2. Convict

Reza's head is so cloudy and heavy that he almost forgot about his shoulder. The pressure from his head on hand awakens the pain. "Aah~" he carefully puts the other hand around his shoulder and leans on the throne by his back.

The cut was nursed well enough by Alicia but the pain always has a way to creep in. His mind slips into the memory from yesterday.

The sun is meeting the distant ocean on the horizon. But he has no intention of going back from here. He has been in the villages for the past seven days. if something could have been found, then it is beyond these woods.

Roaming as a commoner in a brown vest and white harem pants, he went to many huts and houses to ask about the swordsmith whose swords took 100s of lives including his father's. 

Along the way, he had earned him a companion in a flower gardener, Alicia.

He is passing through the woods. She is right behind him.

Trees are tall enough to touch the clouds and keep half of the sun's rays at bay. Dimming of light is making leaves appear darker in shade than it actually is. The howling sound of a wolf echoes throughout the woods. 

Her cotton-like soft hand clutches his rock solid one. The cold touch of her sends tingling waves in his fiery hands.  

He turns towards her with a smirk. She jolts his hand down, biting her lips. 

Her dark ash brown hair is contrasting her milky white cheeks. Her almond-shaped dark brown eyes are captivating enough to hold his gaze for an eternity. 

His fingers land on her rosy lips before she can open her mouth. The chirping of leaves had made him cautious. 

They both hid behind a tree. Two men with swords come in the open. "Why are you looking for The Swordsmith? Who are you?" one of them shouts in a deep voice. 

Reza sneaks at them. Blue vest with dusty harem pants without any helmets. Not Royal Guards, thinks Reza. He wants to come out and rip the hearts out of the men involved in his father's murder.

But bravery and foolishness have a thin line of difference taught his father once. Besides, people behind the shadows are always at more advantage than those in the open. And his words were so apt even about his own murder.

From the count of places now nearing a hundred, Reza enquired about the only lead he had, the unique bluish sword. Not from the kingdom of Armen. He was able to gather only so much that the swordsmith didn't want anyone to know him.

But this is the opportunity he has been tiring for the past several days. The men hold the same bluish swords.

His eyes shine and blood clots in place as his muscles tighten. It's time for wit not strength his conscience knocks.  

He throws a stone on the opposite side. Both men look in the way the stone delusions the sound of footsteps. Moving swiftly, he goes closer to one. And stabs the man with his knife in the man's throat.

Blood runs along with his hand to elbows and drops on the men's chest wetting the blue vest. Lifeless body pins its weight on him. He lets it slide to the ground swiftly but man's leg chirps the leaves.

The other man turns quickly and swings his sword. Reza ducks only to get a small cut on his shoulder. He inserts the knife in the man's hand just under his fist holding the sword. The sword falls.

He lands his fist on the man's cheek which gets squeezed inside the man's mouth on impact. A swing with his legs knocks the man to the ground. He puts the knife to the man's throat. "Who sent you?" 

The man spits out the clotted blood in his mouth on the ground. A tooth rolls over it. Still coughing, he turns his head towards Reza. Muscles around his eyes began to twitch.

Reza's eyes cling to the man's. A calming cold sensation runs through his veins in hopes of uncovering the truth. 

Little does he know that the fear in the man's eyes is real but not for him. The man jolts his head forward to let the knife sink in his vein. 

Reza pulls his hands backward but it is too late. The cut only keeps getting bigger and is soon filled up with liquid normally red but turned almost black under the dense woods. 

The truth I've been looking for is costlier than the lives of people, pondering, he gets up. Won but defeated.

Once determined to pay any price to get to the truth, his mind is now being detached from his senses. Turmoiled enough in thoughts he doesn't sense the blood dripping from the cut he got moments ago.   

Alicia walks quickly to him and makes him sit under a tree. She orders him to keep his arms up until she comes back. Being always on the other side of orders, giving it to all around him was his birthright.

But he still complies with her.

She goes deeper into the woods. The girl who was clutching my hands in fear, now definitely has gathered some courage seeing me fight, thinks Reza.

She comes back after some time with some herbals in her hand. She places it on the cut on his shoulder. The herbal feels warmer than her cold hands spreading it. 

Respect & affection is all Reza is used to but it feels different. All those people around him cared for what he became the moment he was born, A Prince. 

But she has a heart of gold. Caring for a commoner she met days ago. What will she do if she knows I am the prince? He wonders. 

"Feeling better?" comes her voice sweeter than the greatest singers he has listened to at the Royal Court. He glances at the origin of it, her rosy lips. 

An invisible force pulls him towards it. His face moved forward and his lips touched hers. He feels the chillness of water in winters and it tastes like juicy java plums.  

She moves her head away in a haste. 

He lowers his gaze. She comes back and presses her lips on his warm fiery ones. 

His hands run on her back and he pulls her closer towards him. The wound in hand stirs up the pain that jolts him back to his reality.

His vision gets clearer. His eyes trail from the ceiling of the room to the floor. The golden sword shines in the circle at the center of the room.  

"Aah~" the pain from his shoulder is stirring now but this time it is severely intense. Running under his skin through the veins it reaches the deepest corners of his heart. And in no time it intertwines with fresh pain that had originated there today.

"I can't let her die in the dungeon." He stands up. The sword hanging on his side swings forward. He gazes at it. "I can't let her live too."

His feet freeze. Every part of his body is being pulled into two opposite directions, forward and backward, with equal force. One hand lands on his sword hilt. The other one to its shoulder's cut.

The heat from the cut is traveling towards the elbow. Cold waves from the metal hilt upwards. His elbow is throbbing inside as the land around the ocean's bank does when strong waves of water hit it.    

The soil tries to hold the ground with its utmost hardship. But the waves are stronger. It cracks the land in places, blows up the mud towards the cloudy and darkening sky. Water starts spreading over the land, wetting it to its deepest layers.    

"She is a traitor." His hand slides from the wound. "KILLER OF MY FATHER!" 

His feet move forward. Eye muscles tighten and focus towards the exit. Golden clothes hanging across the sides on pillars sway backward in his sprint.

He turns towards steps going down into the dungeon. Every step makes the world around him denser and darker. Fire in flambeaus attached to the walls are providing only enough light to differentiate one step from another. But the heat of it is way less than what is radiating from his body. 

The steps come to their end. A large passageway is in front of him. Black metal cells are on each side. In the front end is a giant metal gate wide over ten feet and deeper to lengths that can not be measured even in the brightest of sun rays. 

"What is this cell for?"  he always wonders. 

All cells in this passageway are empty. But the giant one in the center always raises doubts in his mind. 

A passageway to the left of the giant cell has a series of cells that are for mild offenders. Series of cells in the passageway to the right are for the ones waiting on their death sentences like Alicia.

He grabs his sword harder and his eyes trail towards the right.

A guard comes running out of the right passageway. 

"ESCAPED!" 

"She escaped my lord," the sweating guard bows to him trying to catch his breath.

"What? How?" his grip on the sword hilt gets tighter.

"My lord, the guard James and she both escaped through one of our secret passages," the guard informs.

"Go to every VILLAGE, every HOUSE if need be I want them alive, or" he gulps his words. "I need them alive," he repeats.

"Yes, your highness." The guard leaves in a hurry.

His hand loosens the hilt and straightens towards the earth. The left hand comes to the cut and rubs it. 

He turns towards the steps. A meek cool wind flees his hairs till the neck backward. Fire from the flambeaus attached on pillars between cells sways in the direction. The black metal of the giant gate shines golden behind him.