The Twin Princes Read online

  ‘Your face betrays you, Prince Rickert. You wish for a weapon. Interesting. I would never have thought that you, of such royal blood, would wish for violence.’

  Rickert couldn’t have been more surprised. ‘For Blood and Branch,’ he said without missing a beat, quoting the kingdom’s words.

  The shadow chuckled again, like nails on a chalkboard. Then, as if someone had snuffed the wick of a candle, the shadow stopped laughing. ‘I’m not here for you. I am here for Rhiannon.’

  Rickert's eyes widened. ‘I could have you hanged for this. Leave now, while I still have mercy in my heart,’ he warned, clutching Rhiannon's hand behind him.

  The shadow flashed another smile from within the darkness.

  ‘You may make a good king one day, Rickert. If I allow you to live that long.’ The shadow chuckled and shook his head. Rhiannon put her hand on Rickert's shoulder.

  ‘It’s okay, Rickert,’ she whispered.

  Rickert turned his head in shock. ‘Rhi, you know this man?’

  ‘She knows me,’ the shadow snapped. ‘Rhi, I’m hurt. You never talk about me?’

  ‘Shut your mouth. Only I can call her that.’ Rickert trembled in anger and confusion. Rhiannon stepped in front of Rickert and grabbed his head, pulling his face close to hers. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled.

  ‘Run along, dear brother. I will meet you in our chambers in a bit. Tell our handmaid that we desire lamb roast tonight, would you?’

  She let go of Rickert's head and walked toward the shadow. She turned as the shadow hugged her close to his body.

  ‘Run along now, little prince. Your precious sister will be along shortly.’ The man chuckled as he slipped thin and knobby fingers into Rhiannon's shirt. Rhiannon closed her eyes and gasped.

  ‘Go now, Rickert,’ she snapped, blinking tears away.

  ‘No!’ Rickert began to tremble in anger. ‘I will not let this happen.’

  ‘Go!’ The shadow leaned into the dim light, highlighting the features of his face. Rickert gasped.

  Morrenwylf.

  ‘You,’ Rickert whispered, his confidence slowly waning.

  High Primarch Morrenwylf was the leader of the House of Advocacy, which made up the majority of the Council of Alestaeyn. He held power in the courts, almost enough to rival Rickert's royal bloodline. He would be the one to declare Rickert the new King of Felheim when coronation day arrived.

  ‘Go now, Rickert. And mention this to no one. For who would believe such an incident from a snottish brat like you?’ Morrenwylf frowned as he looked at Rickert. ‘Be glad that I am in good mood not to taste you either; one day it might be the case that I change my mind. Best be like your sister, who knows when to please. Now go, before I savour her before you.’ Morrenwylf pointed to a door with a long and crooked finger. The door was slightly open. Rickert lowered his head, not knowing what to do. He clenched his fists.

  ‘Rickert, go. Please,’ said Rhiannon, her voice a whisper in the darkness.

  Morrenwylf turned and slapped Rhiannon, hard. She fell to the ground, blood running down her face. ‘Shut your mouth, you little fuck.’

  Rickert clenched his fists again and bared his teeth. Morrenwylf glanced at Rickert and rushed him. ‘I said go!’ He kicked Rickert in the stomach, tossing him past the door onto a stone staircase. Rickert stood up slowly, holding a hand to his stomach. Morrenwylf slammed the door in Rickert's face, plunging him into complete darkness.

  RICKERT'S DREAMS WERE tumultuous and prevented his sleep. His chest burned, and he tossed and turned in his white silk bedsheets. I left her there after she saved my life. How could I? A thousand times, Rickert imagined holding the knife and stabbing the high primarch in his throat. Rickert glanced up from his pillow and saw a small shadow over Rhiannon's bed. He hadn’t noticed Rhiannon creep in. Her white hair was barely visible in the moonlight from the large window. Rickert wanted to jump over to her bed and tell her that everything was going to be all right—that he would have Morrenwylf hanged in the morning. But he knew Morrenwylf was right. Who would believe him? The only person might be Noreadryyn, but what good was a tutor’s word? Even so, Rickert stood up from his bed and walked over to Rhiannon.

  She was shivering in her bedsheets.

  Rickert bit his lip.

  ‘Rhi?’ he whispered sharply. She continued to shiver. He put a hand on her bed, and she fell still. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘I don’t want you to call me by that nickname anymore, Rickert,’ Rhiannon said as she sat up and draped her arms around him. She wasn’t shivering, but crying. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his chest. The sun began to rise, sending rays of light through the tall and wide windows of the royal bedchamber. Rhiannon sniffed and looked down at the moisture she had left on his shirt.

  Rickert still didn’t know what to say.

  ‘How long has he…’ Rickert struggled to put the thoughts into words. A stinging silence descended on the two.

  ‘Too long,’ said Rhiannon finally.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have known.’

  ‘No.’ She sniffed again and wiped her nose. ‘No, it’s not you who should be sorry, dear brother.’

  ‘I have to do something about it,’ said Rickert, gritting his teeth. Rhiannon rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I want to leave. I want you to come with me,’ she said.

  He turned to look at her. ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anywhere but here.’

  The only way was south. But if discovered, humankind would put them to the sword. Everyone in Felheim knew how much humankind hated the elfen. To leave would mean certain death.

  ‘What about north?’ said Rhiannon, a ray of hope dancing in her eyes.

  ‘North?’ Rickert's eyes widened. It would be pure insanity. Only snowstorms and ice wraiths roamed north of Felheim in the Cairn of Winter, and beyond that was the Quiet Valley, where only the dead expelled from heaven resided. There was nothing to the north. Rickert closed his eyes and shook his head.

  ‘We could pay someone to kill…’ Rickert hesitated, trying to find the right words to give her courage. But he could not even finish the sentence. It was murder.

  Rhiannon shook her head.

  ‘Felheim is in tatters, and we have enemies to the south. We need Morrenwylf.’

  Rickert grabbed her face and put it close to his. Rhiannon squinted, and tears began to flow from her eyes. ‘Don’t you say that again. Don’t you ever say that again! Do you hear me, Rhiannon? We don’t need him. I refuse to believe it.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here a minute longer, Rickert. Take me away. Please?’ She put her hand on his cheek, sniffed, and clutched at him tightly.

  Rickert looked out the window and stared at the mountain range standing frozen and tall in the distance. ‘We can’t leave, but I promise I will think of something.’

  A knock at the door made Rhiannon jump slightly in Rickert's arms. Two handmaidens barged into the room, with the princes’ tutor in tow. Noreadryyn seemingly floated into the room and eyed the children warily. Her long black hair was tied tightly behind her, with the hair on the top of her head in a bun. She wore circular glasses that reflected the sunlight pouring through the window. Her long, thin blue dress stopped right above her perfectly shined blue shoes.

  ‘Good morrow.’ Noreadryyn curtsied to the elfen children. Her long ears were tied behind her head beneath her tightly fixed bun.

  ‘Good morrow, tutor Noreadryyn,’ the twins echoed, bowing their heads as they did each morning.

  ‘Today is a big day for the both of you. Your first council hearing, and it is an important meeting, younglings.’ Noreadryyn craned her neck. ‘Rhiannon, have you been crying? Has Rickert been mean to you again?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Rhiannon wiped the tears from her eyes and jumped off her bed. ‘I was just telling him a sad story.’

  ‘A sad story? Why would you be doing that?’

  ‘We all need sad stories in o
ur lives, Noreadryyn. When the good ones come, it makes us smile bigger,’ said Rhiannon, who was red-eyed but wore a bright smile as she walked over to a handmaid to get changed. Noreadryyn stared at Rhiannon through her glasses and then looked at Rickert. She snapped her fingers twice, making Rickert jump from the bed as well.

  Noreadryyn turned to her handmaidens. ‘Get them cleaned and ready,’ she barked and then turned to the twins. ‘Rickert and Rhiannon, you must begin practising your etiquette. This audience might be the most important meeting of the Council of Alestaeyn in the last century. You must at least look the part.’

  RICKERT HATED WEARING such decorative and extravagant dressings, but he knew he didn’t hate them as much as Rhiannon did. She always said the frilled collars and puffed sleeves looked like beautiful dandelions just waiting to be blown away. Rickert's throat felt itchy in the collar, but he couldn’t lift his arm to scratch his neck.

  ‘May I help you, my prince?’ asked a handmaid, almost startling Rickert. The elfen prince shook his head. The itch would go away with time. The handmaid retreated into silence and continued walking beside the princes. Four royal guards walked before them, and two walked behind. Noreadryyn kept her pace behind Rhiannon. Like a mother owl, she eyed her princes carefully.

  ‘When you arrive at the royal council chambers, you will not look at any person below you. They are your subordinates and you their future rulers. Own their respect,’ she said with such a pompous air of arrogance that Rickert struggled to keep from smiling. They walked along a broad whitestone path leading to the Council of Alestaeyn Chapel. The chapel itself was among the tallest and widest buildings in Felheim, taller than the royal palace. Only the Tower of Sanctuary was taller. Rickert stepped from the shadows, embarrassed by his own enlarged shadow on the stone tiles.

  I look ridiculous.

  ‘I look ridiculous,’ Rhiannon said, echoing his thought.

  Rickert turned to her. It was a trick that they were seemingly able to do from time to time. They shared a bond that was difficult to explain. It was hard to do at will and mostly happened by accident, without them even knowing it. Once, Rickert had experimented with their "connection". They had purposefully gone to different rooms, far from each other within the palace. Then, without telling Rhiannon, Rickert had pricked his finger with a sewing needle, drawing blood. He then wrote an X on his left cheek. He had then hurried back to his chambers and, to his surprise, found Rhiannon with her finger bleeding and the same bright red mark on her right cheek. Instead of responding with horror, like Rickert, Rhiannon had smiled brightly and clapped her hands at the unusual bond they shared. The thought suddenly struck Rickert: why hadn’t he known that Morrenwylf was abusing Rhiannon? The young elfen prince looked down at his bloodred shoes that clicked on the stone path leading to the Council of Alestaeyn Chapel.

  He blinked through the rays of sunlight at his sister. Rhiannon's dress had real roses sewn into the fabric, and her powdered cheeks contrasted her bright cherry-red lips. She had a fake mole on her face and wore a giant white powdered wig on her head. Rickert snorted at her visage, and Rhiannon shot a dirty look back at him. They then walked into the chapel’s shadow.

  The guards beside them wore dark blue coloured armour plates with golden faces as epaulettes. Known as the Golden Guard, their white silk half cloaks billowed softly in the wake of their footsteps. They marched with enclosed helms hiding their faces and walked beside the twin princes solemnly. Thanks to the inventions of and advancements in technology from Primarch Artoryas, swords and shields were becoming things of the past. Alestaeyn’s Tracks, or tanks, as some of the laypeople were calling them, were one of the primarch’s inventions. Who knew how much more he could have accomplished if he hadn’t met an untimely death in a black powder explosion? It was too ironic to be humorous. Enormous advancements such as these made the wealth of Felheim flourish in the face of doomsday prophecies.

  The royal bodyguards wore thin silver swords at their hips, mostly for the ceremony, but carried elongated flintlock rifles with the Royal Banner of Atmerys at their tip. The solemn golden face representing High King Atmerys on the black-coloured circles on the flags had always intrigued Rickert. The banners flapped in the wind as they reached the Council of Alestaeyn Chapel. Doors almost as tall as the building itself creaked open slowly. Inner guards pushed the doors open in silence and bowed low to the floor. The guards accompanying them joined the kneeling ones and held their rifles beside them.

  Rickert walked in first, followed closely by Rhiannon.

  He felt like he was walking into a chicken coop. Advocates and primarchs were screaming and shouting at each other, shaking fists and holding torn scrolls high up in the air. In the centre circle, advocates stood from their seats and tables. As soon as they spotted Prince Rickert and Princess Rhiannon enter the chapel, silence enraptured them all like a giant wave. It was the first time the twin princes would be a part of a council meeting. Rickert turned red as all the attention shifted to them, but he remembered his footing and Noreadryyn’s words.

  Own their respect.

  Rickert cleared his throat and stood tall. He walked up the red velvet side-steps to the royal box, a small open chamber set high above the other council chamber seats. Do not trip, do not trip. As he and Rhiannon sat down awkwardly in their lush velvet seats, with Noreadryyn close behind them, Rickert noted the seating that he had been studying so fervently for over a month. Advocates held the floor, but primarchs occupied the second rung of seats above them. Wooden tables lined the circular floor level, and an elaborate silver railing separated the space between the advocates and the primarchs. Advocates were garbed in white silk robes and pale blue masks, while primarchs wore heavy gold-and-silver-embroidered crimson robes with black-horned masks. After High King Atmerys Feldyr passed, the power had been divided such that primarchs held the most power in the land and advocates were given the last little remains of authority, mostly over menial tasks and practices. The goal of every advocate, however, was to one day become a primarch. Each member of the Council of Alestaeyn wore a mask depicting an animal. Some wore the mask of a stork, but Rickert noticed an elf with a pig mask as well. As he looked down at them, his eyes found the only one without a ceremonial mask, High Primarch Morrenwylf.

  Morrennwylf’s features were more distinct in the bright light coming from the windows high above the chapel seats, but his sneer was unmistakable. His hair and ears were neatly tied in a ponytail, intertwined with green laces. His crooked frame wasn’t so evident beneath his thick robes, but Rickert knew he would be in pain standing on the floor for so long. It was a small measure of satisfaction to Rickert. Morrenwylf held a ceremonial silver rapier on his hip and an evil glare in his eyes. His steel-blue eyes were nailed to the royal box, as were everyone else’s. Morrenwylf smiled and then pulled a crimson wolf mask over his face.

  Rickert met his stare and didn’t take his eyes away.

  ‘Council of Alestaeyn!’ said the chapel lord with a shout and two claps of his hands. The members of the council took their seats. ‘First order. May all present have a joyous celebration in the name of the god Eygol and his tri-month celebration. May all your wishes be glorified! Second order! Welcome, Prince Rickert and Princess Rhiannon Feldyr to the fold.’ The lord bowed at them and turned to the primarchs. ‘Only two years from today, the Ascension Ceremony will take place. We look forward to your new reign, Prince Rickert.’ Members of the council began to clap and nod slowly.

  ‘Third order,’ said the chapel lord, waiting a few seconds to allow the members to find their seats. Finally, he resumed his speech. ‘Muldvale sightings of men have increased. The floor may open with High Primarch Morrenwylf speaking first.’

  The chapel lord bowed and took his place on the floor beside the entrance. High Primarch Morrenwylf stood up and bowed to the princes. ‘We look forward to your reign, children of Feldyr.’

  Rickert forced a frown off his face. Morrenwylf then turned to the council with arms raised.
‘We need not a history lesson to know that our ancestors were nearly killed off to extinction by a Weserithian king over five hundred years ago. We all understand that man is a bloodthirsty creature, seeking to kill and destroy all things. With very little desire for higher forms of thought or sense to his actions devoid of logic, man is barely more than beast.’

  ‘High Primarch Morrenwylf, I happen to disagree.’

  Rickert turned to the voice of an advocate who stood up and walked to the centre of the floor. He pulled a white pig mask off and bowed to the council. Advocate Estmund was a plump man with a pointy nose and a nearly balding head. He had squinty brown eyes and a twisted front tooth, yet the advocate stood as tall as he could while he spoke. One of his ears had been sliced in an oxcart accident several years before. His ears gave him a comically uneven look.

  Estmund turned to the other advocates and primarchs. ‘Man will cross Muldvale Pass and break through Morh’s Crest. It is inevitable. Though humankind is little more than a barbaric race, they are persistent and very adaptive.’

  Advocates and primarchs broke into whispers.

  ‘Muldvale Pass is impregnable,’ said another advocate beneath his mask. Rickert could not tell who.

  ‘Trust me, the Eldervale will be impregnated.’ Estmund smiled and rubbed his long nose. ‘Our people have been in isolation since our exodus from the south. As most of you know, I have been campaigning to return to the mainland, for I believe there is an opportunity for us in Eldervale. What is left for elfenkind in the Cairn of Winter?’

  ‘The Cairn of Winter is the land given to us by our first Progenitor!’ shouted a primarch behind him.

  ‘Nay!’ said Advocate Estmund. ‘All of the land was for us elfen, not just the Cairn, and not just Eldervale. The Khahadran belongs to us as well. All the land belongs to us! Our ancestors made the mistake of isolationism.’

  ‘What mistake?’ said Primarch Morrenwylf. ‘We have prospered in the Cairn. For hundreds of years, no man has been able to enter our lands. Our technology surpasses that of men by millennia.’