Reborn From the Cosmos

Miniarc-Villains-01

“Good morning, your highness!”

Samuel kor Harvest paused with one leg extended from the doorway of his carriage as he stared at the irksome woman that had made it her mission to find new ways to annoy him. Orphelia smiled at him, but there was nothing joyous in the expression. There was nothing at all behind those hazel eyes.

If the prince had to describe the woman in one word, it would be unnerving. On the surface, pleasant. Pretty, in a common way, though not very feminine with her short dark hair and practical way of dressing. She had a way about herself that easily blended into the background if she wanted. Samuel hated that. He preferred it when he knew where she was and what she was doing.

There were many thing about the young woman that unnerved him, but the biggest problem he had about her was the mystery she represented. She was unreadable; anything she showed him didn’t quite read as true and he didn’t trust a word that came out of her mouth. Weeks of traveling together and he still didn’t know why she was accompanying him. Was there a greater purpose or simple coincidence? What did she want? What was he missing? He always felt like he was missing something with her.

Then there was the fact that he had no idea how to interact with her. How to treat her, specifically. Samuel wasn’t socially illiterate. He could charm, he could trade wit, he could command with comfort. The problem was he didn’t know which approach to take. None of them worked. She ignored him if he tried to command her like a servant. If he tried charm, she got snarky. Saints forbid he tried to be witty in return; the woman had a dagger for a tongue and all the wounds it inflicted was laced with especially potent scorn.

The crazy woman seemed to have no concern for consequences. No direction either. Everything she did felt spontaneous, a desperate action to grab onto something, anything, before the moment passed. That desperation unnerved the prince as well. It made him feel like something awful was waiting around the corner whenever she was near him.

If he had the choice, he’d want nothing to do with her.

It was sad how little choice a prince had.

“When will you tire of these games?” he groused as he finished stepping down. She stepped aside, following behind him as he headed for the center of the camp. At the beginning of the journey, Samuel would demand breakfast when he woke, whatever hour he woke. No matter the hour, warm food would appear swiftly. It wasn’t until he overheard a few unflattering whispers that he understood how much trouble he was putting them through.

It was one thing to make the men compromise for his comfort. It was another thing to make trained, accomplished fighters wait on him hand and foot. They were swords meant to cut down his enemies and shields that would jump in the way of lethal blows. Not maids. Orphelia wore her usual thin smile as she jokingly wondered what soldiers trained to survive the wild on their own would think of a prince that couldn’t even feed himself.

Before, Samuel would proudly declare that he didn’t give a damn about their opinions. What did a prince care for the opinions of commoners? He didn’t need to get along with them because he didn’t intend to mingle with their kind.

His recent lack of direction in his life had weakened his stance. Samuel had no dreams of martial glory like his elder brother. He had no idea what he wanted but wherever he ended up, having a reputation as a spoiled prince wouldn’t do him any favors. His younger brother, Bastian, was proof enough of that.

“If you stop giving me such amusing reactions, I’ll stop.” She laughed but there was no humor in it. “Is it so unusual for a woman to seek out your company?”

“For a woman to stand outside my door every morning? Yes.” Such an unsavory person would be thrown out of the palace and barred from ever entering if they weren’t thrown into the dungeon. “I don’t suppose you need something?”

“Only entertainment.”

Samuel grimaced and ignored her, turning his attention to his empty stomach. No one else was near the cooking fire but they left a small log for seating, a bowl resting atop it. A black pot sat on a pile of dying embers, a small pile of firewood sitting beside it. The prince’s expression didn’t improve when he lifted the pot’s lid, palming the wooden spoon sitting atop it, and found a thin gruel waiting for him.

He could only blame himself for the poor fare. His allowance allowed him to purchase plenty of fresh fruit and preserves for the journey. If they had kept to the tight schedule his escorts originally devised, they might have lasted the whole journey. Samuel was the one who insisted on extra breaks and early stops. Times that he spent lounging and snacking for lack of anything else to do.

Before he knew it, the good food was gone, and he had to partake in the same basic fare as the rest of the convoy. Basic by his standards was not objectively bad, leagues beyond what the average family could afford, but the tasteless meals were abhorrent to the prince’s pampered tongue. Orphelia once told him he looked like a grumpy child whenever he sat down to eat. Sameul successfully deluded himself into thinking he didn’t.

“Aren’t you going to offer me anything?” Orphelia said from behind him. It would be a tight fit on the log for two average-sized individuals. Samuel’s long limbs didn’t leave much room and he didn’t plan on correcting the situation.

“Get your own.”

“Cold, your highness.”

Samuel sighed as he stirred his breakfast. “Since you want to stay, you can answer a question.” The same question she always avoided. “Why are you returning to the city?”

“That’s a funny thing to ask when we’re returning for the same reason.”

“You don’t need teaching. You were a minder. That means you’re capable enough.”

“There is always room for improvement.”

The prince resisted the urge to rub his brow. “Can you be serious for one moment?”

“Is that an order?”

“Would it make a difference if it was?”

“You never know until you try.”

“Fine. It’s an order. Tell me why you’re accompanying me.”

“Very well. I was ordered to.”

“But why? There’s nothing for you there.”

“Oh, there is plenty.”

Samuel huffed in disbelief and decided to take a more direct approach. “The first day, you asked me a lot of questions about Lourianne Tome. Does it have something to do with her?”

“That is one of the, hm, developments I intend to monitor.”

“Monitor? What does that mean?”

“Nothing for your privileged head to be concerned with.”

He growled and gave up on the conversation. Samuel was quite interested in the woman’s fate. She was a source of many woes. In hindsight, he understood the situation was of his own making, though he hadn’t been in his right mind. It didn’t change the fact that the pervert and her long-eared partner had delighted in tormenting him. Men had died for half of the offenses they’d committed against him, a royal personage. Only the rules of the Hall, that stated that he surrendered any societal standing so long as he was a student, and his father’s reluctance to alienate the strongest healer in the kingdom, a woman that was rumored to possess the ability to resurrect the dead, protected them.

A mature part of him realized that he needed the experience. It sobered his reckless passion, making room for good sense. However, perspective couldn’t silence a petty voice that seethed with rage over his humiliation and wanted payback.

“That woman isn’t a threat, she’s a menace.”

“A capable menace. She was the one who discovered the plot against you.”

Samuel sneered at the reminder. It rankled that he owed his life to the pervert. Whatever gratitude he should have felt was drown in the pool of disdain and jealously where his memories of her resided. “Show me the evidence.”

“You don’t have to believe me. Tsk tsk. A woman saves your life and all you can do is badmouth her. I’d expect better manners of a royal.”

“I’d expect anyone that knows that woman not to speak so highly of her.”

“Just practicing.”

“For what?”

“Hm. What if I said for the day we all have to grovel at her feet?”

“…you’ve missed your calling. With humor like yours, you could have reinvigorated the tradition of keeping a jester in the palace.”

Orphelia laughed. “You’re right, that was a joke. A poor one. Lou wouldn’t want anything to do with ruling a nation.”

“You—”

“Highness!”

Samuel swallowed his retort as a soldier ran up to him. The man’s eyes flicked to the pot before meeting the prince’s gaze. “When you’ve finished your meal, Sir Reed would like to speak with you.”

“What about?”

The soldier hesitated, but quickly caved under Samuel’s stare. “He wants to amend the schedule.”

Samuel frowned. They were already far behind schedule. The delays were his own fault but that didn’t mean he was happy to suffer any more. “What kind of changes? And why?”

“I don’t know, sir, er, highness. You’d have to ask Sir Reed.”

It sounded like a subordinate kicking an annoying situation to his superior. Samuel dismissed him anyway. He’d get a more complete picture from the head of the convoy anyway.

“Well. Let’s hope it’s something exciting. The journey has been rather dull.”

“Quiet,” Samuel snapped as he poured the warm gruel into his bowl. He pushed the taste to the edge of his mind as he shoveled the food down, worry and curiosity pushing him to finish so he could investigate.