chapter Two
Outside the window, the city was taking shape. It was rather creepy to see. It started just past the large stone fence; first, there were heavy metal structures, skeletons of what were once offices, Mathieu assumed. They looked like metallic monsters standing ominously against the sky and looking down at the world with blank eyes. Slowly those faded away, and in their place stood smaller buildings, homes. They were petite compared to those that came before, sort of like cottages made out of a white metal. Each had a nicely manicured front to it, a least one tree full of foliage. Once the houses were done, the non-businesses had their place. They were the charities and the like. Only a handful of them were in the area and they were in mismatched pairs, like the rejected socks that lost their mates to the dryers.
But then, to Mathieu’s wonderment, the bus entered through the gates of the inner city, into District One. Everything became tall and shiny. New. Flowers were in bloom everywhere: store fronts, planters that lined the center dividers in the streets, all over. Statues of previous rulers were erected around the city, cared for and well maintained. Office building with glass fronts mixed with the shorter buildings, businesses to keep the economy stimulated. Many of them were trade fronts for goods ranging from exotic foods to pets and luxury goods.
The bus stopped at the innermost square, just outside of the royal family’s castle. It was the main market square for local goods, such as fruits and hand-woven clothing. Everything was of the finest quality: silks, fruits so ripe that they were ready to eat as soon as they were bought, things like that. Mathieu stepped off the bus, looking around at the stalls.
Vienna exited just behind him. “Okay, so I work in the Hollander building, just north of here. Come by anytime.” She smiled one last time before turning on her heel and walking into the crowd. Her bag was held tightly to her side.
Hoisting his bag a bit higher after seeing how Vienna carried hers, he looked around again, taking in more this time. People were milling about, looking at the goods in the stalls and haggling over prices. This seemed like a good idea to him, so he approached the nearest stall: a jewelry cart.
The jewels sparkled in the mid-day suns, throwing beautiful arcs of color onto the ground around the cart. They ranged in size from as small as his pinky nail to the size of his fist and covered every shade and hue of the rainbow. A particular necklace caught his eye. It had a red stone and a purple one twined around each other, mixing in some places, separating in others. It was hard to tell where one stone began and the other ended. They were affixed to a platinum backing, the stones raised in a design that vaguely reminded Mathieu of a beautiful, cursive letter ‘M’. The desire to possess it was making him nearly light-headed. He extended his fingers towards the necklace, wanting to touch it.
A hand clapped down on his wrist, gripping it tightly. He stilled instantly under the touch, adrenaline flooding his system.
“…be tough.” Vienna’s voice rang in his ears. Right. Can’t let anyone
push me around…
Mathieu rotated his wrist, managing to grip the hand and spun, wrenching his assailant’s wrist behind his back. With swift force, he broke the man’s elbow, dropping him to the ground. His instincts were screaming at him to run, like they usually did when he cause trouble, but he couldn’t leave without the necklace. Plunging a hand into his bag, he pulled out a handful of Khrons and snatched up the necklace, running before the man could stop screaming in pain.
The crowd battered against him as he shoved the necklace into his bag, forcing him deeper into the throng of people. He tried to direct where he was being pushed, but the most he could do was slowly gravitate to the outside of the crowd and cut out when he reached a side street. Luckily, there weren’t many people down this way and he stopped, digging in his bag. He managed to free his sweater and get it on. Pulling the hood up to hide his white hair, he pushed his hands into the pockets, slouching his shoulders, doing what he could to make himself less recognizable.
He took a right at the end of the street down a back alley, following it. The alley connected to another main street and he slide back out into the crowd, keeping his head down. Mathieu was suddenly being rudely bumped out of the crowd again, however, this time towards two men clad in black, well cut suits. Their eyes were narrowed in anger and the stall owner was standing beside them, as was the man whose elbow he’d broken. He was clad in a black suit too.
Keeping his gaze low, he managed to catch a glimpse of who had forced him out of the crowd. More men dressed in black.
The oldest, standing the furthest to the right, crossed his arms, looking at him hard. “So you’re the one who attacked an officer. Bad move kid, bad move.” The man reached a hand out to grab Mathieu’s shoulder, but Mathieu stepped back and managed to avoid bumping into anyone else. Spinning on his heel, he almost ducked under the outstretched arms, but one of them caught him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
“Tch.” Getting to his feet and glaring, Mathieu dusted off his pants. He hated being knocked down and ‘officers’ or not, these guys seemed like bullies to him.
The oldest man stepped forward and leaned down, pushing his face into Mathieu’s, “Listen kid, you’d better come with us before we have to hurt you.”
Grinning, he spat in the man’s face and knocked him into the man closest to him with a surprisingly well-judged kick. Before it had been about being tough, but now it was about being threatened.
This time, he didn’t run into the other men, but hopped onto a nearby trash can, using it as a launching point to jump up, catching the gutter of the building. Wincing as the cold metal cut into his palms, he pulled himself up and rolled onto the roof. Looking back over the edge, he saw that enough confusion had arisen for him to escape. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he ran and leapt onto the next roof. Smoothly, he landed before running to the other side, leaning down and grabbing the edge, to drop to the ground. He could now hear the others hot on his trail, yelling at people to get out of the way.
His foot slipped and he hit the ground on his bruised shin, but he rolled back onto his feet and ran flat out in the opposite direction that everyone was going, dodging people left and right. The protesting of his leg was put to the back of his mind as he tried to think of where to go. All he could hear in his head, though, was Rebekah telling him that he always leapt before he looked.
The men were gaining on him quickly, blowing whistles and politely shoving citizens aside. Things were going to end badly if they caught him. But Mathieu saw it, a way out. If he could just make it another twenty-five feet or so, there was an alley he could duck down…
The foot traffic grew increasingly heavier, stunting his progress even further. Twenty to go. It was only getting harder now as he tried to fight his way across the mass of bodies. Fifteen. Ten.. Mathieu was so close he could taste it, could see the darkness of the cut-street that would save him. Five feet.
“I got him!” He fell quickly and hit the ground with a thump, one of the goons from earlier on top of him, a knee in his back. The man held him down with the weight of a small elephant, keeping him pressed into the hard ground until the other men could get there.
Panting, one of the younger men turned to the oldest. “There boss, we caught him. What should we do with him now?”
Crossing his arms, the older man’s face turned into a fierce snarly and he tapped his foot. “…Bring him.”
The man holding him down lifted him unceremoniously, wrenching one of his arms behind his back. Mathieu winced and jabbed an elbow into the man’s ribs in retaliation. Mathieu sighed. Not even in the capital ten whole minutes, and already in trouble. A feeling of impending doom fell upon him as the men created a sort of human prison around him, although he didn’t begrudge them considering how well he had escaped before. The citizens seemed to realize that something was happening, if the way they moved to create a pathway was any indication. His personal prison moved swiftly up the main street to the gates of the huge, glass and white metal castle that stood in the exact center of the city.
Without needing to be told, understanding dawned on him. This was the royal castle. The royal castle. The intricate, ominous black gates swung inward, opening to accept the party into its folds. Once they had passed the defenses and the gates had clanged closed, he was released. “Don’t be stupid, kid,” one of the goons said, “Your little escape trick won’t work here. Man up and accept your fate.”
Wincing at the man’s words, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his grey hoodie once again. Looking up, his breath caught in his throat. The closer that they got to the castle, the more magnificent it became. Each glass panel had an etched boarder around it, the white metal was twined into columns, encrusted with small, glowing jewels. The palace, which must have been at least twelve stories high, glittered in the light of the two suns, reminding him of the way the jewels had shined on the cart and the way that the fast moving stream behind the orphanage had thrown the sun against the grass.
The little group took a foot path that spurred off to the left. It was dirt, unlike the main walkway which was made of smooth, flat stones. At the end of the road was a two-story black building standing imposingly against the beautifully carved wall. It took two of the men to wrench open the door and let them into the heavily air conditioned building. Mathieu looked around and realized that it was a clerical floor. A few people sat at wooden desks that we bolted to the floor. The workers looked grim, clicking away on their projector keyboards. He wished he had behaved well enough to not need to see this place.
One of the men bumped him, forcing him through a door to the right and down a set of stairs. The air was becoming still and stiflingly hot, making him cough. A weird smell was floating towards him, as well. At the bottom of the stairs was a moderate darkness, not quite pure, but dark enough to impair his vision. Mathieu reached out and ran his hand along the wall so he didn’t fall down.
“Log him and put him away. I don’t want to see that filth again.” The oldest man closed a door at the bottom of the stairs, shutting him down into the dark with the heat and stench. Only one man was left. In the minimal light cast by a lamp on the desk, he was able to read the name stitched onto the man’s shirt collar; “Michaels”.
“Where are we?” Mathieu queried. Looking around, details of the room were slowly becoming clear to him. There were little metal cells around the room, people chained to the walls within them. However, there were others doors recessed into the walls as well. A scream cut through the air.
Michaels, a clean cut, twenty-five-year-old man, looked at him with suspicion. “You’re in prison.” He said like Mathieu was stupid.
“…Bit unsanitary, isn’t it?” Mathieu asked, rubbing his nose against the smell he now realized was human decay.
The man stared silently at him.
“Just saying. So, what am I doing here?” He put his hands on his hips.
Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Michaels sighed. “You were arrested for assaulting an officer of the King’s Court.”
“A who?” He tilted his head, confused. How was he supposed to know that people in black suits could land you in jail?
The man grabbed Mathieu by the shoulder and forced him to sit in a rather uncomfortable chair. “Do you know anything? Okay, so the enforcers of the law are all officers of the King’s Court. We’ve dedicated and sworn our lives to his cause and his rule.” Michaels said as he started to fill out some paperwork.
“That’s just stupid.” He sighed and pulled his braid over his shoulder, chewing on the end.
Michaels smirked. “I can’t believe McCorver was taken down by you. You might as well be a girl.” The man pulled Mathieu’s bag away from him.
“Hey! Give that back.”
“Or what, you’ll break my arm too?”
Standing and grabbing the strap of his bag, he glared at the other man. “Maybe I will. Give me back my damn bag.”
“No.” The man opened his bag and dug through it until he found the forged identification papers. “Here we go.” Skimming through them, he recorded Mathieu’s fake name, Mathieu Isaacs, and his information. Once done, he less-than-politely shoved the papers back in his bag and threw it onto the desk, out of Mathieu’s reach.
“Give it back.” Irritation was tingeing his voice and darkening it significantly.
Michaels gave him a dirty look. “You’re a prisoner of Ateri, you have no rights.” Grabbing his upper arm, the man dragged Mathieu towards a cell.
Not. Happening.
As they neared an open cell, Michaels’s grip loosened as he pushed Mathieu into it. Mathieu turned and punched him in the stomach. Unfortunately, the strike didn’t go over as well as planned. Michaels grabbed his wrist and bent it, dropping him to his knees. The next thing he saw was a boot as it flew at his face.
Instinct was the only thing that saved him. He dropped to the side, body half on the floor, half held up by Michaels. Wincing at the strain on his shoulder, he kicked the man square in the kneecap. Michaels screamed.
Heavy footfall alerted him that re-enforcements for the man had come. Mathieu really needed to stop beating people up when he couldn’t win.
It was the oldest man again. His collar read “Jaken”. “What’s the commotion about down here? Michaels?”
Michaels was on the floor next to him, panting and clutching his leg. This man had handled the pain of being hurt better than guy whose arm he’d broken. Michaels sneered in pain, but replied, “This damn girly boy kicked my knee out,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Jaken folded his arms over his chest, going the rest of the way down the stairs and staring at the pair of them. “…You,” he glared at Mathieu, “come with me. Now.” Mathieu only now really saw the man. Jaken was tall and broad with a scruff-lined jaw and dull, listless eyes. His nose was crooked, as were his teeth. He looked kind of like a dark haired shark.
Mathieu wrinkled his nose but got up, nudging Michaels knee with his foot as he did. Following the burly man, he scooped his bag up as he followed. Jaken led him up the staircase and out past the clerical floor again. They followed the foot path until it met up with the main walkway and it winded towards the beautiful castle once more.
The doors slid open smoothly as they approached them. Stepping through the foyer and into the atrium, Mathieu’s jaw dropped. The atrium’s floor was made of deep green marble tiles cut into peculiar shapes that seemed to fit together like a complex puzzle. It was mesmerizing; as were the white stone walls. They were cut in thirty by eight foot spans, tall enough to cover the wall, floor to ceiling. The room was long enough that it took nearly twenty stones to complete one wall. Gold and silver was inlaid against the stone, beautiful sweeping designs sprawled along the wall and wrapped around the columns that were placed intermittently along the hall. The grandness continued into the room at the end of the hall and became even more stunning. The way that it was done, woven together, was elegant, not gaudy or overdone, but just the right amount of done. The room that they ended in was most probably a throne room.
It was a long, thin room with a peaked ceiling that soared above them. At the far end of the room were three thrones: A narrow, feminine wing-backed chair sat on the left, empty; another feminine, although slightly larger chair on the far right, also empty; and in the center was the larger rigid throne, only this one was occupied.
The man in the raised throne had a strongly chiseled jaw and a thin beard that followed the curve of his face. The brown eyes were deep-set and against the pale skin of his face were startlingly intense. A wide nose and a full mane of dark blond hair completed the image.
The man clad in black dropped to one knee, muttering the words “My Master”.
Mathieu did not. Instead, he cocked his hip to the side and put a hand on it, surveying the man before him. He wasn’t impressed.
The man looked him up and down right back. Curiously, he tilted his head at Mathieu. “You don’t kneel before your King?”
“I kneel before no one.” Resolutely, he centered his body over his feet, both hands on his hips now. He leaned forward slightly on the balls of his feet, ready to flee.
The King seemed to find this an interesting notion, shifting forward in his chair to look at Mathieu. “No one, you say?”
Mathieu grinned. “Not before a king. Not even before a god.” He couldn’t really get in any more trouble today, so he figured he should just be himself.
“Come closer, child. Let me look at you.” The King beckoned him with a crook of his heavily jeweled finger.
Jaken’s head snapped up, “But sir! He is highly dangerous. He’s already injured two of your officers! I would advise--”
Amusement danced in the King’s eyes. “You aren’t going to attack me, are you?”
Mathieu shook his head. “In all fairness, they both started it. I just finished it.” He stopped just short of the stairs, looking up at the King.
“You finish it. That’s quite funny. You look pretty harmless to me. But then again, so does my wife, and I wouldn’t put her into a rage. That’d be a fool’s mistake.” He gave Mathieu an appraising look. “Do you think me a fool?”
“I think you’re a man trying to do a job to the best of his ability but who finds himself constantly at an impasse because you know that political tensions are rising over Korinth, however, doing anything about it would start a war that this country isn’t ready to fight. Do I think you’re a fool? No. Do I think you should be sending your “officers” to do something more productive that bothering innocent bystanders in the street? Yes.” Where that had come from, he wasn’t sure. Probably a rub off of all of Rebekah’s story telling and history lessons; he was pretty sure the woman would have been proud of him.
Jaken was behind him before he even finished speaking, grabbing his roughly by the hair and throwing him to the floor. “You will not speak to our king in that manner.”
Sitting up, Mathieu sighed. “Thank you for proving my point. This is stupid. I won’t be treated this way and I won’t stay here another minute.” Getting to his feet, he retrieved the few things that had spilled out of his bag. “Later.” Kings be damned. As he stood to huff angrily away, the blond man had descended the stairs and was standing just beside him.
“So you finish a fight, claim you don’t start them, and yet I just witnessed your tongue instigating.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He stood to his full height, as little as it was: around five feet and six inches. It wasn’t much, but he narrowed his eyes too, looking up at the man. “Not to you or your little puppets. I’m going home.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched in the direction of the exit. His footfalls echoed through the room ominously.
“Wait.” The king’s voice wasn’t harsh, more like a plea, calling after him.
Biting his tongue, he turned to the man. “What?” He snapped at the man, hands balled into fists. He was nearing the end of his rope.
“Come sit with me for a moment. I believe we should talk.” The King stood with his body neutral, looking at the Mathieu with a calm, level look. For the first time since getting off the bus, someone was looking at him like he was an equal.
Still, it wasn’t enough for him to return to the arms reach of Jaken. “I don’t think so.”
“I would appreciate it.” The way the King was looking at Mathieu left no room for argument, unlike before.
Swearing under his breath, he followed the King to a sitting room off the throne chambers. Jaken followed them in, standing guard by the door. The officer’s presence made him nervous. “What do you want to talk about?”
“It seems we are both busy people, so I won’t bother with pleasantries. Jaken says you injured two of my men. Quite a feat.” The King sat regally even in an armchair, studying Mathieu.
“And why is that?” He dropped heavily into his own chair, arms crossed over his chest.
Jaken laughed. “Officers are the most well-trained, well-discipled force out there. They’re tested and trained rigorously until they are weapons unto themselves.” He said, a note of pride in his voice.
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Really? Cause I kicked two of their worthless hides in one day. Oh, and I gave them the slip.”
The king laughed softly under his breath at the exchange before drawing Mathieu’s attention back to their conversation. “Have you ever lost a fight?”
“Once or twice when I was younger, but not in a few years.” He leaned back and pulled his bag into his lap. It wasn’t much, but it gave him some sort of barrier against the man’s piercing stare.
“Well isn’t that interesting…” The King tapped his chin with his fingertips. “Are you in the market for a job?”
“A job?”
“Yes. If you’re as good as you claim you are, you’d be ideal to protect my daughter. You could attend functions with her under the guise of being female, while still being crafty enough to protect her.” The King explained rather blandly.
“Uh-huh…” Mathieu said, waiting for the man to continue.
“My daughter is my whole world, and if anything were to happen to her…“ he cleared his throat, “so tell me, would you be interested in the job of protecting my daughter?”
Excitement coursed through Mathieu, but he had to play it cool. Be confident. “I don’t think I’d be interested. It sounds inconvenient.”
The king frowned. “How would that be?”
“Because I’d have to travel to her every day, protect her from unidentified dangers, and deal with a person that for all I know is a twit. And it just sounds like a big hassle brought upon by the pointless worries of an overprotective father.” Mathieu made a show of yawning, hoping he hadn’t pushed too far.
Laughing, the King slapped the table. “You’re probably right about the overprotective part, but that doesn’t change my desire to have someone protect her. I need to fill the position and if you agree, you wouldn’t travel unless she wanted to go somewhere. From here on out, you’d live in the castle and would rarely leave her side. You’d be more constant than a shadow. However, you’d be compensated with generous pay, time to train or whatever you wanted to do in your spare time, and your needs would be provided for at all levels. Also, I rarely hear my daughter referred to as a ‘twit‘, so I don‘t believe it should be an issue.”
Mathieu sighed. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
“No. I want you to protect my daughter and I’d order you to do it if I thought you’d listen.” The King gave him a good natured look, seemingly understanding Mathieu’s need to not be controlled.
“You do realize I’m supposed to be a prisoner, right?” He raised an eyebrow. “Your lackies put me under arrest.”
The King shook his head. “I’ve found that being the King tends to give me a certain level of leeway with how things happen. If you take the position, I’ll see to it that you don’t have a problem with my officers or with the prison.”
Mathieu took a long time to think about that. He could avoid jail time if he took this job to protect some bimbo princess. How hard can it really be…? “Fine, I’ll do it. Jeez, this is a pain.”
The King nodded in a definitive manner. “Good, you’ll start immediately. My daughter should be at her lessons right now. Let’s go do a round of introductions.” He stood from the chair and went through a side door.
The castle was a complex maze of passages and corridors that seemed to lead into the abyss. Fortunately, the King was well versed with the palace and its secrets, letting him quickly lead them to their destination. The sight that met Mathieu’s eyes made him nearly regret his choice to take this job. Looking back, though, it truly epitomized The Princess.
The king opened the door to a study. The study itself was a rather nice room, decorated in shades of blue with two desks set beside each other. They were petite wood desks, which could hold a surprisingly heavy load. Mathieu knew this because a girl was standing on one. She was shorter than him, but not by much, with soft chocolate brown hair that fell down past mid-back and golden eyes. She was perhaps a bit chubby, but that didn’t faze Mathieu at all. What did faze Mathieu was the full sized globe that she kicked off the desk at the face of her teacher. Her lips were curled up in a grin of triumph as the man ducked to avoid it.
“Mwahaha! Cower before me, Professor, for today, the student surpasses the teacher!”