Crown prince POV  

It’s an unnerving situation. He counts, a band of roughly 150 men. A temporary spiked palisade put up to block off the narrow road between two mountains ahead. Around them, dense shrubbery atop sinkholes formed from the rivers nearby which wheels cannot cross. What should they do? Should they simply make a break for it? Or should he try to negotiate? He doesn’t have the time to sort out his thoughts,   

“What’s the hold up.” Emerick urges, shaking at the bars and startling all the chickens, 

“Remove your hoods.” Johannis is drawing his sword. Eyeing the opposite direction. But they’re already completely surrounded into a dead end. The way things are right now, they won’t be able to cut themselves out of this situation completely unscathed. He holds Johannis back with a furled-out palm,  

“Don’t.” pulling down the fabric to reveal his face, he tries,  

“Turn a blind eye. Whatever Canary is paying you, I’ll top it.”  

“Thought I recognized your silhouette.” Emerick whistles, “Wew. Straight into bribery. It’s no wonder the rest of the Seven Kingdoms mock us as honorless snakes.”  

“It’s hard for honor to mean anything when all of you high lords turn on my father’s wishes the moment he passes. You are working for the usurper.”  

“The usurper’s put a hefty bounty on your head the size of a castle. Let’s hear it. How are you going to top it?” He’s wrecking his brains. What does he know about Emerick? Youngest son of the Uwens. Lord of Caton, the city just south of the capital. His family holds the biggest pasturing lands, responsible for a large portion of livestock and meat trade in Astia. 

But Emerick himself is hardly invited to court, so he’s only seen him at the balls a couple of times. Doesn’t stand out, neither do the court ladies gossip about him. A wall flower so easily forgettable beneath the shadows of his brothers. The eldest, he’s familiar with. A serious, stoic man of few words that’s always tagging by Lord Uwen’s side. 

He examines the troops around Emerick. Ununiformed clothing. These aren’t his family’s bannermen. They’re sellswords. That means, he isn’t very favored in his family itself, he attempts,  

“How about a lordship to your own city? Canary can offer you gold, but so long as your brothers exist. You will never get status, and I doubt she will willingly turn on your father after he’s given her his support.” 

“And you can get me status when you can’t even secure yours right now? You’re peasant born. Even a blind man can see the Queen is the safer bet.”  

“Yet you’re still conversing instead of ordering my capture. You want to be convinced.”  

“Oh yeh.” Emerick laughs, shrugging, “Convince me. Everyone’s heard that you managed to put Quinn Westley, a nobody, in Kanra. Elaborate. You’re asking me to betray my family here. I’ll need a status worth my gamble.”  

He tries, “I am currently in possession of the city of Ravan. It is lordless and held by my proxies.” 

“Right after the successor passed? Damn. You’re cold blooded. Didn’t you promised to give it to his sister after you save her from the Estelians.” that stings. He doesn’t to let it show,  

“With how this battle is shaping out. We can hardly even hold our own borders much less consider pushing into their lands.” steeling his heart,  

“He’s not here to hold me to that promise anymore. I can do whatever with the Blaine family lands.” Ysaac tears out another piece of cloth to hastily scribble down the legislation, putting his signature at the bottom whilst leaving the other one blank, 

“How’s that for a gamble? Lord of the biggest weapon refinery when we’re midst a war. I can provide the ores once we get Kanra back in operation. It’ll give you as much leverage as your father.” yet the moment he reaches his arms through the bars to pass on the note, Johannis stops him on the forearm,  

“Don’t act hastily, Crown Prince. We cannot trust this man. There’s nothing stopping him from instantly turning on us once he gets Ravan.” but that statement has just gotten Emerick to snatch at it. 

“Why pick between gold or status when I can have both.” Waving it tauntingly atop his head,  

“You should’ve listened to the old man. I thought the Crown Prince will be a lot smarter than that given what I heard about your political cunning.” then he gestures with a flick of his chin, “Capture them.” but Ysaac instantly hollers to the closing mercenaries, 

“I didn’t put a name on it. Whoever manages to sign the legislation will have an authorized claim to Ravan. I bet that beats whatever Emerick’s paying you.” to get them to pause. Exchanging eye contact with each other for a moment. Before one jump ships, turning his sword towards Emerick and hacking at him. Emerick backs off, accusing, 

“You fucking masterless traitor!” the rest shortly follows suit,  

“Get the legislation! Even peasants like us will be able to become lords this way.” Ysaac immediately opens the cage door at that, with a tilt of his head,  

“The horse.” he says, rushing out with Johannis to leap onto the animal. Johannis steers it towards the gap that’s now emerging with the mercenaries now focused away from them. Ysaac snatches a bow and quiver off one of their backs,  

“Let’s get out quick. Go towards the river. It’s only a matter of time they find out.” his retainer is confused,  

“Find what out?” and as if on cue, he hears Emerick reading the letter aloud and getting increasingly angry,  

“Sweet roasted pork is made from pork and apples, the oven ought to be preheated to 250 degrees with charcoa- what the fuck is this? Go catch that shifty bastard! He wrote utter nonsense!” shame Emerick didn’t get to the best part. He signed off with a go fuck yourself, greedy dumbass. He turns his head over his shoulders, the mercenaries are enraged now. Charging after them. He fires the first shot. Misses despite the many targets. Fuck. Why is his combat abilities so crap. That’s just got them retaliating with arrow barrages.  

He grabs Johannis’s shield. Barricading themselves behind it. The iron tips loudly clinking against it. This is good. All he needs to do is to leap across the river and they won’t be able to catch up. It’s just right up ahead. Then suddenly, he hears Johannis startle, 

“Watch out!” Ysaac immediately straightens his gaze. A blonde woman is stumbling out of a bush. Her eyes in the tree lines, absently searching for something whilst she mimics a cry of a crow. She takes another big gulp from the flask in her hand in the middle of the path as she does, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s going to get trampled over. They’re rapidly encroaching, and Johannis hollers to get her attention, 

“Move out of the way, lady!” but she’s just slowly turning towards him. Her pupils look glazed out, fog white, her cheeks flushed red. Her reaction staggered with a spaced out,  

“Wha-” as she idly wipes her lips with the back of her hand. Behind them, the mercenaries are quickly closing in. The return arrow fire is getting perilous. They’re going for the horse. It gets shot in the thigh. Startling the animal with a rearing neigh. Johannis pulls on the reins. The injured animal is too frightened to halt. He gets the horse to leap instead. The next instance, Ysaac feels fingers gripping his shoulders. A rough thump on his forehead, then he’s pushed backwards. Thumbling into the soil. He sees Johannis on the other side of the bank. Madly tugging on the leashes as he shouts over his shoulder,  

“I can’t get it to stop!” and rapidly disappearing behind tree lines.  

Did he, seriously get tackled off a horse? He’s being pinned to the ground. Waves of white-gold hair caging him in. His vision focuses first on the jar necklace dangling from her neck. Looks hand made with a few drawings on the surface. Swinging like a pendulum.  

The blonde woman is hovering above him. She grips around his chin, tilting his head left and right. He shifts his attention to her face. He would’ve described her as regal and ethereal if she didn’t reek like a deadbeat drunk. She breathes with a wide smile, way too deranged and disconcerting, slurring, 

“Am I hallucinating? I can’t believe I found yo-” her sentence cuts off with a retch. Her shoulders hitch forward. Shit. This isn’t good. She throws up by his ear. He roughly pushes her off, 

“What the flying fuck is wrong with you?” He readies to run but he’s rapidly stopped by the mercenaries who are audibly displeased with his deception. Completely encircling them. Emerick emerges from the crowd with a black eye, punched out and salty,  

“Okay smartass. I’m sure the Queen won’t mind if I returned you with a few broken ribs or a missing arm.”  

He immediately attempts, “How much is Emerick paying you? I can top his price.” but the mercenaries don’t trust him anymore after the stunt he pulled. One of them just asked him to shut the fuck up. Fucking seriously? This is the worst turnabout! Johannis is nowhere to be found. Even if he’s able to cut himself out of being surrounded. The river is quick and deep. They’re closing in on him. He just backed into the point of a blade. He wraps his hand around his sword. Should he just try and fight out of this?  

It’s at this point the blonde woman finally manages to climb herself up on her feet. Holding her head, she staggers towards Emerick, 

“Hey...” nonchalantly taking another swig from her flask before pulling a crumpled piece of paper from her belt,  

“That’s-” she hiccups midsentence, “the Crown Prince, right?” It’s a wanted poster that Canary’s distributed of him. Emerick frowns,  

“Who the fuck are you?” before for gesturing with a few impatient snaps, “take her out.” to get a mercenary to lunge at her. She catches his swing by the wrist. Folds his hand backwards. A nasty crack resounds. The mercenary’s weapon is disarmed before he even notices she’s dislocated his joints. With a frown and a click of her tongue, 

“Don’t interrupt.” she begins trauma dumping despite no one asked,  

“Someone I loved recently died, my father had a hand in it. My colleagues want me reincarnated, I lost my job, I lost my powers, I started a war, I left it to the world’s most unqualified child to fight. I’m broke. I’m hungry. My wounds are starting to itch and it’s irritating me.” spinning around, she flings the stolen sword at the other mercenary sneaking up behind her in an ambush, 

“I’m really not in a good mood right now.” impaling it straight into his neck. Knocking the now lifeless corpse onto the ground. She doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge that she just killed a man and crippled another. Instead, she turns her focus back towards Emerick, woozily drawling, 

“So, cut me some slack and answer me. That’s the Crown Prince,” she shoves the poster into Emerick’s face, 

“Right?” that just makes her stumble into the puddle of blood that’s forming beneath her feet as if the exertion was too much. Regardless, she chugs even more alcohol when she finds her stability. The other mercenaries are freezing up. Hesitant and stopped dead in their tracks.  

Emerick looks uneased, 

“That sounds like a you problem.” swallowing difficultly, he lies,  

“You have the wrong guy. Stop interfering with our business and go away.” Intoxicated as she is, she’s crazy skilled. Is she a bounty hunter? She isn’t dressed like one. She looks and speaks like some spoiled missy of old money. Too many expensive gems, dangling ornaments and flowy pieces and too little armor. Her entire midriff is exposed. In fact, her clothes are so outlandish he can’t put a finger to where she’s from. Godorian? She’s shredded with strong, lean muscles and rippling veins. Yet her skin is untattooed and glassy pale, nearly translucent to be evidence of constant exposure to the blazing desert sun and tribal culture and more akin to the Rothinians of icier climates. 

It doesn’t matter. Ysaac heard enough to know she has business with him. He can use her, 

“No. You have the right guy. I’m the Crown Prince.” he states, attracting her attention to show her the ring on his thumb,  

“You want me? Get rid of your competition first.”  

She instantly lights up, 

“Ah. I thought so. Following that crow must be the right idea after all. I knew I wasn’t that wasted to be hallucinating.” No. She’s definitely wasted alright. Considering she can’t even walk in a straight line when she strides forward to grab his forearm. She points her flask towards the sky,  

“Alright! Let’s go get you married to the Estelian princess and stop this war.” The fuck? What barrels did she just loop through in her brain? Who sent her? Why does everyone want to betroth him to fucking strangers. The mercenaries are not making way. Behind them, Emerick is ordering,  

“Don’t just stand there, you bozos. You outnumber them a hundred to two. Attack together.”  

The mercenaries exchange glances for a few moments, realizing that Emerick’s right. They charge in. He grabs the blondie by the shoulders, positioning her before him defensively like a shield,  

“Go, miss bounty hunter. Prove your worth before demanding me of anything.” she scowls,  

“Woah. How gentlemanly of you.” but she disarms the first poor sap that’s coming at them. Snatching the attacker off his weapon. She’s actually fighting off the assailants with it. Floundering everywhere as she is, there’s no grace in her form. Clumsy, like a newborn lamb learning to walk. Every swing she collides blows her back. Every hit she dodges, trips her into another attacker. Elbowing into sides and shoulders. Taking swigs of her alcohol mid battle like it’s a drug for her to keep going. Still, she’s good enough to hold them back and they’re clustering around her.  

He immediately takes the opportunity to dive through the gaps of the encirclement. Cutting himself free. Haphazardly escaping the pursuers. He hears a loud thud. He turns over his shoulder to watch blondie fall flat on her face. Disarmed. Her sword thrown out of reach. A mercenary with a hammer standing behind her. Scratch that. She isn’t that good.  

Should he help her out? She’s bleeding out from the back of her head. There are also two nasty gashes down her back. Lining the crescents of her shoulder blades. He’s still being chased. There’s no way for him to turn back. Maybe it’s smarter for him to ditch her. He doesn’t know her intentions or allegiances and she’s unhinged enough to be a pain in the ass for him later. The hammer mercenary is going for the killing blow.  

Ah. Fuck this. He draws the bow. He’ll leave it up to fate. If the arrow hits. It hits. If it doesn’t, the heavens didn’t want her to live anyway. He fires the shot. It lands into the soil beside her.  

Unfortunate. 

Tough luck, blondie. 

The hammer mercenary gets distracted for a second. Lifting his gaze up to make eye contact. The blonde lady instantly flips over, yanks the arrow from the soil and darts up. Stabbing it directly into his throat at the opportunity. Spraying her with blood like a pressure hose. Damn. Perhaps it’s his guilty conscience that’s making him holler out,  

“I helped. We’re even now!” but she is far from pleased. In fact, she’s starting get increasingly annoyed, holding her head whilst dodging attacks,  

“You...” completely concussed as she is, her pupils glazed out, she bends down to remove one of her golden slippers. Wait. No way. With a furrow, she seizes his gaze,  

“Cowardly jackass!” she slingshots her arm. His knees buckle. It knocks him to the ground. The fucking bitch threw her shoe at him. It lets the pursuers close their distance. A mercenary looms over. The blade lowers with a sharp swish. He rolls out of the trajectory. But the moment he stands up. He instantly gets tackled again. The blondie caught up, twisting his arm behind his back,  

“You’re coming with me to stop this war.” fuck. That hurts,  

“You’re going to dislocate my shoulder!” She doesn’t have time to arrest him for long. Another attacker’s forcing her to dive away. He takes the chance to weasel away again. Kicking over a rotting tree in his path in attempts to gain distance. The bounty hunter vaults over it. Catching up fast. The rest of the mercenaries are following suit behind her. He attempts to reason,  

“Are you not comprehending the situation? How am I supposed to come with you, when both of us are getting chased down?” She’s running after him, parrying attacks with another sword she stole against those that have caught up. Flinging pursuers away by the forearm into their comrades like she’s throwing a rag doll. She’s pretty strong. The third hack she goes after him. He ducks her swing. Tries,  

“How about this? Let’s stop sabotaging each other, and find a way to shake them off first?”  

“You just want to use me as a meat shield again!” She doesn’t trust him. Though, she’s stopped attacking him. Guess he really needs to start thinking of a solution. If it’s possible, he wants to discard all of them. A hundred over mercenaries are hot at his back. Beside them, a rushing river leading straight to a waterfall up ahead. There’s a sturdy looking vine dangling over the banks. He can use that. Leaping towards it once he’s in range. He cuts one end to swing across, 

“I knew it! You’re trying to ditch your responsibilities!” What responsibilities? All these people just fucking show up to bend him to their wishes the moment his father passes. He bids her farewell, 

“So long, sucke-” but he doesn’t have time to finish the sentence before she crouches, leaps, catches him by the midsection. He seethes, 

“Why are you such a hindrance?” A stray arrow comes in. A sharp pain bolts down his left. He got impaled beneath the shoulder, jerking his hand off his grip. Desperately dangling on one arm. The shore is so close. The vine snaps under their combined weight. They’re falling towards the water,  

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass!” He holds his breath. Before they hit the surface, a rattling sounds. Cold metal strangles around them, binding them up like cargo. Chains. It’s weighted on the ends. They’re pulled back towards the grass where all the mercenaries gather. He hits the soil. Chin first. The rest, the bounty hunter braced his landing. He hears Emerick’s voice above him,  

“I need him alive. Treat his wounds later.” He’s speaking to one of the mercenaries. A brunette boy with dead fish eyes the color of sunrise holding the other end of their restraints and looking down upon them with an even deader stare. Possibly no more than fourteen, 

“Yes.” he says. Emerick knocks the boy on the head,  

“Yes, my Lord, you peasant. Learn some manners.” and doesn’t give the boy time to reply before he sheaths his sword. Gesturing them to be taken away. He’s getting dragged in the mud. Tussling against the restraints but his movements are getting stifled by the wound. The impact probably pushed the arrow all the way through his bone. It fucking hurts! He tries,

“Hey, do something, miss bounty hunter!” she isn’t responding. He lowers his head to look at her. Her eyes are closed. Did she get knocked out? That doesn’t seem quite right. She’s breathing heavily like she can’t catch her breath. Her skin is too warm to be from merely intoxication. The wound on her back has festered. Blackened from spine to shoulders. She’s running a high fever from the infection.  

How did fuck did she even manage to remain conscious for that long? This isn’t good. They’re thrown into a wheeled cage and being brought away.  

Fuck! How should he get out of this situation? Johannis, where the fuck is he?