The Apothecary and the Cursed Prince

'Took you long enough,' the stranger said to the first of the three guards emerging out of the shadows. 'I was afraid the wait would kill me before this dagger did. Do they not teach any sense of direction in the royal army?'

Eleonora thought it was absolutely demented to say that to someone who was professionally trained in combat and looked in their best form while you were seated on the ground with a dagger in your chest, not to mention severely outnumbered.

Furthermore, the insult to the royal army was something that she was not going to even acknowledge to have heard. In Valon's code of ethics, it was an offence worthy of treason. The stranger might die at the hands of the King if not by these guards here; and so might she, on the grounds of association. So, despite being a vocal condemner of violence, Eleonora kept her mouth shut when the guard unsheathed his sword and pointed it in their direction.

'Where's the crest?' the guard demanded. The tip of his sword floated in front of the stranger's face and for the second time that night Eleonora cursed herself for her foolish act of suicidal bravery of running into the forest.

'I don't have it,' the stranger spoke, his voice still steady, not a hint of fear.

'No more lies, you bastard. Speak where it is or I'll rip your neck in half'. The guard moved closer. The tip of his sword touched the stranger's neck, drawing a drop of blood.

Eleonora knew it was not going to make much of a difference what she did; there was no way she could take him down on her own, not when two of his henchmen were standing behind him, waiting for directions. And yet, even as she cursed the stranger for not running with her when she had offered him her help, Eleonora inconspicuously reached for the first of the poison needles in her sleeves and pulled it free, hiding it between her first finger and palm.

'Go ahead, do it then. Kill me and you'll never know where it is,' the stranger spoke, as carefree as ever.

The guard seemed to consider it for a bit. He withdrew the sword a little, but kept it only inches away from his neck like a warning. 'So you do admit to having it.'

'Must be nice being so thick-skulled.' The stranger rolled his eyes, bored. 'I said I know where it is. I don't have it on me. Would it not make this interaction completely pointless if I was roaming around with it in my pockets?'

Eleonora wished she could suggest him to tame down with the insults. She was not yet held at sword-point, but a possibility was always open for the future. Except a few occasional glances in her directions by one of the henchmen, they were ignoring her existence. Being someone who has always been in the limelight for all the wrong reasons, she was slightly grateful to the stranger/soldier for keeping their attention to himself. However, if he ended up losing his life to his rude mouth, she was going to be the next in line.

And wouldn't it be a pity for her family to come home to an empty house and a dead daughter? Something needed to be done. She shifted yet closer to the stranger, her thumb tracing the length of the hidden needle in her hand. She needed the perfect angle and the perfect opportunity to make it work; there was going to be no more than one chance to get this right. The stranger wasn't helping much, but she needed to get them out of this place. Both of them. Alive.

'Just tell them where it is,' she whispered to her injured stranger.

The guard scoffed. 'Listen to your lady, peasant. Where's the crest?'

'What's in it for me? What do I get if I tell you?' the stranger asked conversationally as if it was an ongoing official deliberation.

'An easier death,' the guard answered.

'Tch Tch,' said the stranger, shaking his head dismissively. 'That doesn't sound fair.'

'What's unfair is me allowing you to run your mouth when I should have killed you the moment you struck the match and burned the brewery,' the guard seethed through gritted teeth. 'The crest is of no use now anyway. With the brewery it was issued for in flames and the brewmaster to whom it was issued to dead,' he nodded to the dead man lying on the ground, 'it has lost its value. Now stop wasting my time and tell me where you hid it.'

'If it has lost its value,' said the stranger, tilting his head to the side, his features turning grim. 'Why do you need it?'

'It needs to be returned to the issuing authority, His Royal Highness.'

'And does his royal highness,' he said distastefully, making the title sound like an insult, 'know what you were doing in the brewery? To the women there? To the children there?'

The guard cackled. His henchmen behind him smiled as if remembering a fond memory. 'We work hard all day long. What's the harm in having a little... entertainment?'

Eleonora saw their eyes shift in her direction and realised why they were ignoring her presence for the moment, why they haven't put her at their sword-points yet. They were confident she wouldn't be able to run away from them. And they weren't planning on killing her. Not right away, at least.

So waiting for the perfect time be damned. She raised her right hand as if to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the needle waiting in the crux of her index finger. Before, she had intended to aim for the guard's arm to debilitate it and free the sword. Now, she changed the trajectory to his neck. Her aim might not be good enough to hit the carotid, but it shall get the work done.

'Not him,' spoke the stranger beside her. 'His left. And wait.'

Eleonora stiffened. How in heaven...? 

He hadn't looked in her direction; his eyes had stayed fixed on the guard standing in front of him who frowned in response. 'What?'

'How did you get the crest?' the stranger said. 'Give me a name and I'll tell you where it is.'

The guard thought about it for a while. 'I'll take it as fulfilling a dying man's wish,' he looked back at his friends and smiled as if sharing an inside joke. 'It was issued by His Highness Prince Ca-'

'Bullshit. Try again.'

'Don't test me, bastard. I'll rip-'

'This is getting dull now. I don't have all night and I'm getting bored. So let's make it interesting.' The stranger grabbed the handle of the dagger embedded in his chest. Alert, the guard moved his sword closer to his neck.

'The brewmaster had this blade smeared in Bloodwake when he stabbed me. For your rotted brain, it's a poison that activates only when the infected blood comes in contact with the air after the blade is pulled out. It needs a quick cure or else it leads to the victim's death within...' he looked over at Eleonora, inviting her to fill in.

An hour. That was the right answer, but understanding what the stranger was planning to do, that was not what she said. 'A quarter hour.'

In one swift motion, the stranger pulled out the dagger. Blood poured out of the wound like a leaking faucet. It was black, she noted. The poison would soon start to spread.

It was sadistic to think that way, but Eleonora was somewhat comforted to see him wince a little at that. The expression of pain made him feel more human.

The guards took a step back; the shock caused by the action was evident on their faces.

'We have fifteen minutes now,' the stranger continued calmly but domineeringly. 'You can waste your time by bullshitting me, or you can give me a name and get what you followed me here for. I'm dying either way.'

'What a crazy bastard!' the guard chuckled, pointing his sword at the stranger's chin. 'Have it your way then. Minister Fredrik from the King's palace got it made in secrecy. It's a fake and he needs it before anyone else finds out about it. Now tell me where-'

Eleonora had barely registered the words when the dagger in the stranger's hand landed in the guard's skull. And she had barely started to comprehend the turn of the situation when the stranger got to his feet — with liquid grace — and stole the sword from the guard's hand as he fell to the ground with a loud thud.

'Now!' he said to her as he blocked the henchmen's sword with his own. Eleonora was still seated on the ground — stunned, and still trying to wrap her head around everything that was happening — but her aim was set on the left henchmen and she flicked the needle in his direction before he would move out of her target zone. It hit his throat. The poison in it wasn't meant to kill, only to debilitate. He fell to the ground, his nerves giving away instantly.

She turned her head just in time to watch the stranger swerve an attack, turned on his heels as elegantly as a dancer, and stopped with his sword next to the neck of the last standing guard. He gave him just enough time to register what was about to happen, just enough time to fear for what was about to happen. Then, he slashed.

Eleonora looked away as the blood splattered in all directions. She kept her eyes away as the stranger stood tall next to the corpses, with his back to her. She didn't watch when he let the sword drop to the damp ground, nor when he pulled out the faux crest out of his pockets and threw it over the dead man's chest.

'You said your fear shall never take precedence over saving a life,' he said, turning to look at her.

And Eleonora had to look back at him. She had to shun out her thumping heart and the fear consuming her chest. She had to focus on his bleeding wound and not on the droplets of blood sprinkled on his face. Because only then she would be able to stand up straight and walk over to him.

'Go ahead then, Apothecary,' he raised his arm to her shoulder level, as if needing support. 'Rescue me.'