I had put an order in with the carpenter. He agreed to salvage what pews he could save. Furthermore, I earned a discount by bringing him some oaks off the property. I wouldn’t put our location at risk. Instead, a large horse would be helpful. Afterwards, I would have enough coin to replace the broken tapestries with patterned cloth. Following the fence, I watched a worker running a horse through his motions; canter to gallop to trot and back again. The nostalgic scent of hay and manure filled the air, the buzzing of flies, and the pings of horseshoes being made.

“Can I help you?” The man who approached was a stout, muscular sort with two knots. The dirt on his face and apron told me he was one of the farriers. I hadn’t seen this human in the years I frequented here. “Are you buying for your keeper?”

“Yes.” I tightened my fist on the coin purse. “I was looking for Count Chapman, I have a private matter to discuss with him.”

“Duke.” The man corrected. “When was the last time you came to town if you’re calling him Count?”

“A little over ten years, sir. Is Duke Chapman available?”

“And your name?” He lifted an eyebrow, suspicious of me.

“Danny.” My face flushed, I wouldn't entertain John’s nickname. “But he may remember me as the kid who wanted golden horseshoes.”

The man smirked, “That’s absurd, they’d never hold up to the horse’s weight.”

“That was the first thing he told me. A year later he fussed at me for breaking a shoe on my mare, but I told him I already took a beating from the horse.”

A laugh erupted from the gruff-faced farrier, “You grew up with horses then?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had one for some time.” The tension in my shoulders relaxed, “I manage a farm, so I need a horse. Not the smoothest to ride on, but I’ll need help plowing and moving a wagon.”

“I see.” He crossed his arms. “We have a few here, good rare stock.”

“Duke Chapman always had the best. I hear he is the royal horse breeder.”

“Was.” My baffled expression made him flinch. “I see, you've been on the farm too long. Let's see if he’s up for a visitor, might do his spirit some good.”

He dove through the door and I waited in silence outside. I could hear the heavy footsteps on wooden stairs echoing through the two-story shop and house. A knock echoed down, the door creaking and the muffled sounds of a conversation. After another pause, the steps descended, and the door swung open. My eyes met the farrier, his suspicion back.

“He said to send you up.” I went through the doorway, but he grabbed my shoulder. “If you cause him any trouble, I’ll take my smith’s hammer to your skull.”

“I’m not here to stir up flies.” It was something I heard Duke Chapman say every day when I aided in breaking foals.

Nodding, he recognized the line and was reassured I knew the Duke, and his iron grip let go. My feet thudded against the creaking steps, eager to knock on the door and talk to a familiar face.

“Come in.” Duke Chapman had a deep, rustic voice, and it hadn’t changed.

Stepping into the lantern-lit room, I closed the door behind me. Leaning my back against it, I looked up from my feet to meet his eyes. There he stood, shorter than me for a change, greeting me with respect even as a servant. He had gained silvery hairs in his beard and braid, but the notable crooked nose and piercing brown eyes were sharp as ever. He took me in with great caution, his brow folding unsure. I realized I was more of a scar-knuckled farmhand than the scrawny pale prince he once knew.

Can he find the old me in this new facade I’ve built for myself?

Tugging off my hat, I let the sixteen-knot braid fall. I had taken the time to knot it with care in advance before leaving the cabin. That, and I feared John’s reaction if I dare cut it a second time. 

John’s terrible at braid classification to begin with, even now. 

If trouble erupted, if I had to, I would protect John from Falco or even my father by reclaiming my title as prince. Part of me regretted knotting it in the way of royalty. The Dutch-style braid started at the crown of my skull, the knots large and prominent as it fell over my shoulder and dangled by my hands.

Duke Chapman sat down, his jaw gaping, “D-D-Dante.”

“Yes sir.” My voice sent a shudder across his shoulders, it was all coming together in his mind. “I’m sorry to intrude on you like this after… everything.”

“You’re alive.” A shaking hand covered his mouth, Duke Chapman's eyes poring over every detail. “And you’ve grown. Where the fuck have you been? What happened to you?”

I shifted my stare back to the floor, shame biting at my soul. “I ran away, chose a new life. A life I wanted, something peaceful and free of bloodshed.”

“They said an assassin killed you.” Confusion was building on my face, the Duke’s voice angry and his expression filled with disbelief. “I lost my position because I was one of the many people suspected in your death. The whole city shut down. Houses raided, barns burned, and blood spilled. It was as if the Madness had invaded, but in the end, your father stepped in and declared you dead, putting a stop to the investigations. Who knows how violent it would have become if he hadn’t.”

“Dead?” Chapman’s face paled as rage seeped into my voice. “Who said I died? What proof was there of this?”

“Viceroy Falco.”

Crushing my hat with my fists, I waited for what unfolded.

“They found blood all over the courtyard, a dead maid, and a broken mask guests had seen you wearing at the party. Viceroy Falco stripped many of us from our royal duties and access, though when proven innocent he promoted our ranks as an apology.”

“Son of a bitch.” Grabbing my braid, I coiled it on my head and shoved my hat back on. “I’m sorry to put you all through this. It seems Falco saw me leap off the balcony and staged my death. He’s been sliming his way closer to the royal family; he intends to take over.”

“No kidding,” Duke Chapman leaned forward, scowling. “He had no favor with me or anyone he stripped out from under your father. There’s just the King in a house of wolves.”

“I should have figured it out sooner. Should’ve asked myself why no one had come looking for me, but if I was assumed dead…” Crouching to the floor, I covered my face. How could I not know how far Falco would go? I knew he was willing to do anything after he and I… “Was Falco missing a servant after that?”

“Missing?” Scratching his jaw, Chapman nodded, “Now that you ask, two were missing.”

“Two?” I peeked over my fingers. “A mistress and a slave.”

“A slave, yes, but I didn’t know Viceroy Falco had a mistress?” An eyebrow lifted, prying into the matter. “I suppose it was the maid. A red-haired gem of a girl. I'd seen her in his household a few times, but I didn’t think about the idea he would stage a murder and go as far as slaughtering folks to gain access to, shit, everything. Stirring up flies, my ass.”

“I thought I'd live a simpler life,” I mumbled standing once more, how selfish. “It seems I still left one piece of unfinished business behind and he’s been making a mess.”

“Like a hog digging for truffles,” snorted Duke Chapman, packing a pipe with tobacco. “You plan on letting anyone else know you’re back?”

Every muscle in my body tightened.

How am I going to clean up the mess I set into motion? Make amends to those who paid with their lives for Falco’s lies? And what about John? My keeper and I’m, I’ve sworn to be his sword and shield. If I go back…

My soul and mind were at war. John echoed through my head, making my chest ache. I had made a vow and a promise I intended to always keep. Duke Chapman glared at me, seeing the wavering emotions in my eyes. With great patience, striking a match on his boot, he lit his pipe in a great arrangement of puffs. The whole time his eyes dug deeper. He wouldn't let me leave here unless I gave him an answer. Duke Chapman may be human, and I could overpower him, but the farrier downstairs was another matter.

No one wins a fist fight with a blacksmith, whether he sharpens a blade or shoes a horse. The old farmer had chuckled, telling me of a time he'd weaseled out of a fight. One hit from that arm and you’ll be taking a dirt nap, don’t care if you’re a daemon or not, Dante.

“I may still have my braid, but I have a keeper.” Smoke blew out of the Duke’s nose with a look of distaste. “It was my choice, my request, not his.”

“His?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“The new priest, Father John.” Swallowing back the last of my hesitation, I revealed why I'd come back. “We both know Viceroy Falco would eat him alive, literally. When he told me he had plans of coming back to be the priest of Glensdale, I vowed to be his servant. I suppose this all falls in place. As a prince, I wouldn’t be able to deal with Falco, not if I ended up having to kill him for coming after yet another priest.”

He nodded, tapping the pipe on his bottom lip, “You’re right. As a prince you can’t kill a Viceroy and the Rabid Dog enjoys eating up the clergymen like whore to a virgin. Then, what was it you came to see me about?”

“I came to you because I need a draft horse, preferably black. It’s hard to follow one through the woods at sundown.” Happy to be changing topics, I listed the jobs I had in store for the new horse, “It’ll need to pull new pews in a wagon, uphill. Carpenter should finish those up in a few days after I bring trees. I have the coin, not sure if there’s enough for the stock I know you keep here.”

Watching him gnaw on the pipe gave me a nostalgic sensation. “I’ve got a Nivernais gelding. He’s still green behind the ears, but I know you’ve dealt with stubborn horses before. Normally, I'd charge a hundred-fifty coin, but no one I’ve shown the high-headed fool to wants to even try to work him. He’s got energy, and he’s from the best stock, known for handling mountainous terrain and surefooted.”

Opening the coin purse, I poured over how much I had left. “I’ve got about two-hundred coin left, but I still need to see the textile merchant and a few other vendors. How much slack are you going to give me on this?”

Smiling, smoke bubbled for his lips. “Fifty coins. If you need a second horse to pull, I’ll loan you one.”

Pouring coins from the purse, I pulled out seventy-five. Walking across, I placed the stack on his desk, and he laughed.

“I said fifty, did the sun bake your brains?” He slid the stack closer, spreading coins across the table. “But I respect you for knowing the value of the horses I keep.”

“You didn’t have to cut me such a huge discount.” Grinning, I shook his hand. “I appreciate that I was missed.”

“Aye, you were.” He lowered his voice, “Are you serious about taking down the Viceroy?”

“Someone has to.” His hand tightened around mine, “No one else can get as close as I can.”

“Then tell me this.” With a yank, his tobacco laden breath filled my nose as he brought my ear closer, “Is it true you and Falco were lovers?”

I confessed, “For a very short while. His mistress let something slip and it ended. It’s most likely why she ended up dead in the snow that night.”

He let go, “NIKOLAS!”

I flinched at the unexpected shout. The door swung open, the farrier from before stood red faced from launching his large body up the stairs. He eyed me, then the table with coins. Letting out a long exhale, he caught his breath. Duke Chapman chuckled. Nikolas had mistaken the Duke’s shout as a sign of trouble.

“Danny bought the Nivernais.” Nikolas’ covered his face, groaning at the news. “I’ll let you lead him to his new horse.”

“Duke Chapman, I didn’t think anyone wanted the stubborn gelding.” He turned, waving for me to follow. “Hope you know you bought the biggest asshole in Glensdale.”

“We’ll see if we can call a truce,” I smirked.

“Dante.” I froze, Chapman calling me by my name. “Good luck and know we have your back.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. Nikolas remained silent and I prayed he hadn’t made the connection that I was the lost prince. Shaking it off, it was good to know I had allies in town. We headed down to the stables where a heavy-muscled, black giant was pacing in a corral. As the massive horse rounded the side where we stood, the beast curled his lips up and nipped at Nikolas before continuing his canter. The ground sunk under its weight and repetition of his routine. He needed no lead to drive him to his chore. Leaning on the corral fence, Nikolas pulled me back off.

“Don’t do that unless you want to lose a chunk of your face or a hoof to the jaw.” He spat into the corral which brought the massive draft horse to a halt, ears flat. “I’ve never seen a horse so high-headed. He sees everything, and he makes up his own mind. No one’s had any luck putting a saddle on that one. We can get him haltered for a wagon, he gets too excited, but needs to be worn down from a day’s hard work. Problem is he might kill you before the sun sets.”

The horse was walking straight at them, pausing to paw at where Nikolas spat. Those large equine eyes screamed, rebellion. He stood over seventeen hands high, making the top of his shoulder a little above my eye level. Gazing over the build of his bone structure, the thickness of the muscles under the pitch-black coat was beautiful. The way his hooves sunk in the mud, he weighed over two-thousand pounds, a ton for sure. The mane was long and wavy but needed a good brushing.

“You got any sugar cubes?”

“Why on earth would I have any of those?” Nikolas rubbed his nose, curious. “I suppose Duchess Chapman has some in the kitchen.”

“Get me some.”

Nikolas rolled his eyes and disappeared.

The horse nodded, as if to say, good riddance.

I giggled, and he wrenched his head my way, ears tall and nostrils wide. “High-headed indeed.”

“Here.” Nikolas returned with a handful of cubes. “She said Dante used to spoil the stock with these, I imagine she meant you.”

They haven't forgotten me.

“Yea.” I ventured to the fence, and the horse narrowed his eyes. “What’s his name?”

“He has no name.” Nikolas spat again. “Any horse that kicks me doesn’t deserve a name.”

Glaring over my shoulder, I razzed him. “You took his balls and never gave him a name?”

“How’d you know I castrated him?” His face soured.

“Duke Chapman only lets his most trusted worker do that job.” Laughing, I turned to the brooding Nivernais. “I’d be pissed too.”

“No joke, you really did work here. I’ll leave it to you. I got cleaning to do.” With that, Nikolas disappeared.

A snort brought my attention back to the corral. The horse took two steps, sniffing the air. Lifting my eyebrows, I opened my hand flat and looking equally intrigued at what lay there. I could feel the huffs of his breath across my palm. I smiled, the aggression easing out of his shoulders.

“I think I shall call you Basque.” His ears flicked. “It’s a good name, I swear.”

He lipped the sugar cubes from my hand. His massive head and neck leaned over the fence searching my shirt and pockets for more. My hands slid across his cheek and down his neck. He was solid as a stone wall but warm and healthy. 

“You think I’ll be able to strap a saddle on you?” Basque nodded, approving of his name and accepting his new owner.