Prince Dono's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Dono woke to shouting in the courtyard. He dressed without thinking and stepped into the hall. Guards rushed past, their boots loud on stone. Someone said the tower. Someone said gone. He followed them down the stairs and across the frost-covered garden. The guards lay slumped against the carved stone shelter they'd used as a watch post — a ridiculous thing the dignitary had brought with him, all smooth metal and foreign design. Their eyes were closed. Their weapons still sheathed. Beyond them, the tower door stood open. Dono's father appeared, demanding answers no one had. The dignitary paced near the old wishing well, his face tight with controlled fury. Dono said nothing. He looked at the snow instead. Fresh prints led away from the tower, small and deliberate, heading toward the mountain pass. Toward the hunting lodge his family kept stocked but rarely used — the one with the stone foundation and timbered walls, half a day's walk if you knew the path. He could tell them. He should tell them. His father turned to him, asking if he'd seen anything, heard anything. Dono opened his mouth. The dignitary watched him with sharp eyes, waiting. This was the moment to be useful. To prove his value. To perform exactly as expected. But if he spoke now, they would send soldiers. They would drag her back before he understood why she'd left. Before he had a chance to speak to her himself, alone, without an audience. "No," Dono said. "I saw nothing." His father dismissed him with a wave. The dignitary returned to his pacing. Dono walked back toward the castle, his heart loud in his chest. He had lied for her. For himself. For the possibility of one honest conversation in a place where no one would watch him perform. He would go to the lodge alone. He would find her. And for the first time in years, he had no idea what he would say when he did.