Taken

CALLAN

Isadore was not as terrible an opponent as Callan had expected.

However, Callan had had no doubt to begin with, in determining the victor before he'd accepted the duel. Callan's sword had been created to win a battle, not lose it in shame.

"And I believe you'd promised me something?" Cole said, with a smirk in his voice as he lowered his sword, the King at his knees before him. Perhaps he would learn some sense that way.

"Kill me and let it be over with," he spat, as eardrums were pierced by a wail from behind him. No doubt the Queen was creating a scene once more. Callan chuckled, stepping back.

"You believe me to be a murderer, like you, Isadore?" Callan asked. "I am wounded by the standards you hold for me."

"What do you mean?" Isadore asked suspiciously. "If you are not to kill me, what will you do?"

"Well for one, I believed you promised me a few treasures after the occasion of my victory," Callan reminded him, his eyes disobediently darting to the Princess, who caught his gaze for but a second, before he knew to avert his eyes. Those eyes were deadly. "It would be lovely if you would kindly pay up."

"My King!" the Queen wailed, running forward and clutching the arm of her kneeling husband, as tears, true or fake, man would never know, ran down either cheek. "You cannot really be considering permitting these bastards to win this war."

"It has already been won, Anastasia," Faramond spoke up, taking to Callan's side, much to his relief. "That is how war works."

"Don't you dare speak my name!" the Queen spat, extending her finger in rage. However, Callan got in a word, before she could insult his dear friend further.

"And don't you," he said, stepping forward, "dare speak to my soldier that way." Callan exhaled, allowing his burst of rage to leave him. Anastasia backed away behind her husband as he stood, unable to speak beyond the shame he experienced. And for once in his life, Callan felt pity towards the man. After all, Callan of all people, knew the hardships of being king all too well.

"Isadore!" the now former queen yelled in a shrill voice that trembled unsteadily.

"Take it," Isadore muttered, his voice just audible enough for Callan to comprehend. "Take it all. If not my pride, what else do I have left to live for?" Your family for starters, Callan thought bitterly. A daughter who you'd gladly give up in a futile duel. He could not comprehend why it angered him so. It shouldn't. The Princess could hardly be much better than the family she'd grown up in, more likely to be the spitting image of her obnoxious mother if anything.

"Very well," Callan sighed, sheathing his sword. "As this palace will have use no more, I shall have it demolished to make room for the people." Anastasia gasped and Callan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was still a prince, and he mustn't forget that. "For your people, Anastasia. I'm sure that is not such a big crime." His eyes darted to the Princess, who still stood in the shadows, shoulders hunched as if trying not to let her dress slip and fingers clutching the velvet of the curtain behind her. She'd been watching him as if she was in awe, but as his eyes fell on her, her eyes widened and she seemed to hold her breath.

"As for the Princess," Callan said, cautiously treading over to where she was standing. To his surprise, she didn't back away or shy away from his approach. Instead, she watched him carefully, as if daring him to try anything. There were daggers hidden in her glare. "You shall accompany me on my return to Acraeneia. You will have a place in my palace, and I trust you will not be be too disappointed."

He leaned slightly closer. Dangerous territory, very dangerous territory. His face was only a few inches away from hers and they both held their breath. "Women are treated with much respect where I come from."

The Princess glared at him, unconvinced.

PAIGE

They were scheduled to take leave in an hour and a half.

The Prince promised Paige an abundance of fashionable clothing and possessions at the palace and told her maids to pack lightly, just before he excused her to her room.

But naturally, as soon as word left his mouth, Paige ditched her maids. And those damned red heels.

She ran down hallways, bare feet carrying her many times faster than her shoes and dress hitched up in clumps in sweaty palms. Her heart pounded fiercely against a region somewhere between her chest and her mouth. She had to know. She had to see her best friend one last time. Even if he wouldn't be able to see her. She thrust open the doors of the infirmary, dreading the worst, as her eyes darted across the beds, beds bearing all those who had sacrificed for her to be alive that mournful afternoon.

The stench of death was what hit her first. It lingered in every man's cry, by every man's bedside, like evening candlelight.

She hovered around each bed, tears brimming as she expressed her condolences with affectionate gestures, passing each soldier she'd befriended over the years. Men who were like brothers to her, soldiers she was closer to than her own parents. The soldiers who'd kept her sane for all these years. The soldiers who'd challenged her to playful duels, sat around the fireside with her to listen to her stories.

The soldiers who'd have given their lives for her.

And had done so that very day.

Ultimately, her gaze fell on him. And she ran over, not a thought to be thought twice, feet struggling as they carried her to his bedside.

"Paige?" he murmured, his voice diminished to a hoarse whisper.

"Hey," Paige said softly, placing a hand on his head, as tears slid down her cheeks. "You're going to be okay."

He chuckled, wincing as soon as his laugh departed his lips. "No, I'm not. Ask the nurses." He glanced down at the bandage enveloping his stomach. "Fatal wound."

"It's only fatal if you permit it to be," she said urgently, shaking her head. "You won't die." He smiled in response, sadness behind it.

"They say I did well," he said. "Fended them off like a mother bear, I did. Are you proud of me?"

"I'm always proud of you," she whispered. "But you can't leave me. Travelling the world, remember? You and me, together. No kingdom, no responsibilities. I was going to bring Josie too, my handmaiden, the one you used to have a crush on, and you'd bring Antonio even though you know how much he annoys me and all four of us together, we were going to…"

She cried after that.

"They're taking me to Acraeneia," she said, trails of dry tears sticking to her cheeks. "I... I want to run away. Somewhere far away, you know?"

She looked Aiden in the eyes, as if coaxing more life into those pale blue eyes. "I don't know what to make of Prince Callan.

"Hey," Aiden said, smiling. There was no sadness behind that smile. "If he doesn't look after you, I'll come at him with my sword, you tell him that."

"Of course you will." She wouldn't have doubted him if he'd told her that yesterday. But now she knew it wasn't true.

"Happy birthday Paige," he said, clutching her hand. "See I was here to tell you myself after all." He closed his eyes with those words, smiling to himself.

He didn't open them again after that.