The Counterfeit Crown - Chapter 16
CAUGHT IN THE ACT
If you’re interested in seeing where it all started going wrong for Alaric, check out the prologue
Thanks for reading
“Oi! Who’s gasping back there?”
Alaric’s stomach dropped. Boots hammered against the gravel. He spun, heart kicking at his ribs, and pressed himself to the wall. One of the guards rounded the corner, sliding to a halt, then lowered his pike. Alaric stepped out, tray raised like a shield, the other hand curled into a fist behind his back.
“What are you doing here?” The guard’s face was a shade of beetroot, and the bulging vein in his neck would make a vampire blush.
“I was sent out here to see if you guys needed anything,” Alaric stammered.
“How’d you get back here?” The guard frowned.
“Got lost,” Alaric shrugged. “It’s dark out tonight.”
The guard looked him up and down. “Did you see anything incriminating?”
“Nope,” Alaric shook his head vigorously.
“Come on,” the guard waved his pike. “Shouldn’t be back here.”
Alaric nodded and slowly shuffled past the guard and towards the front of the building. When he turned the corner, the other guard, squat with a full beard, stationed out front, looked at Alaric, then returned his attention to the path, blinked a few times, then swung his head back to Alaric.
“Halt!” The bearded guard fumbled with his pike. Alaric froze mid-step. When the beard guard regained control of his weapon, he lowered it at Alaric. “Who goes there?”
“Shut up, Reg,” the guard who discovered Alaric came around the corner. “It’s just one of the waiters sent down to give us a feed.”
Reg raised his pike. “I knew that, Del.”
“Sod off, you did,” Del snatched a mushroom from the platter as he walked past Alaric.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Reg eyed Alaric, then, with infinite patience, examined all the hors d’oeuvres before selecting a tiny, pickled tomato. Holding the pickled tomato between his thumb and index finger, Reg sucked off all the seasoning before slowly crushing it between his yellowed teeth. Juices trickled into his beard as he chomped away, staring at Alaric. “Yeah, real familiar.”
Alaric swallowed, unsure what to do.
“Are you hitting on him?” Del asked.
“What?” Reg’s face went bright red. “No!”
“Try to be professional, Reg,” Del shook his head. “We’re on the clock. You.” Del pointed at Alaric. “Get back to work. Go on, get outta here. Can’t have you both gawking at each other all night.”
Alaric blinked, then started back on the path. After a few steps, he tried to process what had just happened. Maybe he was so shocked by the exchange that he just followed the order. Was he actually recognised? Was Del just covering for Reg’s slip-up? After what Alaric saw through the window, he had to get inside. What now?
“Get back here.”
Alaric froze again and spun on his heels, again.
“Deep breaths,” Alaric muttered. “Deep calming breaths”
Alaric walked back to the guards, pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and set his jaw tight. The platter held in front of him was steady, but the fist behind his back trembled with anticipation. Del took two paces back and banged on the iron door with the end of his pike. It rang like a town bell. Nothing happened.
“Get up here,” Del banged on the door again. “Come on, you lazy bastards.”
The iron door swung open. Four guards burst out, weapons drawn.
Alaric slid a foot back and bent his knees, muscles tensed like a coiled snake ready to strike. In half a heartbeat, he formulated a plan of attack. Throw the platter at the face of Reg on the left, sidestep to the right, snatch Del’s pike and swing it — and him if he still held onto it — then turn on the others. Then storm the building.
He wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk, but time was running out.
“Thank the gods,” one of the new guards bellowed. “I’m starving,”
They all sheathed their short swords.
“What’s all that yelling for, Del?” An old guard stepped forward and took a bit of cheese from the platter. “Damn near gave me a heart attack.”
A tall, wiry guard took his time examining the patter. “That old boiler barely gives us scraps when on duty.”
They all grumbled their agreement.
“Hey, boys,” Reg helped himself to seconds. “Don’t you think he looks like someone famous or something?”
“Not this again,” Del groaned.
“Bah,” Reg waved a mushroom dismissively. “I’m serious. He looks just like that Alaric fella. You know the Godborn. I think he’s dad’s the god of sweaty socks, or something.”
All the guards crowded around Alaric, accusing eyes scanning him.
“You mean the lone survivor of the Battle of Iron Keep?” Alaric gave a nervous chuckle.
“Hey, Steve,” Del turned to the tall, wiry guard. “Ain’t you also a lone survivor of the Battle of Iron Keep?”
“Yeah,” Steve said with a nasal tone. “So’s Old Carlo here. So are half the boys downstairs.”
“What?” Alaric blurted.
“Can’t spend your money when you’re dead,” Old Carlo, the oldest of the guards, looked at Alaric like he had a flaming turd coming out of his mouth. “Sometimes you have to cut your losses and start a new life. That’s the first thing you learn as a mercenary. Oh, I’m sure the wife is upset about my recent passing, it’s just part of the job. But no, this ain’t Alaric.”
“You sure?” Reg said.
Sweat beaded on Alaric’s temple. Unarmed and this close, Alaric was confident that he could take out at least three or four guards before they could draw their swords. Confident was a strong word; Alaric thought he was more sure than confident. These guards weren’t run-of-the-mill house staff. They’re mercenaries. Swords for hire. Skilled in the art of death. And here he was, standing in their midst, holding a damn platter of cheese.
A sword thrust, without his armour, and despite his Godborn blood, could be fatal. And where would that leave Kethryll? Some heroic rescue.
“Can’t be him, not as ugly.”
They all broke out in fits of laughter that pierced Alaric deeper than any sword could.
“Thanks, guys,” Alaric said.
“Now, get outta here.”
Alaric blinked and looked at the empty platter. Finally, he nodded and headed back up the path. As he passed the bend, he noticed the leaves of a bush rattling. He stopped in front and tried to see past the foliage. A hand reached out, snatched his shirt and pulled him into the bushes.
“Elara!”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Keep it down.”
“Where the asshole have you been?” Alaric ranted in a hushed tone. “I’ve been cutting onions all day while you’ve been doing whatever. When they realised that you weren’t coming back, they made me wait tables. You won’t believe what a bunch of jerks those people are. And you won’t believe what I just saw…what are you doing?”
“Getting dressed. What does it look like?” she hissed. Alaric’s eyes widened at the sight of Elara in a tight-fitting light blue silk dress. He didn’t remember her cutting such a fine figure... his thoughts were cut off when she thrust a package into his chest.
“What’s this?” he looked at the parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied off with a string. After a moment, he realised that he still held the platter in one hand. Alaric tossed it aside. The silver platter landed on the grass with the dignity of a dying swan. Not with a clatter or a clung, just a dull thud.
“It was what I’ve been doing all day,” she fastened some diamond earrings, then changed shoes. “While you were playing chef, I went and got you some nice clothes. What happened to your hair?”
Alaric muttered under his breath as he opened the package. A black tailored suit and black polished shoes silenced his complaints. Alaric’s eyes widened as he ran his fingers over the fine material. The treads were honed by a true artisan. Alaric decided to thank her the only way he knew how.
“Uh, thanks,” he groaned inwardly.
“You’re welcome,” Elara straightened her dress, draped her magical purple robe across her back and shoulders like a shawl, then flicked her hair about and turned in a slow circle. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous.” Alaric gushed.
“You’re too sweet.” Elara finished her pirouette.
Alaric looked up from the suit in his hand. “Huh?”
“Get changed. The duke will be making his grand entrance soon.”
Alaric kicked off the estate-issued shoes and pants and put on the new suit pants. They fell to his ankles. Elara raised an eyebrow. He took the belt out of the work pants and tried again. They held. Within moments, Alaric was dressed and walking up the path arm-in-arm with Elara.
Music mixed with the murmurs of the crowd began to wash over them. Elara’s arm wrapped tight around his, and Alaric felt that rush of blood again as his heartbeat sped up.
“So?” She asked in a hushed tone, looking up at Alaric.
“So,” Alaric leaned closer.
“What did you see?”
“Oh,” Alaric straightened and looked ahead. “There’s a fully stocked alchemist lab hidden underground. It also looked like a there was a tunnel between that building and the mansion. There were men pouring gunpowder and different colours of something into metal tubes. Not sure what they’re for. Must be the bombs.” Alaric stopped and turned to Elara. It took a moment for the words to form. “I think I saw Kethryll, but it was only a moment. I’m pretty sure I’d recognise that liver-spotted bald head anywhere. He was being manhandled out of the lab by a couple of guards.”
A slight scowl crossed Elara’s face as she murmured something under her breath. It was as if she were trying to piece together the puzzle with clues Alaric didn’t have.
“What’s the matter?” Alaric held her hands.
“Where could it be?” Elara’s words were barely a whisper. Soft enough for only a Godborn to hear. She slipped her hands free from Alaric’s. “It’s nothing. We should rescue your friend. That alchemy lab might be where they’ve been forging documents. The seals could be in there. From what you’ve said, there’s enough guards in there to suggest so. I haven’t seen that many coming and going around that building. I think you’re right; we should be able to find an entrance to the tunnels in the mansion.”
Elara started to make her way up the path towards the mansion. Alaric watched her glide along the path, the gravel silent with her passing as if they too held their breath in her presence. Alaric slapped the side of his cheek to free himself from the trance. The gravel path groaned with each stride as he caught up with Elara.
“What’s the plan?” Alaric slowed to match her pace.
“I’m going to do what I do best,” she gave him a devious smile, then stuck her elbow out.
“Oh, what’s that?” Alaric tried his best to imitate that smile and slipped his hand around her arm.
She just raised an eyebrow and looked ahead.
Alaric felt a knee weaken. His breath shallow. He looked ahead and couldn’t help but smile. Was this the feeling that poets yammered on about? He’d always thought they were crooks. Selling their honey-soaked words across the countryside. Taking advantage of those yearning for something that would always be out of reach. But in this moment, Alaric wasn’t sure anymore.
The lights and music from the ball filled the air as the mansion’s glory came into view. The guard posted at the start of the path stiffened with their approach.
“Excuse us, darling,” Elara brushed her hand down the guard’s arm. His mouth fell open as he stepped aside.
“Thank you,” Elara purred.
Alaric felt the familiar rush of danger that he only felt on the battlefield, and a tinge of jealousy. He didn’t know why. Elara was on his arm, wasn’t she? Weren’t all eyes on her now?
Alaric stiffened. All eyes were on her. All tight-knit groups of gossip mongers in the patio area looked them up and down. Judging. Elara just stood straighter and strode towards the large double doors, dragging Alaric with her.
She paused at the threshold and turned to him. “Ready?”
Heart thumping in his chest and in his throat at the same time, he turned to her, a faint smile on his lips and nodded.
Arm in arm, they stepped from the shadows into the glow of the ballroom.
Thank you so much for reading Chapter 16.
The fact that you’re still here, still following Alaric’s chaos, his questionable decisions, and whatever this thing is between him and Elara… it means a lot.
If you enjoyed the chapter, please like, comment, share, yell about it to a friend — all of it genuinely helps more than you know. Every bit of engagement keeps me motivated to keep writing and posting these drafts.
You’re the reason this story keeps going.
Andrew