Free The King's Blood by S. E. Zbasnik, Sabrina Zbasnik Page B

dirty limericks and a prostitute who turned to teaching to supplement her income.  
    Aldrin's eyes grew wide as Ciara again slowly raised her glass to her face. She whispered over her drink, "Sit down, slowly."
    His buttocks obeyed before he absorbed anything she said. The life drained from the room with the appearance of the two soldiers. Men traveling with war were never a good sign even in the best of times. Anyone throwing around the name Harbinger tended to find himself naked outside the town with a   few days missing from his memory. And most in that tiny room watched the flames leaping across the towers in the west through the night.
    A small boy, or possibly a girl, was shoved out from behind the apple crates with a bottle of brandy tucked under his or her arm and two glasses balanced on her? head. Despite being unable to find their own bottom with both hands and an assist from the other, the soldiers still managed to snatch the brandy out from her arm and pour it into the glasses.
    As the second was lifted off his head, the small child yelped and dashed back to the safety of the crates. The intruders clanked glasses and were about to drink when Bearded stood up. "A toast! To the Empire!"
    "Ja! To the Empire!" his compatriot joined in.
    No one else in the place moved their hands. The cold, previously kept at bay by the roaring fire, crept across the creaking floorboards as the men started to wave their arms around, banging their scabbards together in a mock fight under the table.  
    "I was there," Bearded started, as if he'd told this tale a thousand times before. "I watched that blade go right through tha' fat bastards neck."
    "Ya was na.' Ya were off'n hidin' under the castle mistresses skirts."
    Ciara tightened, her muscles clenching as her fingernails dug into the table, scraping green paint off. Aldrin tried to not look at the drunken louts but his cursed curiosity was getting the better of him again. The Queen always said it would be the death of his cat, or something like that. Aldrin could never get close enough to the throne room to make the entire thing out.
    Clean-shaven had his back to Aldrin, but Bearded put down his mug and, as he poured another round, looked right into the boy's eyes, "Dunna kid me. I was there, I watched it all. They cut that fat king's head right off and carted it back to Avar."
    The lopsided floor flew away from Aldrin as the blood drained into his royal shoes. Whatever joy he had from playing he was on a grand adventure away from duty and nobility withered inside him as that bastard carelessly let slip his father was dead.  
    Bearded bastard kept a preternaturally, seemingly undrunk stare with the boy's eyes, locked upon him with a challenge. Try something, kid. I killed your kin; I'll kill you too.  
    He felt the cry moving in his throat, knew that letting on would spell his own doom in his endless struggle for being allowed to keep breathing, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. If they, the mercenaries of the usurper, figured out who he was -- even discerned he had any close ties to the throne -- he'd be diced before his boots hit the floor. But still the scream grew, a tear building behind his eyes as he tried to keep it in check.
    Just then a hand clamped down upon his, squeezing tight. It was the only warmth he felt in his entire body. Aldrin's eyes swung down to it, breaking the curse. Bearded went back to his companion, the two of them singing a song in Aravingion, seeming to give little to no shits they were still deep in Ostero territory.
    Ciara leaned close to the boy prince, his eyes still brimming. "Not here," she whispered.
    He shook his head, uncertain if he was agreeing or disagreeing with her, just needing this to all go away, for it to have all been some horrible dream, one he can soon wake from. He'd be back in his room with the cracked flagstone where his Father once tripped and bowled over the Bishop of Ostero. His headless Father...
    But Ciara