- Kingdom of Drorin -

Squawking seagulls masked the distant sound of pounding hooves. The nearby hill kept the approachers hidden from view. Only minutes separated Colm from the first true terror of his life.

A crisp breeze offset the heat of the high sun as Colm dipped his toes into the cool water that lay below his swinging feet. Tiny waves rippled outward where he broke the lake’s glass-like surface. His mother sat next to him at the end of the dock, dangling her feet over the edge, ankle deep in the water.

The sun hit her golden hair and made it shine as Colm glanced up at her. This would likely be the last time he would spend with his mother as a child. Tomorrow, everything would change. After all, he had passed his twelfth year last night, and tomorrow he would have responsibilities of his own.

His sisters giggled behind him, still talking about the festival that marked his passing from child to man - or rather, they whispered of other young men who had attended the party. Colm turned to look as the two handmaidens who had accompanied them to the lake smiled, laying out treats for the girls from the baskets they’d brought.

Tomorrow, he would begin studying under his father’s advisors. He’d learn everything from the mathematics that the Kingdom of Drorin was known for developing to the management of the castle and how to rule his people. His childhood had ended and he would greet tonight’s crowning ceremony a man. He was only being crowned as prince official, as his father was still at the pinnacle of health, but the moment would mark a turning point in Colm’s life.

No, not Colm he thought. Colmudh Nightsbane II. His full name now, second after his father King Colmudh Nightsbane.

He tried to put everything to come out of his mind and simply sit with his mother, the Queen, who likewise was doing her best to enjoy the day with her son, setting all courtly manners and matters aside.

Colm kicked his feet, splashing water on a passing goose, who honked at him before changing direction and leading her goslings further out toward the center of the lake. His sisters giggled again, but he ignored them.

Selia, at sixteen, was already betrothed to the prince of Yareswen, which was to the east, and she would be leaving within the year to start her new life. Colm resented her for it; he knew that his anger was unfair, and that she had no choice in the matter, but he didn’t know how else to shield himself from the pain of his sister leaving. Their father had spoken, and so it would be; the King’s word was law.

Colm didn’t understand how she could be so carefree, laughing with Leira, who was only fourteen years old but, nevertheless, very interested in the three dukes who had attended the celebration last night.

The girls chattered away while his mother pulled the small knife from its sheath on her belt and cut the garland he wore around his neck. He’d forgotten it was there. The taller duke’s pretty sister had lowered it down over his head during the celebration and he’d ended the festivities so tired that he’d gone to bed with it on. It fell to the water and they both watched in silence as it slowly floated away.

Colm heard the intruders before he saw them; the thunder of hooves stampeding over the hill, somehow already inside the castle walls. His mother went terrifyingly still for a moment, then grabbed him quickly by the hair, cutting his ponytail with one swipe of her knife, leaving his hair no longer than a pageboy’s.

Mortified he looked up at her, too confused for words but wanting to scream, when she shoved him off the dock and into the lake.

“Quickly! Swim under the docks! Do not come out, not for any reason! Do you hear me, Colm?” He saw her rise and rush to gather the girls and herd them off the docks. “No, it’s too late to jump in, they already see us! Stay silent girls, leave it to me.”

Colm swam to one of the posts that held the planks above, having to try a few times to get a good grip as the moss that clung to the old wood made for a slippery hold. The women of his family ran across the boards above him.

Why would his mother do this? Why did he have to hide?

He watched through the gaps in the floorboards overhead as men on horseback arrived on the dock, blocking his family’s path. There were easily fifteen of them, if not more.

Without a word, a man with a fur mantle draped over his shoulders dismounted and approached Colm’s mother and sisters and the two terrified handmaidens who accompanied them. He drew is sword, deaf to the queen’s protests.

“You are not welcome here! You are intruding upon the King’s land, and I will not stand for it!”

Anything else she would have said was cut off as the end of the furred man’s sword exited Colm’s mother’s back. He bit back his own scream as his sister’s cries filled his ears.

The handmaidens rushed to catch his mother’s body as it fell to the docks, tears already streaming down their faces.

“He wants all of the royal line dead. None of the blood left to seek revenge,” the furred man said.

Two other soldiers dismounted and thrust their swords through Selia and Leira without a word. Their bodies thunked onto the wooden planks above Colm’s head. Strands of Selia’s blond hair drifted down through the gaps. Colm blinked back his tears as red rained down through the cracks, staining the water and his face alike. The men turned their attention back to the furred man as he stood over the handmaidens.

“Where is the prince, girl?” He asked the red-headed handmaiden.

She sobbed, choked with emotion, and did not speak.

“Where is the boy? I will not ask again!” he shouted. Colm recognized the grizzle in his voice; he’d heard it among men who smoked the purple thater-leaf.

When the handmaiden’s only response was another sob, the man slit her throat without ceremony. He’d angled his blade toward the second handmaiden before the first had hit the ground.

“We were told the prince would be with you. Where is he?” His grizzled voice, now calm and quiet, was all the more terrifying for it.

“There’s no prince here sir, I swear it!” She spoke quickly, her voice breaking.

“My scouts reported the boy with you when you left the castle. I will not ask again.”

“It’s only the pageboy with us, s-sir. The p-price was with the King’s advisors when we left, sir, on m-my life!” Tears made rivers down her reddened face.

“Where is this pageboy now? We’ve only orders to kill those of the blood. If you and this pageboy help us find the prince, we’ll let you go.”

Her eyes never left the ground as, after a moment, she raised a trembling hand to at the dock under which Colm hid.

Colm heard the stomp of boots above him, and a large hand attached to an even larger arm reached down and around the edge of the wooden planks to grab him by the collar of his shirt, then haul him up and onto the dock.

Rather than setting him down, this giant of a man carried Colm out in front of him, as one would a cat caught by the scruff of its neck, and dropped him between the dead and living handmaidens.

Like the weeping woman, Colm stared at the ground, afraid to look anywhere else. The blond handmaiden grabbed his hand, perhaps trying to offer comfort, and he listened as the furred man’s blade cut through her throat. He watched her blood soak the green grass blades in front of him and felt her grip on his hand grow slack. It slid out of his, even as he tried to hold onto it, while some of the men above him laughed. Her body fell forward, and she was dead.

“You’re coming with us, pageboy,” the growling voice of the furred man said from above the red-stained grass. “You’re going to tell us where the prince has hidden himself. You won’t like it, but you’ll like the alternative less.” The other men chuckled again as the massive soldier who had first hauled Colm from the water once more lifted him and threw him sideways over the back of a horse.

Colm raised his head for one last look at the docks, his view bobbing as the horse turned. His mother, his sisters, and the two handmaidens who had not betrayed his identity lay in lifeless piles, unable to smile and wave him goodbye.