Poised in Providence - Part 7

“Is madness something that can be discounted?” Vincente mused, bringing his finger to his lip and chewing his thumbnail in thought. The question held no real value, as both men knew it was unlikely Prince Heiko was not in his right mind. “King Ingo must have had many friends in his guard.”

“Many veteran warriors.” Cele added. “It could be seen as an act of treason.”

“I wonder why it wasn’t.”

“Would he really exile his brother over his days idling here,” Cele went on. “When he didn’t exile him over the burning of the guard?”

Vincente considered the question.

“Regardless,” He sighed. “Both could be argued as acts of treason, no matter what color your blood. King Ingo’s council will likely push for exile.”

“Considering Prince Heiko seems to have few friends in the Simonese court.” Cele agreed. “How can you wish to gain favor from the outside if you cannot even do so with your own brothers?”

“We cannot assume Alfred dislikes his brother,” the king interposed.

Cele plucked another olive from the pile, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Alfred Achterecht, the second son and general of the Simonese army. Most believed his mettle was cut from the same material as his father’s. Simple, honest, brave. It was said that the Achterecht line was born with modest and plain faces, an extension of their veracity. Plain faces riddled the household. The late king Gotthard, King Ingo, General Alfred, even the current king’s offspring - Prince Gotthard II and Princess Ada. Cele wondered what that said about the prince they now housed, fair as he was.

“Certainly though,” Cele said eventually. “A person of Alfred’s character wouldn’t enjoy the games-”

A hard knock interrupted him. It was not the knock of a servant, who would be trained with soft raps and gentle voices calling from the other side.

Vincente stood, reaching for a paring knife on the table - as if someone would be bold enough to attack the king so tactlessly. But old habits die hard, as they say. For Cele, as well, who was already halfway to the door when Vincente called out calmly.

“Who is it?”

“Open up.”

The princeling’s voice was enough for them to drop their guard, though certainly not due to his irritated tone. The general didn’t wait for the go-ahead before pulling the door open. It was unnecessary, since he knew King Vincente was eager to hear what Heiko had to say about the duke and the situation.

He was dressed in the chiton dyed with magnolias and mustard seed that he had worn earlier in the day, a color chosen deliberately by the queen - a color not meant for nobility. It was obvious she did not take into account his golden mane, a detail, while seemingly small, differentiated him vastly from servants and Ilysians alike. The mane that was now twisted and pinned to his head in a perfunctory fashion. In fact, most of his attire looked perfunctory.

“Prince Heiko,” The king greeted him. “What a surprise.”

“Don’t mock me.” Heiko said sharply. “Bring us to a range. Give us a bow and a quiver of arrows.”

“How do you intend on putting stock in your words without an actual Burkean longbow?” Cele asked. As much as he would’ve loved to critique the prince’s shot, he wasn’t sure if it was wise to willingly give him a weapon.

“How do you intend on putting stock in your wit if you cannot follow simple reasoning?”

His snapping comment, tossed back so effortlessly, seemed to surprise him just as much as the Cele and the king.

“Forgive…” He trailed with a tired sigh. “You are adding unnecessary points of conflict, General. If you give me a sparse moment of time, along with the tools needed to provide you with proof, why would you prolong the process? If I do not provide proof, then you know I am nothing but a conniving snake. If I do provide proof, then you know my brother is. If I decide to fight against all survival instincts that I possess, and turn the weapon on your king, you will have the opportunity to incapacitate me - perhaps even kill me - with little to no repercussions. You have everything to gain and only mere speckles of time to lose.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, awaiting a response, and soon enough, Vincente led them through hallways and down staircases until they made it to a courtyard with archery targets and equipment.

The king was uncharacteristically stiff, only made worse by Cele’s silence.

Baptist looked over to Heiko, who was paying no attention to him, and decided to act on his own, crossing for a bow and picking one – one too large for him. Cele watched curiously as the boy grabbed a quiver from a hook and slung it over his shoulder before returning to the prince’s side. He was silent for a long few moments, until Prince Heiko snapped.

“Speak, Baptist.”

His master’s tone didn’t seem to affect the boy as much as Cele thought it would. If he ever used that tone with Carmen, she would surely cower, but then again, he never did.

“The longbow is large – generally the height of the archer.” Baptist began quietly, looking at the bow in his hand that was a little more than three-fourths of his size. “As my prince has explained, archers are trained young, beginning at the age of eight. This is because they need to build strength to draw back the bowstring.”

He looked up to the king.

“Because of the tension of the wood, and the effort it takes to draw back, the arrow has a straight and powerful release. When done correctly, it can fly around 300 yards. But it is not meant for distance in warfare, as much as it is meant for force. To pierce through armor.”

“This information is nothing your master hasn’t told us.” Vincente said gently to Baptist.

Cele saw Heiko’s lips crease a bit, hard eyes on his slave.

It was not lost to Baptist. He scrunched his lips to the side and stole a glance at Heiko, before it happened. Within seconds, Baptist nocked an arrow, drew back, released, nocked an arrow, drew back, released, nocked an arrow, drew back, released.

Admittedly, Cele focused on the boy’s speed and form, but the three arrows crowded within the bullseye across the room discredited any doubt of his accuracy.

Baptist carefully kept his eyes from his master, whose own cold gaze was on the target.

“I was training before I was taken by the Simonese soldiers.”