2

High Commander Faisal Reeves was not amused; the turquoise cotton pyjamas he had just had imported from Estival were ruined, stained burgundy and soaked to the knee with blood. As if being woken up in the very early hours of the morning after sleeping in the castle barracks wasn’t bad enough. He had been disturbed by a frantic young Page who was pale and shaking and was adamant that waking the old Commander was indeed worth risking his tongue for.

 

The candlelight from Faisal’s lantern reflected off the red mirror of blood along the floor of the Prince’s chamber. The smell of iron filled his nostrils and his ‘work slippers’ stuck to the carpet as he shuffled sleepily into the room. Directly in front of the wooden double-door entrance, hanging from hooks and chains, draped grotesquely and elegantly across the chandeliers and exquisitely crafted phoenix wall decorations, were parts of the mangled and dismembered corpse of the Prince’s bride-to-be. Her arms and legs were twisted into the chains and her torso was being stretched and torn by large meat hooks.

 

The Prince’s enormous, mahogany bed was underneath the gruesome display with, sheets ripped and singed in places. Faisal could see Princess Aryana’s long blonde hair had been tied to each of the bed posts, all bloody at the ends, some with lumps of scalp woven into the ends of frayed plaits of gold and red. Her flayed head was rested on a pillow in the centre of the bed, bleeding eye-sockets facing dead at the door to the chambers " right at Faisal.

 

“You were right, Dorin,” he said to the Page, not breaking his gaze with the Princess. “This does seem like something I should know about immediately. When exactly was she found like this?”
“Uhhh… not long ago, sir.” the Page was nervous, and trying to hold in vomit.
“How long, boy?” The High Commander turned to the Page. “We may not have much time.”
“S-Sir, I was told about this not 5 minutes before I woke you.”
“And where is Prince Ra’Lek?”
“Oh… Sir, l-look over there.” Dorin pointed a trembling finger past Faisal to the far side of the room.

 

Faisal hoisted his pyjamas up and walked over, following the page’s directions. As he got closer he saw, leaned against the arched window was Aryana’s upper thighs and pelvis, bent over, showing her privates to the room. Emerging from between her legs were the dark-skinned hands of Prince Ra’Lek, positioned to look like a chalice, holding his own crown jewels. Faisal smiled a wicked smile; he was impressed at the artistry of the assault.
“Do you think the King will get the joke?” he said, turning and smiling at the petrified Page.
“W-wha-what are you talking about?” Dorin was taken aback. “How on earth is this a joke?”
Commander Reeves laughed at the boy’s ghost-white face and wide eyes. “Don’t be squeamish, boy, there was an art to this savagery. This was for sending a message,” The young man was staring, shocked at the High Commander, clearly at a loss for words.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to understand it. It isn’t for you to understand. Send word to Lieutenants Haarstart and Lieutenant Mason. Get Mason to send the Guards out to detain everyone on the streets in the Lower Quarters and Southside, and tell Haarstart to barricade every road through the Sky and Dragon Districts, as well as every road out of the city. I want Guards on every post and crossing from here to Blackwater.” The old Commander caught his breath, and rubbed his tired eyes, “Also, send me my armour, my daughter and the King.”
“Yes, High Commander,” the Page stood up straight, “Which of those should I do first?”
“The King needs to know what has happened to his son. Head to the bell tower second, you’ll meet Haarstart on your way there,” said Reeves.
“Commander.” Dorin saluted and turned to leave.
“Hurry, Dorin, we’re already too late.” Dorin turned his fast walk into a sprint, and was gone. After he was well out of earshot Faisal summoned the Guards from outside the doorway.
“Get rid of that disgusting display over there, the Drow King must not see this display like it is now.”

 

*          *          *

 

King Joran Ebonheart was monolithic. Faisal was sure that he must be part-giant, or maybe even a whole other creature entirely. His skin was dark brown with a hint of violet. He was tattooed with beautiful blue roses, twisted around a plait of brambles and spider webs.  Emerging from his thick, black beard, the tattoos ran down his neck and arms to his wrists.

 

He had sprinted to get to the Prince's chambers. Faisal had only heard the bell ring not five minutes before he arrived and the King's living quarters were on the other side of the palace. A journey like that would have put the old Commander in stitches, exhausted and heaving on the floor but the King appeared like he had just awoken. His sheer size and brawn was so intimidating that even in his fox-furs and red-silk pyjamas, the Drow King looked as fierce and as battle-ready as any armoured soldier. Faisal had always feared and admired his new elfish king. He had seen him in battle, commanding his army to liberate the island city, Shale from Lord Garamond’s oppressive dictatorship. He had fought alongside him and his men during the Battle of Four Nations. The Drow King always fought on foot, towering over his own men in ebony plate armour. He could hold a two-handed axe in one hand and the sheer force at which he swung it was enough to send half a dozen men flying. His speed and grace in battle was unmatched by any other. Joran Ebonheart truly was a demon on the battlefield.

 

Now the King was on his knees, soaked in his son's lover's blood, weeping black tears into a pool of red. He wasn’t sobbing, but instead stared silently at the ground as he wept. Faisal felt humbled to see his King in such a state.
“My King,” said Faisal. “Do you need some time alone?”
“No, Commander, but thank you.” The King turned his head to the table on the far side of the room, where his son’s hands had been moved to. After a long pause and a few deep breaths, he stood up and walked over to the table and rested his hands on either side of it.
“I need to think very carefully about how I react to this, Faisal,” said the King. “This is the first time my throne has been threatened since I got the thing two years ago.”
“My King, that’s just not true, there have been countless-“
“This is the first time I have ever felt truly threatened. For a man to come into my home and do this to my family…” The King stared at his own hands through teary eyes. They were dripping with his son’s blood. Faisal had never seen the King like this. He didn’t know that mighty and fearless Drow King Joran Ebonheart could even be scared.
“I shall put all of my best men on the case immediately, Your Highness.”
“No. No…” The King sighed. “Just use a small team, or just one of your best detectives with anything he needs. Causing too much attention to this attack will show the enemy that they have us cowering scared like dogs. If we can put on a brave face and keep our people about their usual business, whoever led this assault may start remembering who I am and what I did to get this throne.”
“As you wish, Sire.” Fasisal bowed “I have already sent men to keep this city on lockdown for the night, I will get word to them reminding them to keep it discreet. My lord, may I send word to Aryana’s father? He deserves to know what happened to his girl.”
“No. Not yet. The Kenway’s will not be able to keep this quiet. I need time to think about my next plan of action, but for now, keep all of the Guards who were here locked in their barracks for the next few days. Be sure to pay them, give them wine and feed them well. I need your man to find my son and the man who did this. If you don’t find the assassin soon, we may very well be laying the table for another banquet of war.”
“Right away, Your Highness.” Faisal turned to leave.
“Faisal…” The King was sounding sombre again.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“It’s tradition for my kind to collect the blood of our murdered kin, so can wear it on our skin when we avenge them.”
“I have empty vials in my quarters, I’ll get them for you.”
“Thank you, Commander. I will get them. Please, just start this investigation and make sure word about this leaks no farther than the walls of this palace.”
“Right away, my King, of course.” Faisal carried on forwards and left the King alone.

 

He promptly realised that he would need to change out of his pyjamas and slippers: he was leaving red footprints all the way through the west wing of the palace. When he arrived in his room he commanded his room slave, Runa, to clean up the blood leading to the door, but not to enter the Prince’s quarters. He got changed into his uniform, which Dorin had steamed and pressed and folded neatly on his freshly made bed. He searched his desk for parchment, a quill and some ink. There was only one detective the Reeves could trust in the city, and they didn’t even live there anymore. He let out a deep sigh before leaving his chambers. This is big, Fay, real big. Don’t f**k it up.