Sweryn

From the Text

Sweryn stood in his father’s throne room, leaned against the iron chair that he could not bring himself to sink into. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t rest without knowing if Amilié was alive or dead. A stirring came from the entrance, and when he turned, he saw the guards bringing Amilié inside. Relief spread through every bone as he approached her.   “Amilié,” he breathed, kissing her, “I feared you were gone forever.” He waited as the guards made their exit from the throne room and returned to their posts.   “It takes more than an arrow to kill me.” She smiled half-heartedly. “Sweryn,” she paused, put her hands up to his chest, “I’m sorry. Back in Brier I got confused, I just acted out of instinct. I’m sorry.”   “Be quiet,” he hushed her. “My father doesn’t know what happened. I’m not sure how long Hura will keep silent, but I hope it’s long enough for us to smooth it over.”   Amilié often fought with herself. Even now, Sweryn could tell she was still fighting the battle that tore at her. “I understand you couldn’t let your brother die.” He sighed. “But perhaps it’d be wiser for you to stay with the rebels for a time. You could very well be branded as a traitor now for what you did.”   She dipped her voice to a whisper. “The only reason I came back is to get us both away from here.”   Sweryn scoffed at the notion. “Where could we possibly go?”   “Lorianthil?”   “Lorianthil,” he chuckled. “That’s a good way to die quickly.”   “I’m serious.” She pulled him in, met his black eyes. “Of all people, Sweryn, we could make it. We could disappear.”   Sweryn tucked her messy hair behind her pointed ears. “There is no need for us to run. I am the Prince of Ëolnir, and do not forget who you are. In time, you will have your honor again. I’ll make sure of it.”   “Please believe me when I say we cannot stay here. Please, trust me. Let us go before something terrible happens.”   He felt her body shaking under his hands. It was only a matter of time before her brother would lay siege to the fortress. Perhaps this was why she trembled; she didn’t know who to fight with. Or what to fight for.   “Amilié.” He stayed her arms. “It is you who should come with me. I know the path for us both.”   He took her hand and began leading toward the mouth of the fortress. But before they hit the front steps, they were halted by King Baldemar striding into the hall.   Sweryn’s father was a beast of a dark elf. Like several members of the House, he was bald and had opaque black eyes. His heavy figure was covered in black iron plate mail, and he carried a powerful broadsword at his side.   “You,” Baldemar pointed at Amilié, “I always suspected you were a traitor to our House.”   Behind him stood Hura whose eyes swam with hatred.   “Father,” Sweryn shielded his mate, “what happened in Brier can be amended. Dulor had specific orders on our mission and he broke them. Amilié is hardly at fault.”   “Lies!” Hura hissed. “She murdered Dulor and you know it. She wears the crest, but she still belongs to her rebel family. She’s a traitor!”   “Amilié is not a traitor. She came back here, didn’t she? Perhaps a true traitor would run and never be seen again.”   “Let us punish her and be done with this,” Hura pushed. “Life for life, blood for blood.”   Sweryn glared at her. “Back off, Hura.”   “My son.” Baldemar inched forward, gripping Sweryn by the shoulder. “You cannot protect her this time. I warned you long before, and you still fail to learn what comes of trusting in those exiles. Let this loss teach you what I could not.”   Sweryn was about to cross his blades against Baldemar’s throat, but instead, Amilié’s voice steadied him.   “I have information about the rebels,” she said.   “Oh?” Baldemar turned to her, intrigued.   Sweryn sensed that she was merely stalling for time, but he, too, was curious. “What have you learned?” he asked. “Are they on the move?”   “Their forces have grown stronger than we thought possible,” Amilié said. “I’ve seen them gathering below ground, enough soldiers and weapons for a siege.”   “At least the traitor is forthcoming,” Baldemar smirked. “We have work to do. Sweryn, I want you and your Blades to route the rebels. We must launch an attack before they become impossible to deal with.”   Sweryn lifted his brow. “And what if it’s already too late to stop them?”   “My seethers can turn the tide in our favor.”   Sweryn rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure your dark mages will keep our enemies from advancing by putting up a cloud of smoke.”   Baldemar loosened the tightness in his neck, cracked his thick knuckles. “You doubt me?”   Yes, Sweryn thought. He doubted his father very much. Nothing good came from Baldemar’s decisions. The King of Ëolnir was meant to carve a way forward, and yet Baldemar refused to meet his subjects’ basic needs. Sweryn had stayed in Ëolnir this long to keep Baldemar from devastating it altogether.   Instead of answering his father, Sweryn turned and glanced at Amilié. Something was bothering his betrothed. Her stance was still frigid. Shaking. Perhaps they would not need to sniff out the rebels, perhaps Amilié already knew their whereabouts.   “Where is your brother now?” he asked. “Is he still hiding below ground or does he have more hostile tactics?” What he didn’t expect was for Amilié to back away in fear, seal her lips. “Amilié.” He stepped toward her while she kept retreating. “Did you escape, or did he let you go? I wonder...”   “He let me go,” she confessed. “I cannot fight my brother. We struck a deal.”   From the side, Hura formed a smirk. “How convenient that is,” she said, turning to Baldemar. “Is this the outcome she could have wanted, my liege? And look: her rebel friends even gave her bandages.”   Amilié’s face went red, and she looked down at her shoulder. “They wanted me alive, they wanted me to turn on you.”   Baldemar cracked his knuckles again. “And we are to believe you refused them?” He grabbed her shoulder wound and squeezed.   She crumbled under his grip and cried out, “Please! I’m no traitor!”   Baldemar grit his teeth, squeezed harder. “Yet you’re in league with them!” He tossed her, sent her crashing onto the steps. He came forward, pulling her up by the collar as if to strike her. In that moment, all Sweryn saw was Amilié’s mother cowering in Baldemar’s grip. Holding her swollen cheek.   Sweryn intervened by tugging her toward him. “Father, please. She is not Serena.”   “But she is!” Baldemar growled. “The tainted offspring of that treacherous whore! She lies to you, Sweryn. She has been lying all along. Will you refuse to see?”   Sweryn looked at her, saw the tears staining her eyes and cheeks. They were not tears of fear or pain, but of regret.   “How could you?” He felt his own breath catching, like a dagger in his chest. “I thought—I thought you were with me.”   “I am,” Amilié rasped. “I am with you, Sweryn. I just—I cannot stand aside and let anyone strike my brother down. Cador is all I have left.”   His brow creased. “Then I hope Cador is worth throwing everything away for. I tire of this, I tire of giving you and your brother more than you truly deserve. I will not be the passive audience anymore.”   “Sweryn, please! Let me make this right.”   “You want to make this right?” He pulled the blade from at her thigh and forced it into her hand. “Then take this and drive it into Cador’s heart. Only then will I trust you.”