The Bard's Allure

 

A/N: Written for Dribs, Drabs, and Doggy Tales Week 44: Kings  

This is a work in progress and I plan to update it regularly, with or without a theme from DD&D. The plan is with, but we'll see. There's no sex in this chapter, but I do plan to include it later (I know it will happen later, but I don't know where). Read and review if it pleases you, for it shall certainly please me.  

​The Bard's Allure

​Chapter 1: Escape

            Devon had a plan. A prince's life had never suited him; his mother would tell the tale of his love for a wooden horse above the shiny golden toys to anyone who would listen. He felt a hot poker of pain stir the coals of anguish in this chest; her passing was still fresh and he knew its hold would be strong for some time. He took a deep breath.

            Yes, his plan. He would sit and enjoy the festivities his father had planned and, when the time was right, he would slip out through the front, disguised as an ordinary party-guest. He smiled as he gathered his belongings into a satchel, stowing it behind a box in his quarters. Soon he would be free from the pomp and circumstance of the castle life and, with his brother Jules (5 years his elder and ever the King's favorite) at his side, Devon doubted his father would notice his absence.

            The party went as he knew it would; the nine course meal was served to the King's table and a smaller version sat before the guests. The jesters came first. They offered their crude entertainment and the King chortled with amusement. The crowd joined in and the prince wondered how much of it was appeasement.

            The band would come next, he knew. Just as their song hit its crescendo, he would slip upstairs, grab his things and leave without a second glance.

            Then his plan fell apart.

            A single woman walked up the carpet, reducing the crowd to hushed whispers. She carried with her a stringed instrument and wore pants without skirts to call attention to her femininity. The king's expression was dark and Devon shifted in his seat; the planner had made a grave error, but the danger was now solely on the shoulders of this woman. Did she not know the King's wrath?

            "What manner of joke is this?" The King called to the woman, pointing his half-devoured turkey leg at her as he spit what pieces he was working in his maw over the table. "The jesters came last, woman." The crowd laughed.

            "I am no jester, your majesty," The woman curtsied with invisible skirts, but her voice was firm, fearless. "I pray thou wouldst bestow thy ear upon this humble bard, for I have travelled many moons 'cross and land sea to offer my tales. Will'ee have them, m'lord?" She kept her head bowed as the crowd whispered uneasily.

            "I shall. Rise and give your best," he called down as he wiped his mouth with the back of his fist. "Though be warned - I do not enjoy wastes of time." The woman ended her curtsy with impossible grace, returning to full posture and raising her head.

            Her fingers began to strum the instrument as her wordless voice rose and spiraled about the notes. Devon felt reality shift as she began her tale, images of bravery and love dancing from her lips into his mind and just as quickly as it began, the song was finished. The sweet note hung in the air, bouncing across the stone hall as the woman's chest heaved. 

            "Not my kind of story," the king yawned. Devon's blood ran cold as alarm pierced his mind. "And I did warn you," he motioned for the guards as the woman stood tall, her shoulders square. She was dangerous. Devon knew his father saw it. "Take her away." 

            She refused to move as the guards drew close. Devon did not. He sprang up without a thought and drew his sword. As the nearest guard was about to grab her, Devon slammed his shoulder into him, sending him sprawling. He took the bard's hand and commanded her to follow, holding his sword in front of him with the other to keep the guards from moving. They stood unsure.

            "Seize them both," the king ordered as Devon pulled the bard back through the hall. They ran to the entryway, but the guards were closing in. One look behind told them retreat was no option. They ran up the stairs and he looked to see the guards ascending and rushed down the corridor.

            "Is there an exit this way?" The bard asked.

            "There will be," the prince replied as they reached the window. He had her climb first and then followed after her. They stood on the stone slab, which happened to be the only bit of ground for a couple hundred feet. He looked back at the approaching guards and held his nose, looking at her. She mimed his actions and he stepped off the ledge.

            The world rushed up with terrible speed and he closed his eyes, immediately realizing his mistake as his stomach rose up in his throat. He splashed into the moat, hearing one more splash after a second. They swam to the surface and he looked up to see the archers on the ramparts, bows not drawn. It seemed his father was not willing to slay him. They ran into the forest - his forest.

            Finally there were able to-... to what? He didn't know, but reasoned this was certainly a fine way to start an adventure.

            "How are you called, prince?" The bard asked after she was sure they were safe.

            "Devon," he smiled, meeting her gaze. For a moment, his breath caught as he could finally afford a good look into her sharp blue eyes. He hoped his face was not as red as it felt as he broke the gaze. "And leave the 'prince' back at the castle, if you would."

            "Of course," she smiled an easy smile. "I am Anne." She looked around. "Do you have any idea where we're going, Devon?" He could certainly get used to the way his name sounded on her tongue.

            "Not a one," he smiled, taking the risk to meet her gaze again. "Is that a problem?" She returned his smile and shook her head.

            "I am always ready for a new story."