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Sparklieyr, the capital city of Parisora, had a section buried by poverty and overrun by crime, as does all major cities. In the west side of Sparklieyr, there was a stone cold orphanage run by nuns, with old dusty stained glass windows that pictured stories of the old religion. The children are all young and ran around in thin tattered second handed clothing donated from hell knows where. The orphanage it self sits tall amidst the chaos of multiple bars and nightclubs, less than legal gambling dens, certainly banned brothels and other illegal activity along with a mob of beggars and pickpockets running back and forth on the streets.
Claude soaked in the sight of the humanly normal chaos with an expressionless face. His black thick soled combat boot chomped over the trashy streets as he strides towards the orphanage. He was wearing a plain black trench coat and a thin black scarf that covered up half of his face. His dark eyes scanned the streets, analysing the movements of those around him, as if looking for signs of possible danger. It was more of a habit that he gotten into.
A middle aged sister greeted him at the gates of the orphanage and led him into an office where a young boy, no older than three or four, was already waiting. He wore a dirty white top, a sweater with too many holes to count and faded jeans.
“Mr Edward Tudor, a pleasure to meet you,” the elderly sister sitting behind the desk stood up and greeted Claude. She was the director of the orphanage and it was apparent from her stern solemn look that she clearly did not like children who had “fun”.
“Pleasure is mine, Sister Peace,” Claude returned the greeting.
Sister Peace looked down at the paperwork before her, “it says here that you are young Clay Whistler’s uncle?”
“His mother’s side,” Claude answered coldly.
Sister Peace frowned looking from the young man to the young boy. “I do see the resemblance though, dark brown hair, black eyes and a massive forehead, though I was told the boy’s mother ran off with a lover.”
Claude mere shrugged. “Estranged family, I’m only doing her this favour because she’s dead.”
Sister Peace looked surprised. “My condolences,” she muttered as she placed a piece of paper in front of him, “just to double check that your name is Edward Tudor and you are a private security detail for the royal family and Clay Whistler is your nephew. If all the personal details are correct, please sign here.”
Claude scanned through the document, not a word of it was actually true, but it did not matter here as long as it all appeared passable. He took the pen Sister Peace offered him and signed without a second thought.
“I should warn you,” Sister Peace said as he was signing, “Whistler’s a handful.”
Claude smirked. “Must be in our blood.” He picked up Clay who had not said a single word during this entire time. On the young boy’s exposed pale wrists, he noticed a dark coloured fresh bruise. Claude sighed and hugged the young boy tightly, whispering into his ears. “It’s ok now, I’ll protect you.”
*
Ace sat by his massive bay window with his knees up to his chest, it’s been three weeks since he last saw the alcoholic mysterious wanderer known as Claude. He could not help seeing Claude’s face in his mind over and over again, it just refused to go away. He sighed, he felt pathetic feeling pain for a man who gave him pointers on how to fight a war and drank his entire wine collection empty, but inside it hurt like hell knowing that he really cared about someone who would never feel that way towards him. He was in love with Claude.
His head of security Major Nyal Sachley, who doubled as Major of Defence during the war on the Glisten Fort front, came in with a concerned expression on his face. “Your Highness, your evaluation for a new personal guard?”
Ace frowned. “I have you, Nyal, I don’t need another block head following me around.”
Nyal chuckled. “I’m a block head now? Good to know, but you were almost killed by a suspected Opalian assassin yesterday and it is His Majesty’s direct order that you get yourself a personal guard who will follow you around the clock. The peace treaty between Opalian and Parisora is contributed to you and it has placed a massive target on your back.”
“I live in a fucking palace with guards every twenty meters,” Ace rolled his eyes, swearing in the most un-royal like manner he could think of. He hated the palace, cold empty and unwelcoming. It was more of a glamorous prison than home.
“But you do leave the palace on occasions,” Nyal pointed out.
“With a flock of personnel following behind,” Ace argued back.
Nyal sighed. “please, Your Highness.”
Ace groaned and grabbed his white blazer from the armchair, throwing it on with an annoyed expression on his face as he stormed out of his fancy blue velvet themed lounge room.
Ten minutes later, Ace sat down in a ridiculously expensive armchair in the royal living room holding a file that held the profiles of five candidates, who ranked two to six in the recent “New Recruit Combat Tournament”. The five candidates now stood stiffly in front of him, all approximately a meter eighty five in height, with dark coloured hair parted at the same point on the left side and wore the exact same white suit. At first glance, Ace thought they were clones.
“What happened to the guy that ranked first? Did one of my older brothers already pick him?” Ace assumed that his father would not pick a female candidate to follow him around 24/7 in case it prompted a scandal, he could only assume that all the recruits in tournament were male as it was held in preparation of finding him a personal, around the clock, security detail.
“He has a nephew to take care of,” Nyal answered, “he could not work around the clock.”
Ace frowned. “Can’t you just have his nephew live in the palace with him?”
“If you wish, then it can be arrange,” Nyal told the young prince. “But surely you can just pick someone here?”
Ace scoffed. “They look like statues, I will not be followed around by a bunch human gargoyles, the butlers do a great job of that already.” Really, he was just making things difficult, he did not want another voiceless guard dog to follow him around.
Nyal sighed and signalled for someone to get the recruit who ranked first. “From memory, his name is Claude Edwards, used to work covert operations in Opalian, has a very fancy fighting style and is a loner. Not exactly Mr Smiles either.”
As he said that, a young man with the same type of hair cut as the five other candidates walked into the room, he and the rest of the recruits were waiting outside as backup incase the Third Prince disliked the five candidates presented to him. Ace frowned at the name “Claude”. Subconsciously he had already rejected that recruit, his name was too similar to Claude’s.
Then, Ace saw his face.
It was Claude.
Without thinking, Ace spoke: “I’ll take him.”
Nyal frowned in concern. “Your Highness…” The older man had recognised the newcomer too and was disapproving his presence.
Ace glared at Nyal. “Him or no one.” Anger simmered under his expressionless face.
Nyal sighed. “fine, I shall arrange for the paper work, Mr Edwards, if that is your name, your job starts now.”
Claude smiled cheekily at him. “Yes sir.”
Nyal scoffed at him as he left with the other five candidates, leaving a very angry Ace and a mildly amused Claude.
“When did you arrive?” Ace asked straight of the bat with a demanding voice.
“The same day you did,” Claude replied, maintaining his on duty stance.
Ace puffed with anger and stared at him in disbelief, he tried to find something to say but he couldn’t really come up with anything, eventually he just pointed to his full cup of coffee. “Throw out the coffee, I want tea.”
Claude gave him the look, “Ace, let’s talk.”
“You said you weren’t coming to Sparklieyr,” Ace yelled, “and I begged you not to leave me. You walked out and disappeared then and there, not even leaving tracks in the snow!” His heart sank as the last of those words came out. He realised how desperate he sounded, having Nyal track someone through surveillance and trying to follow footprints in the snow to find out where Claude went. He did wonder how Claude was able to vanish like that, but it did not make him less angry at the mysterious wanderer.
Claude didn’t say anything, he just stood there accepting whatever Ace had to say.
“SAY SOMETHING!” Ace screamed, he felt like his mind was being torn to shreds, raging and crying at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” that was all Claude could think of. Though an apology could not explain anything, not any of the who, what, when, where and whys that Ace wanted to know.
Ace scoffed and stormed out with a thundering cloud of a mood over his head.
*
That evening, King Raynior hosted a banquet to celebrate the peace treaty reached by Opalian and Parisora with the Opalian Crown Prince and various diplomats as the guests of honour. The entire Parisoran royal family along with most of the nobility and powerful families of the country were required to attend. In a way, it was to intimidate Opalian, as was the tradition, that the hosting country showed its power to “discourage” the visiting diplomats from future expansion endeavours.
In the walk-in wardrobe, Ace stared at his pale complexion in the mirror, his bright sapphire almond shaped eyes staring back with misery. His long blonde hair was patted down and pulled back into a low pony tail. From the reflection, he saw Claude standing by the entrance with a gentle smile on his face, that beautifully charming yet equally annoying face. Ace questioned why he picked Claude of all people to be his body guard.
“Do you ever wear anything other than white?” Claude suddenly asked.
Ace spun around with a sulky look on his face. “Why do you care?” White was the colour of Parisora’s flags, it was the colour of the nation. As a prince, he had very little say in what he could wear.
Claude shrugged. “I think a red tie would suit you.”
Ace scoffed, yet turned to on of the many butlers waiting on him and said: “Get me a few red ties, the white ones are boring.”
“But Your Highness,” the head butler protested, “it has always be tradition that the royal family wore pure white.”
“A boring tradition,” Ace muttered, “just do as I say.” He was sick of white too, he just needed someone to give him a nudge and go against tradition.
A younger butler scuttled off through the massive wardrobe lined with very similar looking suits, accessories and shoes. He grabbed a wooden plate of red neatly folded up designed ties and showed it to Ace, who merely stared at it wondering how is it that he had at least twenty different red coloured ties of practically the same shade and yet he’s never seen any of them.
Eventually, Claude came up and picked up a plain red tie with a royal crest at the end and looped it around Ace’s neck. “This one,” he said with a charming smile, “it really suits you.”
Ace scowled and rolled his eyes. “Is your nephew here?” he suddenly wanted to know.
Claude frowned. “Yes, Nyal brought him an hour ago.”
Ace signalled to a butler, “bring the boy, we have time before the ball begins and I am thoroughly bored.”
“Ace,” Claude stopped him and spoke cautiously, “perhaps now is not the time.”
“No,” Ace said firmly, “I want to meet him. Since when did you have a sibling?”
“I assure you I have plenty of siblings,” Claude muttered under his breath, though he only recognises four siblings who are technically not even related to him by blood, but given who he was, he picked his own family. He did not bother to try sway Ace from seeing Clay again, he knew it would be futile and considered it a way of staying on the Prince’s good side.
A few minutes later, a young boy wearing a neat new suit walked in holding the hands of the butler nervously. Immediately, one could see striking resemblance between him and Claude, the same coloured hair, the deep dark coloured eyes, the overall features were just too similar to ignore. Though one may think that the uncle to nephew resemblance was too strong, they looked more like father and son, or brothers if their age gap was not so apparent.
“What’s your name?” Ace’s expression softened as he bent over and patted the young boy on the head. The young boy reminded Ace of himself when he used to wonder aimlessly through to cold harsh corridors of the palace.
“Clay Whistler, sir,” Clay said quietly and nervously. He glanced at his uncle shyly and bowed his head.
“Is he really your nephew?” Ace asked Claude.
The latter nodded. “Of sorts.”
Ace immediately had that feeling in his guts that Claude was not telling the whole story, but then again, Claude never explained anything. Ace turned his attention back to the young boy. “Would you like to join the banquet?”
Clay looked shyly to his uncle who gave him an encouraging smile and a nod of approval. “Yes, sir,” Clay replied shyly.
A ten minutes walk across half the palace later, Ace made his grand entrance carrying Clay in his arms and with Claude a few steps behind. The nobles who were already there went silent and stared in disbelief as Ace strides in. He liked that, being unpredictable and crazy for once in his life. He was always the perfectly invisible Third Prince, now it felt good that others were turning their heads to see him.
Ace stopped in front of the throne that was at the back of the dining hall where his father sat, there was a classic white carpet with a gold embroidered border that ran from the entrance to the throne, a clear pathway. He put young Clay on the ground and bowed to King Raynior. “Father.”
Raynior frowned at the sight of Clay. “Who’s the boy?” He had the same blue eyes and blonde hair as Ace, but they were of the worn and selfish variety. His face was lined with the burden of power and his hands rested comfortably on the armrest of the throne to assert his possession of the severely uncomfortable golden chair. Claude’s opinion of him was quite low, in fact his opinion of kings and queens tend not to be very high in general, they would have to be beyond remarkable to elicit a praise from his mouth. Raynior was clearly not a beyond remarkable ruler in any sense. Claude thought he was quite the opposite, a mundane yet power hungry ruler, nothing special.
Ace shrugged in response to his father. “My new bodyguard’s dependant,” he cocked his head at Claude who stood a few steps behind.
Raynior did not look pleased. “I see you have taken a liking to Mr Edwards, he is an accomplished fighter in the ring.” Then again, it was difficult for Ace to guess what his father was thinking.
Ace’s second oldest brother, Remlin Yonsor, who looked like a slightly older version of Ace in every way, grunted and pulled a face. Raynior caught the view glared at him as if he was a disgrace, the young man flinched.
Raynior waved his youngest son away, “you may take your seat now, Acelin, just keep the child out of sight.”
Ace scoffed and took his seat at the very end of the banquet table, bouncing young Clay on his lap and teasing the young boy who was obliviously happy to have a friend. Ace thought the young boy was a lively addition to the otherwise cold palace, though he wondered how someone like Claude would have relatives.
“Do you like tomatoes?” Ace asked as the entrée got served, it was salad with grilled quails cooked delicately and more carefully placed in the middle of a big empty plate.
Clay nodded shyly and Ace fed him a piece.
“Your Highness,” Claude stepped forward and whispered in his ears, “you should not be picky about food.”
Ace turned and glared at him, “Clay likes it.” It was true that Ace despised eating tomatoes, but he had to eat his plate clean at royalty hosted events, it was one of the countless stupid rules he had to follow as the Third Prince of Parisora.
“Because he spent the first four years of his life in an orphanage,” Claude replied coldly, “the boy was taught to be grateful for whatever scraps people threw at him on the streets.”
Ace glared at him, then he looked at Clay and frowned, the young boy was severely thin and small for his age. The young Prince cut up a piece of the seasoned quail and fed it to the boy, Clay grimaced at the taste and Ace laughed. “Pretty looking but questionably tasting, that sums up banquet food.” He too, disliked the fancy looking, but mediocre tasting at best, banquet food.
Claude coughed lightly, “Your Highness, the entrée is an Opalian specialty.”
Ace shrugged. “Whatever.”
Near half of the banquet passed without much of a fuss, aside from the usual jeers and sneers of high society, especially with the Opalian Crown Prince’s hatred towards the young Third Prince of Parisora who was hailed as a hero by his people. Ace merely shrugged off the former’s hidden insults and digs, now was not the time to make a fuss, though how he would have loved to make the Opalian Crown Prince pay for the cruel words he spoke.
King Raynior held up his cup and silenced the crowed just before dessert was brought out to give his speech about peace and prosperity that will arise out of the new treaty. Ace rolled his eyes at every word of it, he knew his father and his brothers well, they would not hesitate, should a chance arise, for Parisora to invade Opalian. This forced peace treaty was merely due to the fact that Parisora needed to rebuild its forces and resources. The sudden war had drained the royal coffers, they need time to raid the taxpayers’ pockets.
Suddenly, the grand polished white doors to the lavishly furnished dining room and a brown skinned woman with braided hair strides in holding a loaded crossbow, she had a quiver of arrows on her back and a mean look on her face. A that somewhat resembled Claude’s face.
“You can’t be in here ma’am,” a security guard chased in after her, followed by a crowd of men and women in similarly bizarre garments who Ace could only assume to her accomplices.
“Shoot it up,” the woman in the lead ordered. Her accomplices gave a greedy smile and directed their weapons of choice at the people inside the dining room.
Then, a loud clutter sounded as the unwanted newcomers all had their weapons wrenched out of their hands and flown into a neat pile before the now empty throne at the back of the dining room. The woman in the lead chuckled, she was the only one who still had her crossbow. She turned and shot all of her accomplices, all except a young girl with fiery orange coloured hair.
The woman turned to Raynior and pulled out a scroll holding it out towards the king. “Your Majesty, apologies for the intrusion, I am Captain Edith,” she paused and pondered for a moment, “Sanguis,” she said staring straight at Claude who flinched at the word. Edith did not care, she continued, “of the International Bounty Hunter Association, there is a dangerous criminal who has infiltrated the palace with the purpose of destroying the newly formed alliance between Opalian and Parisora, I sincerely suggest you call off this banquet and each retreat to your own rooms until I find said criminal.”
Raynior had a disapproving look on his face. “Then why did you just shoot your own comrades? Guards!”
“Because they cannot be trusted,” Edith said coldly as she stepped forward towards the king, her one remaining accomplice took care of the oncoming guards with ease, taking care to only kick them onto the ground rolling around in pain.
“For those exact reasons, I propose we continue this conversation in private, with the entire immediate royal family and your most trusted guards of course,” Edith said, she was in front of the royal’s table now.
Raynior considered his options. “Guards, escort the guests to their rooms,” he ordered eventually, taking the lead and signalling for his immediate family to follow.
*
In the rather empty and somewhat similarly furnished throne room, the princes (Ace still carrying Clay), the Princess Royal and the Queen stood on either side of the throne with their personal guards a few steps away. The King obviously was seated on the throne to exert his dominance whilst Edith and her only remaining companion stood in front of him, both with intrigued expressions on their faces.
Edith stared past the royal family and at Claude. “Hello little brother, I see you got sloppy,” she smirked, her eyes flashed red.
“Edith,” Claude muttered, “I see you’ve picked up Mother’s destructive trait.”
Edith shrugged. “The entire Nine Rings thought you had died and faded, yet you’re still in existence, holed up here like a coward on the border of the Ring of Abyss and the Outer Ring, one step away from the land of exiles. Dark Cloud really cried at your funeral, you know that? I feel bad for him. I feel bad for everyone who attended your funeral.”
Claude stepped forward as the royals turned their inquisitive gaze to him. “I know, because that’s Dark Cloud. How did you find me?” Despite the bizarre turn the conversation had taken, the King made no attempt to speak, his eyes were unfocused almost as if he was in a trance and the other royals remained silent, waiting for the King to speak first. Yet Raynior, the King, did not speak.
“Like I said, little brother, you got sloppy,” Edith chuckled. “Claude Van Dysher? Poison Beauty’s dead name from back when she was alive, then you changed the last name to Edwards, reference to how you used to be a member of the Haus of Edwards back when you did drag because Dark Cloud wanted to and dragged ya’ll into it.” She paused to take a sip of coffee from a flask attached to her belt, it was cold and bitter but she did not care. “Then there was the incident with the capture of the Opalian Crown Prince,” she said with a judging look, “really Prince? Who uses a rapier these days? You also tanked a few hundred bullets, I imagine your organs are filled with metal these days.”
She turned to the royal family and reintroduced Claude. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the legendary Shadow known as the Prince of Blood, renown assassin who leaves behind a blood seal to mark his kills.” She pointed to her companion, “Prince, this Summer Season, but you probably know that already.”
Claude nodded, “Demonic Nail’s little sister, his only surviving relative, I am familiar.”
Summer beamed and bowed, “it’s pleasure to see you again, sir.”
“Don’t sir me, you’re not a Shadow,” Claude told her.
“Sorry,” Summer chuckled nervously.
Claude turned his attention back to his sister. “How the fuck did you find me?”
“The blood pact wasn’t cracked when you faded,” Edith told him, “but it cracked when Poison Beauty faded.”
“What?”
“Oh yeah, Poison Beauty faded, Battle of Bleeding Stars,” she said with a stern judging voice, “which you would know if you weren’t holed up here. The idiot Light Paladin you saved, Ranhor Nimon, passed on some bad info that got her killed.”
“Who killed her? Time? Sea?”
“They were both there,” Edith answered. “It was an alliance, your pals got a few good shots, but I digress. When Poison Beauty faded, the blood pact the four of you made to protect Dark Cloud got a single crack, then it hit me, you were still around, which was why it did not crack before when you supposedly ‘faded.’ “
At this moment, King Raynior coughed. “Not to break up your touching reunion, but Captain Edith Sanguis, you claim to be chasing a criminal?”
Edith smiled at him with a look of distaste in her eyes. “Yes, him, were you not listening to my introduction of him a minute ago?” She pointed to her younger brother Claude. Then, the whole conversation that had just passed made sense.
Ace stared at the remarkably different yet similar looking siblings, a thousand questions raced through his mind. Who were they? What did they do? How did they become who they are? Is Claude actually a criminal? How did Clay fit into all this?
“Arrest him and leave!” Raynior ordered.
Edith shook her head and laughed. “He saved your third son like three times, and ended the war between Parisora and Opalian, yet you show not even a tad of gratitude? Unbelievable, Prince you have the worse people skills I’ve ever seen!”
“Shut up Edith,” Claude rolled his eyes, “it’s not like you can actually kill me.”
“Yeah, if only I could kill you,” she reached for a revolver that was hanging from her belt and fired a round of bullets into Claude’s forehead.
“Claude!” Ace screamed out subconsciously.
One would naturally expect a bullet to the forehead at close range would result in a quick death, yet Claude shrugged and the bullet wounds on his forehead healed itself within seconds. Ace stared at him in disbelief. The entire royal family stared at him in disbelief. That man was not human.
Edith smiled in amusement. “Now that I got that out of the system, welcome back to hell, little brother.” She turned to the King and finally explained herself, “Prince here copied a battle plan he had once executed and won you a war, perhaps that in itself is enough for bargain. I want you to accomodate me and my companion Summer, here in the palace, we would have free will to come and go as we please and I will keep an eye on my dearest little brother to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone.”
Diorlin Yonsor, the Crown Prince, stepped in. “Father, you should not believe either of them,” he was referring to Edith and Claude. “We should have them both arrested.” That seemed to be the logical thing to do.
Remlin, the Second Prince, spoke out in agreement, followed promptly by the Princess Royal and the Queen.
“You can’t lock him up,” Ace suddenly yelled, recalling the demonstration that Claude had given him of how easily the mysterious wanderer was able to escape from his shackles yet choosing not to back at the Glisten Fort.
Everyone stopped and stared at him, only then did he realise, he actually said that out loud.
Edith laughed. That’s right, you can’t lock up a Shadow, they are masters of escape, else they would not be around for as long as they are.” Then, she saw the young boy that was in Ace’s arms. “Who’s that?”
Ace glanced down at Clay and frowned, the child bore the same resemblance to Edith as he did to Claude, and in the exact same manner too. He highly doubted Edith was the mother, therefore she must be an aunt then.
Edith glared at Claude, reaching behind for her crossbow and directing it at young Clay. Claude stepped in front of Ace and his nephew, in the direct line of fire. “When did you become so destructive? Edith? You’re doing exactly my job, and mother’s too for that matter.”
Edith paused for a moment and thought about it. “I suppose I did just shoot a round of my own companions. But the boy must die,” she insisted.
Claude sighed. “Say hello to Clay, Edith, our youngest brother yet.” He eyes flashed blood red just as Edith released the crossbow, Ace screamed once more.
Yet, the arrow stopped midair and cluttered to the ground, just like those weapons did not that long ago in the dining hall.
“Claude?” Ace called out quietly.
Raynior suddenly spoke up. “All of you can stay, just take care of the media and stay the hell out of my sight!” It seemed like a rather illogical choice and Ace wondered what was going through his father’s mind when he decided on that, but unfortunately, Ace never got the chance to find out why.
A slew of pleads for the King to reconsider followed from his spouse and children, whilst Ace breathed out a sigh of relief. He could not quite explain it, but he wanted Claude to stick around.
King Raynior stormed out of that throne room without an explanation to anyone. It was the strangest thing Ace saw, though he highly doubted his father ever explained his more abstract decrees. Though Ace did often wonder what his father was thinking that night.
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