The Royal Renegade #7

Surrounded by his dead father's enemies, Barnaby, the heir to an outlawed throne, is pulled into a dangerous game of power by the most feared man of a newly formed nation.

  Barnaby woke well rested. He lifted his head to glance at the wooden clock on the back wall of his room, and finding he had plenty of time, let it fall back down.

He spent a moment thinking about the previous night, which he rated carelessly adventurous and best not to be repeated, and then pushed the thick blanket from his body, showering in the cold and refreshing air the late autumn brought to his enormous stone home. His mind wasn't as thick with worry as was usual. During a normal last minute in bed, he would always try to predict ways that the day would turn out awful, but there was no need for that, the ceremony was creeping in closer by the minute, that was all the awfulness a day needed. Casting that aside as something he could not change no matter how hard he tried, he found himself to be a bit thirsty, a little peckish, and a lot looking forward to returning home after the ceremony.

Pushing himself to sit up, he cleared his eyes from the sand of sleep and searched for his formal tunic. The particular piece of clothing mostly represented the bad days. During his fifteen years of life, he had only worn it two times, both were when attending the Ceremony as an observer. The tunic hung on a hanger on top of one of his bookshelves, looking as boring as it always did.

He got up and cleared the fifty feet distance from his bed to the wall, on the way grabbing his dark pants from the back of a chair, and stopped, staring at the formal robe. There was nothing special about it anymore. Before the war, before the United Government, the tunic had worn the silver head of a wolf, the Brawling Family's crest. Now it was just black, much like the war uniforms, and exactly like any other piece of clothing he would see at the Government Tower.

For a moment his thoughts traveled to the ground floor, walls of which were filled with the “after ceremony” portraits of the Brawling's who came before him. Every last one of them had worn the wolf. Every man in the Brawling's long bloodline, except for Barnaby.

Sighing, he put on socks and shoes, and, needing a distraction, walked to one of the four large windows that lit his room, a room which practically formed the whole fourth floor of the Brawling Mansion.

The late morning appeared suspiciously sunny. In Iegbuend, where it rained over three hundred days a year, mere dry weather was a sight. Having blue cloudless sky with a bright sun at the center of it, that late in autumn, felt close to impossible. He studied the Sun, eyelids close together, trying to figure out if perhaps something more nefarious was happening. He had never heard of a spell that could change the weather, but surely he hadn't heard of many things. Given his plans to soon battle the Capital, thinking them to have the power great enough to control the weather was far from pleasant.

Eyes starting to hurt, he set the silly notion of weather control aside and looked at the clock again. He still had nearly an hour to get to the Government Tower.

He looked to his desk, which lay under a medium sized pile of dirty paper, and to the three bookshelves that lined the Capital Bridge's side of the room. The books made him feel somewhat nostalgic. The time for school had ended, and most of those books would soon serve little to no purpose. Sadly, he walked to the center shelf, which was mostly filled with Dorian Boussey's works about humans, and pulled out three of the books. Behind them was an old black leather notebook. Despite living in a mansion greater than any other building on the Hill, and having more gold than he could ever spend, he considered that little notebook as his most valuable possession. He found it under one of the drawers of his father's desk when moving in. To his disappointment, there was nothing personal in there about his father. Instead, it was filled with different unspeakable spells, all of which must have been outlawed by the government. And one of those spells was what had gotten him in trouble during the second duel in Capital School.

But his father hadn't cared about the illegality of writing down the unspeakable spells. He had made it clear on the first page, having jotted down the longest row of words the book held.

“Yes, indeed. I wrote them down. If you, who you happened upon this notebook, have a problem with my decision, feel free to find me, and we shall duel to gain justice.”

That sentence didn't read exactly how the people had described William Brawling to Barnaby. He was mostly referred to as calm and calculating, not full of himself and childish. Perhaps the notebook belonged to a very young William?

But despite that, one thing did ring true. He had been fearless. William Brawling, the fearless leader of the Hill.

Barnaby opened the notebook and lapped it to the spell he had used during the tournament that brought so much trouble. Meschanas unai. Such a short and simple spell, but so dangerous. Of course, back then he didn't care about the danger, he wasn't bothered by not having an idea what the spell would do. At that time, his guides were anger and humiliation.

Generally, Brawling Hill's students had always had an upper hand in school. The law didn't allow any person without a wand to perform magic, and no one could get a wand before they turned ten. But that rule was much more respected on the other hills. On the Brawling Hill, a child doing wandless magic was more praised than punished. So, when the Brawlingers went to school, they had already mastered most the first year would teach. Barnaby had been no exception. Being the king to be, he had perhaps used more magic before turning ten than some would during their whole lifetime. And with that advantage, he had crushed his opponents in every round of the duel. That was until he reached the final, facing off against Grace Le Grand. All Barnaby could remember about that duel was bowing to her as a courtesy, and lifting his wand. He then woke almost a half hour later to people making fun of him. That was a dim day. So when the time for the next duel came, he crossed to the dark side, using a spell from his father's notebook. He did become victorious in destroying the girl he had become quite fond of in battle. But nothing good came of that win. He gained no respect. He did not win the heart of the girl he desired. His winning only seemed to make them avoid him even more.

As looking at that spell filled his head with images of Grace, he pushed the notebook back together and re-hid behind the Boussey's books.

Not sure how to continue, he looked around his too large room. At first, when he was nine and was allowed to make his father's room his own, he had been beyond excited. But it became obvious pretty quickly that he didn't have nearly enough stuff to actually fill the room. So, after almost six years, he had only fixed himself the Bridge side quarter of the room, leaving the rest for his father's things, which, after many over goings, had piled in a rather order-less fashion.

He crossed back to the window, now looking not to the Sun but down to the Main Street.

The street was filled with Brawlingers heading toward the Bridge, it was a flow of black and white. Not a stormy sea, but a mesmerizing river of calm, with just one thing standing out. A threesome of people was arguing right before the Mansion's gate. One of them was slightly overweight and balding, he was Maverick Strauss, Augusta's uncle. The skinny blond woman was her aunt Susanna. And dressed in the mandatory white dress, golden hair blowing in the Iegbuend's windy weather, was Augusta herself.

A heated argument between Augusta and her guardians was not a rare sight. Those two, though kind to take her in, had never been a good match for her.

When it was time to go to battle, both Maverick and Susanna were nowhere to be found. Though managing to hide from the battle, they could not escape the aftermath. The Government didn't care whether they fought or not, they were named traitors like all Brawlingers. And of course, Brawlingers considered them traitors as well, for not answering the call to arms. But no one seemed to be as disappointed in them as Augusta. Which led to all the arguing. And as it was the day of the ceremony, Barnaby had a good idea of what the current problem was. Neither Maverick nor Susanna, especially Susanna, liked her friendship with Barnaby. They wanted her to marry off the Hill, to someone more approved by the Government. But that right there proved how little they knew of their niece. No one in the whole wide world hated the ruling families and their friends more than Augusta Strauss.

The fight ended abruptly with Augusta turning and marching through the iron gate of the Mansion.

Turning more joyful, as he always did when around his best friend of ten years, Barnaby rushed out of his room. But he didn't take the stairs down to the lobby. He headed upwards, to the final floor of the Mansion, to his mother's bedroom.

He stopped at the door and knocked three times. He got no answer, but that was usual. His mother rarely spoke and was hardly ever seen outside her bedroom.

Barnaby tried the door. It was locked. Mother rarely locked her door, but that did happen every now and again. He could have used his wand to get in, but his past experience had taught him not to do that. So, instead, he spoke through the wood, hoping she would hear.

“I'm gonna go... I'll go the Theodore's afterward, I'm not sure when I'll be back.”

Still, no response came. So as the downstairs door creaked open, declaring Augusta's arrival, Barnaby turned and marched back down the stairs to greet her.

Augusta was waiting by the door, looking at the numerous portraits of the great Brawling's who had ruled the Hill before Barnaby. There were about dozen of them spread across the room and centuries, the closest to the door portraying the last true king, his father William.

Augusta turned as Barnaby was halfway down the last flight, and the sight of her made him stop as if running into a wall. Augusta was wearing the formal white dress, as was mandatory, but the way it made her look was astonishing. Her dress was covered with different golden and silver pins and chains, starting from her chest with a few, and growing more common the lower the dress ran. Near her knees, it looked more like metal than clothing. And Augusta's hair looked more golden than usual, as it moved, it left behind golden dust. That must have been caused by some kind of a spell Barnaby wasn't aware of.

Having never seen Augusta in a dress, it took Barnaby a moment to regain his mind and wipe the idiotic grin off his face.

Augusta smiled.

“What do you think?” She took a quick spin, letting even more golden dust blow out of her hair.

“It's nice.” Barnaby climbed the stairs all the way down, keeping his eyes on her.

“What's with the armor?”

Augusta chuckled and shook the chains on her dress. They actually made a quite a bit of noise.

“This, my sir. Is called fashion. Something you're clearly oblivious to. And it's practicality. Have you ever tried to wear a dress in the Capital?”

“I must say I have not.”

“Well, let's just say, in order to succeed, the dress must be heavier than the wind strong.”

Barnaby shook his head in smiley disbelief.

“Alright, I'll take your word for it. But you do look nice.”

“Thanks.”

Barnaby turned to the clock near the stairs. That one, just like all the clocks in the mansion, was identical to the one in his room.

“Should we get going?”

Augusta nodded but didn't move, her eyes were on the stairs.

“She's not coming then?”

“No,” Barnaby ended the subject sharply and opened the door. “Let's go.”

Augusta patted him on the back, the metal on her dress clinking loud enough to lift Barnaby's spirit.

“ How much does it weigh?”

Augusta closed the door behind her, shading her eyes from the odd bright Sun, and in mock seriousness.

“Let's just say you might have to carry me back.”

Author's Note

https://www.wattpad.com/story/132347172-the-royal-renegade

Reviews

[Virtue Jackson]

That's one hell of a dress! I'll take that in a size 2 please!
Lol, anyway, great book my friend. I'm very excited for this upcoming war. Please keep writing!