Prompt: Nosedive has dreams, and he doesn’t know if they are real or not.

“When Dreams Die”

Chapter One

“Born the flame, forever you shall remain. In the end, you will see, my little emberling; the torture you have endured, was given only to make you stronger. Perhaps it was selfish, even wrong, but you must understand. My heart could not—cannot—take anymore. ”

The Fire! The Fire! Get it off! Oh, Stars! It burned him, consumed him—

Nosedive shot up in bed, his silk shirt stuck to his chest, his bangs limp upon his head, his long hair pulled back into a rather bedraggled ponytail. His heart thundered in his chest, and he allowed it to run, finding it hard to stop it. Rather than attempting, he glanced around at his surroundings, noticing the most bizarre place he had ever seen. What should be the blue, metallic walls of the infirmary instead appeared gray like ashlars and covered warmly with teal, golden, and white cloth. Outside the arched window floated snow upon the white canvas of the ground, and as far as he could see, Anaheim was no where to be had.

Nosedive leaned forward and pushed his floppy bangs from his eyes while keeping his head propped up by his hand. Stars, where was he? What happened? The last thing he remembered was His Fire Mistress and…Stars, did he fight Wildwing and the team? What was he thinking? How could he ever…against his own brother?

“Welcome back.”

The sudden voice startled him, and Nosedive whirled toward its owner—a familiar and slightly nervous looking tan mallard with calm eyes but intense emotions. Nosedive perked up immediately and almost vaulted into the drake’s arms.

“Canard!”

The tan mallard’s face contorted with uncertainty, almost fear, as if he expected a different reply, one he dreaded. His expression slowly gave way to a sheepish smile, however, and with a loud sigh, he seemed profoundly relieved. “Yes, I am an Ice Drake, good. Okay. Why don’t you try my name, huh?”

Nosedive suddenly felt like Kansas—or at least Anaheim—was very far away. “…I just said it. ‘Canard.’ Why? What’s going on here?”

Calder’s eyes focused upon something flickering on Nosedive’s face before diverting to the hearth across from the bed—where the fire burned.

Nosedive immediately retreated at the sight of it, pressing back against the head of the bed—only to hear silence. No song or whimsical words—nothing. As he slowly relaxed, though his head spun, Calder watched him closely, his eyes widened and glowing in the light of the fire. He leaned forward to ask, frightened, “What do you hear?”

Nosedive shook his head. “Nothing. That’s what scares me.”

That wasn’t all that scared him when the wooden door swung open, allowing a chilly wind to swell about the room and tease the fire. Nosedive huddled against his covers—a heavy comforter as smooth as silk and thick with feathers—until the blond duck shut the door behind her. Her hair was pulled back how she never wore it—in a long, curly ponytail that lay so gently upon her shoulders. Dressed in an elegant purple dress without sleeves and only a small loop about her shoulders, she appeared not at all chilled by the wind, as neither did Canard. On second glance, he noticed that the teal sleeveless tunic bunching at Canard’s waist with a golden Mighty Ducks’ emblem, which showed his contoured muscles, and black breaches—breaches?!—held his legs tightly and matched the golden symbol of the tunic with golden weave creeping up the sides of his legs. With such little protection, Nosedive had to wonder, why the hell wasn’t Canard cold?

Nosedive had no time to contemplate the problem as Tanya rushed forward and cupped him by the cheeks. “Oh, our little emberling. You are alright. We were starting to worry, especially Calder over here. He hasn’t left your bedside since he dragged you in here three weeks past.”

“Calder?” Nosedive echoed, but Canard interjected for him, “He’s been calling me names. ‘Canard.’ What? I know I’m an Ice Drake. Is he trying to—”

“Uh, I’m in the room here.”

“And we are very aware of that, sweetie.” Tanya finished pouring a goblet of water from a table at the foot of the bed, then eased down onto the mattress and handing the glass to Nosedive. “Tell me how you feel.”

“A slight headache, I guess.” He sipped sparingly and shrugged. “Other than that, okay, Tanya.”

The name caught her attention, and she cocked her head to the side. “Honey, what did you call me?”

The boy froze before glancing between Tanya and Calder. “What? ‘Tanya.’ It’s your name.”

“Your turn,” Calder said in a singsong voice, but other than a brief, scathing gaze, Tanya kept the majority of her attention upon the teenage mallard engulfed by the blankets and pillows of his well-furnished bed.

Tanya held her breath, Nosedive could tell, then reached out to fidget with his golden locks in a motherly manner. Nosedive almost jerked away. Before, Tanya’s ministrations usually were tender and loving, but never had she been so affectionate. Yet, somehow, it felt right.

“Emberling, do you not know us?” she questioned.

Nosedive blinked. “Of course I know you, Tanya. We’re part of the Strike Force together.”

Now, it was Tanya’s turn to blink. “ ‘Tanya?’ ‘Strike Force?’ Kres, are you sure you are feeling all right?”

“I think that bout with the Fire changed him, Tasha, and not for the better.” Calder stood and walked to the burning fire on the other side of the room. He scowled at it, as if it were the cause of his bane. “Whoever that assassin was, he surely knew what he was doing.”

Assassin? Tasha? Fire? What was going on here?

…Fire. Oh, Stars. What did it do to him? He tried to remember what exactly had happened, and the sights of a frantic Wildwing overtook him. Kres, himself, had been controlled by his Fire Mistress, told to attack the others for whatever her reason was, and all had failed—except for Wildwing and Canard. Canard actually held onto him, sacrificed himself and his body, gaining the same taint on his arm that had adorned Wildwing’s for the last twelve years, yet it wasn’t enough. Eventually, Wildwing stepped in and held him, fought with the Fire Mistress inside him—

—and then he woke up here.

But where was Wildwing? And the others? And Anaheim? And—

The door slammed open against the ashlars of the room wall, startling the teen but neither Tasha nor Calder. The cold, winter breeze once more swept through the room, causing Kres to retreat into his blankets to seek warmth. Tasha stood from the bed instantly, her hands forming fists as Calder dropped a hand to the blaster attached to his left thigh.

A glamorous drake with slicked dark brown hair and a royal maroon tunic and breaches that matched Calder’s almost perfectly marched into the room. His beady eyes surveyed the place casually before settling upon the shivering Kres amongst his mountain of blankets. Then, ever so slowly, he shut the door.

“I see the princeling has finally awoken,” the drake announced, edging toward Kres’s bedside.

Princeling? Kres’s mind whirled. By the Stars, this place was mad if they thought him a prince.

Calder, however, stepped in front of him to block the drake’s path and separate him from Kres. “Why have you come, Ambroz? Do you have a message for Lady Tasha or me?”

“Actually, it is for the princeling.” Ambroz slapped Calder on the side of the shoulder, as if to say, “I have the right to pass, you schmuck,” then smiled too overzealously to be true at Tasha before bowing to Kres. To the boy, it seemed to be too overdone to be respectful. “The Council of Nobles are convening, my princeling. If you are able, your presence has been requested. If you are not, your presence is still requested.”

“He just awoke a few minutes ago,” Calder argued, his muscles rippling, “and he was unconscious for the three weeks past. You cannot ask him to speak to the Council so soon.”

“The Council asks, and thus, the princeling must obey.” Ambroz stood straight and met Calder’s eyes. “If he cannot walk, then you must carry him, and you cannot do so, then Lady Tasha must create some machine or tool to get him there. I am the deliver of the message; that is all. You are to see that its promise is carried out.”

Calder pulled his blaster, but Ambroz was already out of the room, particularly skipping and calling over his shoulder, “See you in ten minutes.”

Tasha collapsed to the bed, her hand upon her forehead, her hair drizzling over her face. “This is impossible. The Fire has twisted his mind; if he goes before the Council like this—”

“—they will speed up the date of our departure and find a way to call Raen unfit to rule,” Calder ended spitefully, wringing his hand upon his blade. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

“Hold the phone here,” Kres interjected, throwing off the heaps of blankets. He quickly regretted the action as the full force of the land smacked him forthwith, and he found himself delirious with the ice of the air. A cloak of some sort was draped over his shoulders, and a hand wrapped around his body to hold him against a warm being—Calder, he noticed when finally enough heat returned. Tasha already moved, setting the kettle over the fire for water.

Stars. He really was in the Middle Ages, wasn’t he?

“Raen, huh? To rule? And the Nobles? Why don’t you tell me about them?” His teeth chattered as he spoke, and he huddled closer to Calder’s body for warmth. “And then I’ll see what I can do at the meeting.”

With his cheek pressed against the older drake, Kres felt Calder’s chest contract with a sigh and watched as Tasha met Calder’s worrisome gaze with her own concerned expression. “Well…perhaps it might work.”

“And perhaps they will condemn him earlier!”

“Condemn me?” Kres pulled his head away from Calder and looked up. “Condemn me for what?”

Calder glanced down for a brief moment, and in that second, Kres saw tears shimmer in the older drake’s eyes and swelling fear shake them. He averted his face a moment later, cursing out loud.

“If you do not remember…then perhaps it is not best for me to tell you now, especially if you must meet with those who have cast your fate.”

Fate? Raen? Rule? He seriously hoped this was a dream and the Fire Mistress hadn’t sent him somewhere. Else…Stars, he pinched his arm and yelped when pain radiated. Well, that didn’t really mean anything, did it?

“Hold on a second.” Kres pushed to his feet, but Calder jerked him back to the bed before the coldness attacked him once more. “You can’t decide what I need to know and what I should know. You have to tell me everything, especially if I have to meet with the council.”

Whoever this council was, anyway. Maybe he could understand just what was going on here and where he was if he attended—or maybe he would awake from this freaky dream.

Another warm hand settled upon his shoulder, and he glanced up at Tasha, who nodded once. “The boy is right. If he is to meet with the council, then he needs to know—quickly.”

Calder glared in defiance at both Kres and Tasha before growling and looking away. “Fine, but it’s not my fault if you hate me later.”

Tasha clasped her hands, then headed off into the wardrobe perpendicular to the bed. Meanwhile, Calder closed the window and tightened its lock before throwing more wood into the fireplace. Once the temperature of the room swelled and even Kres felt comfortable in taking off the cloak, Calder urged the boy to stand and ignored the yelp of surprise when stripping the boy of most of his clothes.

“Hey! W—What are you doing?” Kres objected, trying to cover up his now bare chest, but swiftly, a tunic was pulled over his head.

“To start,” Tasha said as she tied the sides of the teal tunic from behind his back, then handed the breaches to Calder, who helped Kres into them, “you are Kres, Princeling of the High House of Frostfeather and heir to the throne of Isylaca. Your older brother—”

“—who is seven years older than you, my prince—” Calder interjected as he pushed Kres to the bed and began to place the calf-high boots onto the boy’s feet.

“—is King Raen. Your brother took the throne less than four years ago when your father, King Friesen, was murdered by an assassin.”

Prince? Raen? Now, Kres knew he was dreaming. He had to be.

“Just so you know.” Calder’s warm face hardened, and he patted his blaster. “You were in the room at the time, and those who harm the royal family are punished.”

Meaning, Kres interpreted, Calder killed the assassin before he could harm Kres.

“Though, does one inhumane act right another inhumane act?” Tasha asked, returning from the wardrobe with a rich black cloak with a golden inseam.

Calder shrugged and gave a hand to Kres to pull the boy to his feet. “Do not judge, Tasha. The king was murdered, and the princeling was in danger. I had to make sure both Kres and Raen wouldn’t succumb to the same fate. I do know, after all, how much you and he have become—close, would you like to call it? Perhaps, comfortable?—since the first time you two met.”

Heat blushed Tasha’s cheeks, and she attempted to turn half-way around to hide her embarrassment. However, Kres found it all too amusing. “So, Lady Tasha, is there something I need to know about you and my brother?”

Kres never saw the hand that slammed into the back of his head.

“Not to mention, Guardian Calder, I do happen to know that the king chose you to be his brother’s guardian because he trusts you more than a lesser noble. I heard him call you his ‘most trusted friend.’ I wonder how others would like to know that you are the king’s confidant.”

Kres grunted when Tasha simply threw the cloak on his shoulders, then clipped it to his shoulders. It doubled the feel of the one Calder used earlier to keep him warm, and the boy realized perhaps that was the need for the extra weight. Insulation. While Calder burned more wood, the rest of the castle—Oh, Stars, castle?!—would not be as warm. If he almost passed out again, it would not look good for Raen.

Raen? If Tanya was Tasha and Canard Calder, then did that mean Wildwing was—but what if he wasn’t? Then, what? Throughout his entire life, Wildwing had always been the foundation of Nosedive’s life, and later, Canard helped to strength the pillars upon which that foundation had been built. What if Raen was someone completely different? How could Nosedive call another “Brother”? And what if…what if whatever that fire did was irreversible? What if he could never get back to Wildwing?

Unless this was all one, weird dream.

Wildwing was right. He really needed to lay off the Triple Spicy Tacos.

Calder tore the thoughts from Kres’s mind with a single tug, fitting his hand with thick, leather gloves that rose to his forearms. “Now, as you probably do not know, Isylaca has recently been invaded in the South Sector by the Lizards of Sauria.”

“We affectionately call them, ‘Bastards.’ ”

The lightness of Tanya’s voice earned her a smile. “So, Saurians, huh?” He should have seen that coming.

“Yes,” Calder heaved with tired nod, then took a step backwards to assess at his work. He motioned to Tasha, who swiftly braided Kres’s hair, then snapped on a leather tie. When all was said and done, Kres stole a glimpse of himself in the long mirror hanging next to the wardrobe door. He looked good.

Clearing his throat, Calder alerted Kres that something was amiss, but since the boy prince remembered nothing, the older drake rolled his eyes and stepped forward, pulling the cloak about the boy’s body to keep him warm. Then, when Tasha indicated, she, too, was ready, he opened the door, and winter’s touch swirled about the room. This time, while it burned Kres’s cheeks and permeated his feathers to his bones, he found himself able to remain conscious.

“Now, the Saurians have asked for one thing in return for letting our lands go free and unmolested, though King Raen has his doubts.” Calder pulled the door shut and followed behind Tasha and Kres as they made their way through the castle hallways and down the grand staircase, which looped about on two sides and was drowsed with teal and golden weave. “The king believes once the Saurians have it, they will stop at nothing into they hold all of Isylaca in their grasp.”

“The Council has already decreed that the object be given to the Saurians, and with a unamous vote, the Council can and has overridden the king’s authority.”

Tasha stopped before the council’s thick, wooden doors to make sure Kres was in order, then grabbed his cheeks in a loving manner and smiled. “We will be here when you are finished, sweetie. Don’t worry. They cannot harm you while your brother is there.”

“I…I don’t understand, though,” he asked, looking between Tasha and Calder. “What was the one thing the Saurians want?”

The doors to the council room opened, and with a push, Calder sent Kres stumbling into the council chambers. “What else? You!”

Kres caught himself and whirled, “What!” but the doors slammed shut, and he was left alone in the presence of the Council of Nobles—and King Raen.

“Ah, Prince Kres. It is good to see you are finally alright. We were starting to worry.”

The sneering voice drew Kres slowly around and looked upon the council for the first time—or the first time he could remember. Before him sat five Nobles, two female and three male. The first female sat at the far right of the council chambers, her hands folded delicately upon the teal tablecloth, while her braided, gray hair dangled down her back and out of the sight of Kres. Her eyes bore into him, more fierce and condemning than Mallory’s ever were, and she gave no more respect than a nod. Next to her sat a slightly younger gentleman, who still retained the dark, black hair of his age, and though no age lines contoured his face, his stare rivaled that of the older members. The middle drake wore a maroon tunic and a teal undershirt, making him appear like the head of the council, which he most likely was. His tan feathers long faded from his youth, but his blue eyes remained ever vigilant. Kres thought his large beak and facial structure reminded him a little of someone, but Kres couldn’t put a face to the thought. Finally, the last two—a male and female—seemed to be mirror images of each other—both high-cheek bones, small, round beaks, and long eyes. No doubt these two were related; even their dark glare appeared the same.

Yet, the council members dwindled in Kres’s priorities, which were won by the tall, immaculate white drake standing before him.

King Raen.

Wildwing.

His brother’s battle gear or jeans and a T-shirt were absent from his clothing, replaced instead by a golden tunic with the Mighty Ducks’ symbol upon his chest. His teal undershirt with silver sides tucked gently into his black breaches, which teal, golden, and silver weave adorned up the sides. The breaches led to the same black boots Kres now wore, and the cloak also mirrored his own, even with the extra weight.

Kres thought, for a brief moment, the added weight was nothing more than a royal accessory, but he knew differently. Raen wouldn’t want him being an outcast for this aversion to the cold he seemed to possess in this place—though, too, in Anaheim and on Puckworld, he was more cold than most other drakes—thus, Raen wore the cloak, as well.

With his back turned to the council, Raen sent Kres a little encouraging smile, while the teen returned fractionally before turning toward the council. “What is the meaning of bringing my brother before you today? Your judgment has already been passed. I see no need.”

Kres felt his confidence swell at the conviction in Raen’s words. His brother, though overridden, still cared and supported him, and he eagerly came to join his brother before the Nobles.

“Ah, but we wanted to make sure the boy still would be in mint condition for the journey and task before him,” the tan mallard replied.

Kres swallowed hard; the leader made him sound like nothing more than an object to be sold on E-Bay.

“Elaborate,” Raen demanded, crossing his arms and not even sparing a glance toward Kres. “I do not understand.”

“Apparently, you have not been informed. You should see to the loyalty of your messengers, your grace. We sent you several notices explaining your brother’s condition.”

Raen’s face never changed its intensity, nor did he even look toward Kres. Uneasiness loomed over Kres, and he tried to suppress its will. Then again, he found himself happy Raen did not ask him to explain, for he was not sure he could. Calder and Tasha did not tell him how the assassin tried to kill him or why.

“My messengers are loyal, Kanten. Of that, I have no doubt,” Raen spat in return. “Tell me now what you have neglected to inform me.”

Kanten seemed to take offense but said nothing to rebuke. “Your brother, we regret to say, had his life attempted upon by an assassin. Luckily, Guardian Calder was there to prevent his death, but the effects of the attempt had left your brother comatose. According to Ambroz, Prince Kres awoke for the first time this morning—”

“—when I came home from the Outerlands,” Raen finished spitefully. “What are your charges, Kanten? Surely you cannot think I had any hand in my brother’s attempted murder?”

“Well, your grace, it certainly seems—”

Raen took a step forward, cutting off the leader of the council, and spurted so darkly his words cut like a blade, “Trust me, Kanten. If I had arranged this, my brother would not be here right now.”

“Like your father?”

Raen met his eyes evenly, then smirked. “If I were to have killed my father, trust me, too, when I say I wouldn’t have waited so long.” Then, he leaned back, and his voice lightened, “However, as you know, I am in complete agreement with the Council of Nobles in this matter, though I believe an invasion to be forthcoming.”

Agreement? To send Kres to his death? How could his brother—

“Yes, your grace, for the last sixteen years, they have been planning this, and if we can stop them before all-out war—”

Raen scoffed, “I do not believe a singular lizard no older than own brother who simply wandered into our nation can be called an attack.”

“A scout, possibly,” the leader forced, to which Raen shook his head.

“He must not have found out much since my father ordered him killed, but that is neither here nor there, Kanten. As you know, I have already made arrangements with Guardian Calder to escort Kres to the Saurians’ main stronghold, so they made be satiated.”

Kres didn’t even try to hold in his startled, horrified gasp. Raen, his older brother, his protector, confidant, closest friend and only family member—Raen betrayed him. This drake could not be his brother, for Wildwing would never, ever give him to the Saurians, no matter how many lives it would save. Wildwing would find a way to save him, not just the kingdom.

Kres took a step back to be away from his brother without showing his hurt, though the leader of the Nobles didn’t miss the subtly. A small smirk formed on the leader’s face, and he bowed his head. “Yes, so I see you have—against your brother’s wishes, it seems.”

Raen glanced to his side to Kres had moved, then looked back. The boy saw the angered expression contorting his brother’s usual jovial face. Raen’s scrutinizing eyes moved up and down the boy’s body as if taking a survey himself. Kres sent his brother the most embittered yet wounded expression, which mirrored the hurt swarming in his heart, yet all Raen did was then turn to the council with vacant eyes. “I do not see why you have come to that conclusion, for my brother, though hesitant to be out of his surroundings in Isylaca, believes wholeheartedly in the cause of protecting our fellow Ice Drakes. Of his loyalty to our people I have no doubt.”

So that was what it came down to. Loyalty to people—those he didn’t even remember.

“Well, as we stand here, we know you have undertaken the ultimate sacrifice—giving a member of your family to save your people. Of that, your grace, this council commends you.” The leader bowed, even though he sat. “You are both dismissed.”

As the doors opened, Kres twirled upon his heel before Raen could say anything and strode from the room. He stormed in between Calder and Tasha, his hurt blinding him from their worried expressions as he tore toward his room with a memory not his own.

“KRES!”

He refused to hear the fearful and desperate beckon of his brother. When he finally reached his chambers, he slammed the door behind him and rid himself of the heavy cloak, thankful to be amongst heat once more. He started to pace, working through the council meeting over and over, attempting to discover just what Raen was thinking and how his own brother could sell him—body and soul—to the other side. He finally decided he could not come to a conclusion and fell face first onto the mountain of blankets and warmth, crying into his pillow.

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Darkness fell before Kres finally raised his head. Perhaps…yes, perhaps he could escape. Leave the horrid castle and his own brother’s—no, Kres’s brother—betrayal behind him and embark upon a journey to return to Wildwing. However he got here—However the Fire condemned him to his place—he could and would find a way back to his true brother.

Of that, Raen, I have no doubt.

Kres snatched his cloak off of the edge of the bed and tore open the door. Before he stepped even a foot outside the door, two scepters crossed his path, preventing him from escaping. Then, two guards, neither Calder, positioned themselves in front of him, each at least a foot upon him and muscle to match.

“ ‘ello, your highness,” the one on the right addressed formally, even with a bow of his head. “Is there something you needed?”

“No.” Kres’s nose crinkled in displeasure, and he uncrossed the scepters to walk past them. “I simply want to take a walk.”

The first scrambled before him and slammed his scepter bottom into the rock floor. “I am sorry, your highness, but you are not permitted to leave your quarters.”

Oh, Stars. He rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “If I am truly ‘your highness,’ then you must listen to my orders. Leave. Me. Alone.”

“Yes, that is usually true, my prince,” the second agreed, and Kres could tell the change of expression was purposeful. “However, when the order comes from one higher, then we can negate yours.”

Kres shook his head. “Who could possibly be higher than me?”

“Uh…your brother, sir.” The first nodded incessantly, and if Kres wasn’t being grabbed by the bicep and led back to his room, he might have found the whole situation comical. “Only a collective agreement by the Council of Nobles has more power than the word of King Raen, your highness.”

Kres loathed being manhandled and tugged his arm from free from the guard’s hand. “Of course it does! I’m screwed from here to eternity, so of course, the council who wants to condemn him to Liztards and my brother who agrees with them are the only two bodies in this whole kingdom who outrank me!”

He threw his hands into the air and whirled, kneeing the first drake in the groin, then turning toward the second. The drake appeared hesitant for a moment, as if he felt torn between his duty and his loyalty to the prince, before he firmed his resolve and lunged at Kres. The young princeling ducked the swipe of the scepter, then grabbed onto it. With second nature, blue fire burned from Kres’s hands and up the scepter to overwhelm the drake. Pulling away, the drake screamed and fell to his kness, clinging his arms.

Kres dropped the scepter to the ground as if burnt himself and looked down at his shaking hands. How did he—The only time he was able to control the fire was when under the control of the Fire Mistress herself, yet now—

Now he had not the time to contemplate that. Now, he had to get out of there before the guards collected themselves. He dashed down toward the end of the corridor, but something tugged hard upon his cloak. He struggled to get the clasps off the cloth, but one, hard yank pulled him backwards, causing him to choke and his butt to slam into the harsh ground. The cloak disengaged from his neck, and a moment later, the other guard threw open the windows of the corridor. The cold, winter air whirled about the young princeling, stunning him in its wake. Like prior, he found himself helpless under its ministrations. He writhed upon the ground, his arms wrapped about his knees in a futile attempt to find warmth, but the guards snatched him by his biceps and dragged him back to the room, throwing him upon his bed.

“I am truly sorry, your highness,” the first said solemnly, covering him in a blanket to retain his warmth before heading back outside the door to stand silent vigil.

Kres tried to decide what to do, but he had not long to wait. As he stared up at the ceiling, he heard a slight clunk outside his window. Curious, he slowly inched toward the window before easing it open. He screamed at the somewhat tired smile of Calder, the official guardian holding onto a rope and straddling the window.

The door to Kres’s room busted open a moment later, and the teen princeling slammed shut the window and glared at them. “Get out!”

“But my prince! We heard you—”

“It was nothing,” he retorted bitterly, then pointed. “Go. Now.”

The second glanced about the room. “But what the noise? Are you all—”

“I said I’m fine! Go!”

“But—”

“GO! NOW!” he shouted indignantly, then stormed up to them and physically pushed the guards out the door. “I said,’LEAVE!’ ” He slammed the door in their faces.

After waiting a few moments to make sure the guards would stay out, he rushed to the window and opened it. Calder, now covered in the white flakes falling from the sky, shook his head to rid him of the snow dandruff, then allowed Kres to help him in the window.

“Well, that was rather entertaining. You could be a dinner show,” Calder proclaimed, then glanced about the room. “You’re not ready.”

“Ready for what? To go to my death early?” he grumbled, then bounced back onto his bed. “You should have told me you made a deal with Raen to—”

“You know,” Calder said, falling to one knee and cupping the boy’s cheek in his head. “You knew…or at least you did until the assassin’s attempt. After all these years, if there is one thing you should always know, it is that it is not my duty to protect you. It is my honor—my life’s mission. You always have and always will be more to me than my charge. Please, know that.”

Kres took strength in the hold upon him for a single moment before hitting the hand away. “Then what about the deal? What have you and Raen decided upon?”

Thundering footsteps resounded in the corridor, boosting up Calder’s head. A desperate panic rose in his eyes, and he grabbed Kres by his cheeks. “We do not have time for me to explain everything. The guards outside this door will not be able to hold them out for long, even if they are the most loyal of King Raen’s. The Council of Nobles have ordered you to be sequestered in their quarters until you are to be delivered to the Saurians, so instead, we must leave now.”

“What! Leave for my death?” Kres needed more time to decide how to escape, and if he went with Calder, then he would have no time. Calder would hand him over to the Saurians, and then—

Kres didn’t want to know what then.

The foots increased in volume, and Kres responded with a kick to Calder’s beak. As a groan sounded from the guardian, Kres retreated over the bed and toward the door. Even if he didn’t like the Council of Nobles, they would keep in alive longer than Calder.

Somehow, though, a hand snatched his wrist. He whirled to slam his elbow into Calder’s gut, but a forearm blocked it. Then, the guardian’s physical strength outmatched Kres’s, and he whirled the boy about with a simple flick of his arm, then took the boy’s second wrist, so his arms wrapped about Kres and held the boy’s own arms behind his back. The warmth he sought earlier in the day fled, even in the offensive embrace, and Kres grunted as his wrists and back slammed against the rock wall.

He cringed from the swelling pain, and when he opened his squinting eyes, they widened at the sight of the emotional anguish glistening in Calder’s and the fear rising within them, as well as the blood dribbling from the crinkle of his beak and down his neck.

“Forgive me, my prince.”

Kres’s unsure eyes shook for only a moment until Calder released one hand, bent his elbow, and sent it toward the boy’s head.

*^*^*
Nosedive groaned as the pain faded from his head and neck, and a warmth, more comfortable than anyone else’s, encircled his chest. He reached up to touch the white fingers knotted over his torso, felt the soft feeling upon his back, and looked back to see the teal jumpsuit, not the black breaches, on the person holding him.

“Bro?”

Wildwing let out a sigh, and the boy knew, somehow, he had made it home.

To Be Continued…