A/N: First, Happy New Year. We've got about 8 hours to go here - but have been watching the rest of the world's celebrations. This chapter is longer than normal - but you deserve it, and if I cut it sooner, you wouldn't get the interaction with the Earl. May 2016 bring you peace and prosperity. k8.
It had taken longer than he'd thought, but with Squire Joshua's assistance, Kurt had managed to dispatch their assailants in the end. It had been apparent that these men operated under the same assumption that many who faced Prince Kurt did – that his preference for men made him weaker than the average man.
There was nothing average about Prince Kurt, not the least of which his skills at combat. It was an assumption that had cost the assassins their lives.
"Leave the bodies, Squire," Kurt ordered, using the nearby drapery to wipe the blood from his sword. "We need to alert the Guard and find my father."
"What about Blaine – Duke Anderson?" Joshua used his teeth to pull a strip of his shirt tight around his arm to stay the bleeding from a wound he'd received.
Kurt put his hand on his squire's shoulder, propelling him down the hallway. "The rope he pulled caused the door to shut. Permanently. Well, at least until the castle's masons see if they can reset it. Point is – we can't get through and I don't know where that tunnel leads to. Frankly, I'm not sure any person living knows where it goes."
Looking quizzically at the prince, Squire Joshua said, "Well, if you don't mind me asking, Sir, how did you know of its existence in the first place? And how will we find the duke?"
Ruffling the young man's hair with his fingers, Kurt explained, "It was one of the first lessons I remember my mother teaching me – the location of the royal bolt holes. The next time you are near the roofs, really look at the castle walls. You'll start to notice that some of them seem too thick or bend in odd places. Some of that are just passageways to connect different rooms – the kitchen to the royal quarters, or my great-grandfather's room to his mistress's quarters. Scandalous, I know."
"And as to how we will find Duke Blaine … well, hopefully the castle maps have been kept up-to-date in the last two hundred or so years. If not," he spoke softly as his father approached with a contingent of Royal Guardsmen, "we can ask the Spy Master. He'll know."
"Your Majesty," Prince Kurt and Squire Joshua said as the king stopped in front of them.
Waving half of the Guard forward to continue searching the hallway, King Burt gripped Kurt's chin, peering at the bruising that was just beginning to form on his cheek. "Care to explain how this occurred?" Before Kurt could answer, Burt's eyes narrowed as he took in Squire Joshua – and only Squire Joshua. "Where's Blaine?"
Kurt swallowed. "He's in the tunnels."
Shaking his head in disbelief, King Burt stared hard at his son. "You sent him into the tunnels? What happened between when I left you and now – besides the obvious?"
"It was the safest place for him," Kurt insisted, unease creeping into his voice. "There were five assailants in total. Blaine would have been in the way. As it was, he was almost taken hostage."
"Almost?" replied the king.
"He fought back. Your Majesty," Squire Joshua answered before realizing who he was actually addressing and flushing. "Sir. He took the dirk I gave him and killed the man who had been holding a sword to his throat. After that he dove into the tunnel and pulled the cord. We were unable to follow him."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, King Burt took a moment to let that information sink in. "Of course not, Squire. That was the purpose of having those escape tunnels built in the first place. Alistair is in the royal quarters with the family and my advisors. Seek him out. He'll know where the spy master's maps of our escape tunnels might be. You have my permission to take a squad of guardsmen and seek out Duke Blaine and bring him to safety."
Kurt raised an eyebrow at his father. "And Your Majesty will be … where, exactly?"
A hardness dropped across Burt's features. "This has Smythe's handwriting all over it. Anderson is a pompous ass, but assassination and kidnapping isn't his style. He's too much of a coward and too worried about how he's perceived by others. If I have my way, Smythe won't live to see the morning sunrise."
Though fearful of his father's safety, Kurt knew his objections would fall on deaf ears. "Be safe, Father," he murmured, gripping his father's arm firmly.
"Do the same, please." King Burt smiled. "And go find my new Duke. I'm rather fond of him."
As his father walked away, Kurt called out, "I apologize for the mess I left in the hallway. I will make it up to the laundress and the floor maids once I find our new Duke."
"You know how she hates trying to rid the rugs of blood," King Burt called back over his shoulder.
"Couldn't be helped," Kurt insisted.
Four guardsmen remained behind to escort the prince and Squire Joshua to the royal quarters. Glancing at his Head Squire, Kurt motioned with his head that they should go. "You did remarkably well in your first test of battle. Do you feel up to continuing on, Squire?"
"Yes, Your Highness," the young man replied immediately.
"Then let's go find the Special Emissary and get your arm tended to so we can find Blaine."
The sounds of grunting and fists hitting flesh reached the knights' ears as they turned the corner. Glancing his men, Knight-Lieutenant Dave Karofsky took off at a run towards the barracks room at the end of the hall. Reaching the open door, it only took a moment to realize what was happening. Take three steps in, Sir Karofsky wrapped his arm around the neck of the young knight-trainee who was pummeling the man beneath him and hauled him backwards.
"ENOUGH!" Sir Dave shouted, startling everyone in the room. Eyes burning with rage he stabbed a finger at the boys holding the arms of the abused man. "Place him on his cot and leave. You will be dealt with later."
The young man with damaged knuckles stood in front of his Knight-Lieutenant, righteous indignation dripping from him. "We were … interrogating him. He is a Smythe after all."
Taking a step forward, Sir Dave leaned down into the trainee's space. "We don't act like this," he hissed. "Ever. If King Burt or the princes find out that you were here, treating a fellow trainee like this … you'll be on the next ship sailing across the ocean for parts unknown."
"But he's a Smythe-"
"He's your fellow trainee," Sir Dave growled, his voice become quieter as his anger continued to fester. "This is your last warning. Get out before I decide to discipline you myself."
Watching as the three cocky young men grumbled their way out of the room, Sir Dave gave a signal to his companions to follow behind. "Keep them out of further troubles," he murmured before turning to take in the mess that used to be Lord Sebastian Smythe. "I apologize for their behavior, my Lord."
Sebastian raised his face, but failed to meet the knight's gaze. "It's only Sebastian … sir. I have no title anymore. And I suppose I deserve such treatment, given my father's actions."
Quietly shutting the door, Karofsky pulled the wooden stool at the foot of the bed closer and sat down. "No one deserves such treatment. Although, in my youth, I would have taken matters in my own hands, much as they did. Still … I am charged with their training, and have clearly been remiss."
He took in the shaking of the former lord's hands, and the tears he was fighting back and something akin to sympathy formed in Dave's heart. "It's not that bad … being a part of the Royal Army," he spoke quietly. Remembering when he'd made his own choice to join gave Dave insight into what Sebastian was feeling.
Clearing his throat, Sir Dave spoke the words that had haunted him for so long. "There are some who think we're only … unfeeling, imbecilic drones in need of a month-long bath before being presented in public.
A terrified look passed over Sebastian's face as he finally met Dave's eyes. "And perhaps you could not eat during that month to bring you down to a more manageable size," he whispered.
Sir Dave tipped his head to the side, a half-smile forming on his lips. "I've often wondered if you remembered our interaction. Truthfully, I'm not sure how I feel about it, now that I know that you do. Well, it makes no difference now. Get up. I'll take you to get cleaned up and some food. You're too much of a sitting duck in here right now." Standing, Sir Dave moved the stool back into place with the toe of his foot.
"I. I remember the words, but not the man," stammered Sebastian, still waiting for another physical blow. "We. we've met before?"
Karofsky held out a hand and when the young man failed to take it, reached down and gripped Sebastian's wrist, pulling him to his feet. "Twice. No, three times," he commented. At the Midsummer Festival years ago, at your father's Masquerade last year, and that night at the Dancing Bear," Sir Dave offered, mentioning a tavern frequented by men seeking the company of other men.
"My words were cruel," moaned Sebastian, clutching at his ribs as he took to his feet. "I apologize."
Resting a hand on the door knob, Sir Dave looked over his shoulder. "I accept your apology, my Lord."
Pressing his lips together in a thin line, Sebastian shook his head. "It's just Sebastian."
"You will never be just anything," Sir Dave answered, staring at the wood grain in the door. "You'll train and learn and work harder than you ever have in your lifetime. You'll travel places and see horrors that no man should ever see. But even if someone were so inclined to try to beat the nobility out of you – they'd find that to be impossible. You are noble, Lord Sebastian Smythe. What we give you now is a way to decide what kind of noble blood you wish to become."
Dave startled when Lord Sebastian dropped a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed. "Thank you."
Nodding once, Dave replied, "You're welcome." Opening the door he stepped into the hallway, asking, "Shall we see if the cook has anything left over from the reception?" Not waiting for a response, he led the way through the cool hallways toward the kitchens.
"Shouldn't you be with the others, searching for my father and Duke Anderson?" Sebastian asked, finding it hard to keep up with the Knight-Lieutenant because of his injured ribs.
"I've been assigned to keep you under guard," Sir Dave answered taking a circular stone staircase down a level. "But my orders didn't say anything about not eating. One of the lessons you will learn rather quickly as a knight-trainee is to eat when you have the time because you never know when the next meal might come."
As they arrived at the kitchen door, Marley glanced up and gave Dave a harried smile. Pointing at two large wooden tables covered with platters of food she said breathlessly, "Anything there is fair game for the castle staff. Plates are stacked at the end of the table. You'll have to find your own places to sit and frankly your own drinks."
"Thank you Miss Marley," Sir Dave called watching her go back to directing the kitchen staff to bring various trays of food to various rooms in the castle where guests were now being kept under close watch. He chuckled quietly at her wave of acknowledgment which looked more like someone shooing a fly away.
After filling his plate and slipping several rolls into the pockets of his outercoat, Dave led Sebastian to a dining hall several rooms away. Other castle inhabitants not involved in the wedding sat eating their evening meal. Finding a place away from most of the others, Dave sat, motioning for Sebastian to do the same.
Once they'd eaten a fair bit, Dave put down his fork and knife. Studying the man across from him, Dave waited for him to chew his bite of food then asked, "Where do you think your father has gone? Do you have any idea what his plans might be?"
"A torch. A torch or a lantern. A bloody candle would be nice," Blaine muttered as he continued in darkness. He had no concept of time, given the complete pitch blackness that surrounded him. He could have been walking an hour or two or a day for all he knew. "You could have put that next to the rope with a match or a nice piece of flint."
Sighing loudly, Blaine stopped to rest for a moment. Since his tremendous spill earlier, he'd managed to only stumble, but not fall, twice. The narrow pathway seemed to be sloping gently downwards, although Blaine acknowledged to himself that it could just be the knock he took to his chin giving him this perception.
"Maybe we should just lay down and take a nap," he said to no one. "No, Blaine, that's a rather daft idea. You'll wake up to find your toes have become a meal for Norbert and his rat family and given your luck so far, you'll wake up disoriented and travel back up the path you've just walked. No, no naps for us."
"You realize we're arguing with ourselves," he groaned.
"Well, it's either us or Norbert … and he's been rather silent on the matter. Which, frankly Norbert, is perfectly acceptable." He giggled rather manically when he heard Norbert squeak a reply. "Lovely. Norbert's answering me now."
Heaving himself to his feet, Blaine continued on. "Well, Norbert, it seems as if you are to be my second-in-command. Earl Norbert Ratt of Castle Hummel it is. You see, I've recently been made a duke, because the former duke, who just happens to be my father, was … is a rather loathsome man. When he found out I preferred the company of men, he tried to force my marriage to an agreeable young woman who just tonight got married to Prince Finn. Yes, it is rather convoluted. Try to keep up."
Running his fingers through his curls, Blaine continued. "The prince – Prince Kurt – came to interview me about my marriage. Long story short, we invoked the Consent of King article. After that night, I returned home and several weeks later, Kurt rode in on his high horse and rescued me. I've been here in the castle since."
"The king decided to take action to address the issue of my father and Duke Smythe but they apparently escaped their guard. Other men were here in the castle waiting to do … well I'm actually not sure what, but one attacked me and I killed him. I've never killed a man before, Norbert. And I'm not sure how I feel about it – other than I'm thankful to be here on the side of the living."
The hairs on the back of Blaine's neck stood up as his body perceived something unusual up ahead. Stopping in his tracks, Blaine opened his eyes to find the tunnel to be just as dark as before. Closing them again, he concentrated, trying to determine what had changed. Changing his grip on the dirk, Blaine tried to move as silently as possible. When a pebble skittered over the stone floor, Blaine realized what was different – the sound. Something was standing in his path.
Holding one hand out in front of him, Blaine raised the dirk to his ear, ready to lash out if needed. Deciding to use the element of surprise, if he had it, Blaine made a sudden rush forward – slamming himself, and the dirk, into a wooden door.