking mass of cloth and muscle standing over him, twitching with annoyance.

            “You’re coming and that’s final,” Sir Henry muttered gruffly. “Pack your belongings- we’re leaving now.”

            Jayce mumbled insults as he got to his feet and brushed off his shirt. He stomped up the stairs to his room and threw the very few things he did own into his leather bag, still muttering curses to knights, sirs, and all those that think they’re privileged for whatever reason. He trudged back down the stairs, slamming the door for good measure. He silently followed Sir Henry and Lady Roselyn outside, looking grimly determined and brave, making a few wenches woo. He scuffed his toe in the dirt as Sir Henry and Lady Roselyn mounted their horses.

            “Well?” Sir Henry asked expectantly and Jayce looked around. He gave Sir Henry a deadpan look.

            “Well what?” He shifted his shoulders. Damn this bag is heavy.

            “Well what?” Sir Henry roared in mock confusion. “Well where’s your damn horse? Or were you planning on walking behind us the whole time?”

            “Contrary to popular belief, I am not rich. Therefore, I do not own a horse. I’ve had no need for one, of course, that was until you came barging into my room demanding me to see this King Willoughby and now I’ve-” Jayce started to ramble angrily, but Sir Henry cut him off. Almost literally, as he had sheathed his sword and was walking over to a weary traveler, that was suddenly looking a lot more alert and nervous. Jayce watched warily as the knight and the traveler exchanged a few words, cast a few glances towards Jayce, and then the knight was walking back over with a rather fine horse. The traveler was now pocketing a rather heavy bag of gold… well, hopefully gold. He’d be sorely disappointed if it wasn’t.

            Jayce continued musing over this until the reins of his new horse were thrust into his face. He glared at Sir Henry before grabbing the reins and climbing up before he could be commanded to. Lady Roselyn watched with mild amusement at the exchange. Of course, Jayce’s rear was also another sight she did not mind seeing. They all shared a collective sigh and similar thoughts as they spurred their horses and rode away from the seamy town.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Who threatens someone for a horse?”

“I can’t believe I’m dragging this pathetic boy to see King Willoughby. Who doesn’t own a horse?”

“I can’t believe I’m stuck traveling with Sir Henry again. And Jayce, who’s admittedly quite handsome. Damn! My nail broke! Agh, where did I put my filer?”

A/N: So, yeah, this is the first chapters. I have a very, very vague idea of where I’m going with this, but I’m sure reviews will encourage me! *wink wink nudge nudge*