The once merry atmosphere of the town fair had disintegrated into chaos as people started running in all directions which made it difficult to discern the source of the trouble. Jackson had tried to ask some who were running past what it was they were fleeing from but no one really gave him any answers apart from pushing him aside until he heard one particularly loud shout of warning that rang above the din – “BANDITS!”

Jackson tightened his grip on the prince’s arm and his heel in the opposite direction from where the scream came from. “Hurry, your highness,” Jackson urged, pulling Mark forcefully along with him. Stumbling, Mark winched at the iron hold Jackson had on his arm but he did not object, not when he knew that they were in danger here. They had to get back to the inner castle. Dodging through the crowd of people scurrying like lost sheep without any particular sense of destination except with the sole intent to escape, Jackson kept an eye on their backs as he quickly combed through the mental map of the town he had in his memory. It won’t do to keep running like this. He had to get the prince to safety and safety meant back to the castle. Realising they were heading towards the farming fields, Jackson tugged Mark into a different direction. The street here was less crowded but still as chaotic. Doors were slamming shut, windows drawn to a close and entrances blocked in the occupants’ efforts to protect themselves against raiders.

Finally, a few more turns and the straight cobbled street that led up to the inner castle would be in sight. Just a little more, thought Jackson to himself as he checked to see that the prince was keeping up with him. Not for the first time that night, Jackson was cursing himself for allowing Mark to come to the fair. He should have done the responsible thing. He should have gone to the king or the king’s advisor. They would have been able to stop Mark. Instead, Jackson had given in to his selfishness because he had wanted to spend time with the prince and, Jackson’s guilt increased ten-fold, Jackson simply hadn’t wanted to risk the prince being upset at him. Jackson knew that if he had told of the prince’s plan, Mark would be angry, perhaps so angry to the extent that all ties would be cut. So instead of risking that, Jackson had put his own desires first. In doing so, he had failed his ultimate purpose which was to protect the prince. Jackson shook his head to clear it of such depressing thoughts. Now wasn’t the time. Mark was his foremost priority.

They turned a corner and Jackson’s heart sank as he saw a group of three to four ruffians blocking the closest alley to the inner castle. Still, the prince and him weren’t trapped. They could just run straight and use the next turning. Jackson was about to do just that when he caught sight of what the men were doing. One of them had the hair of a crying girl in his fists, tears streaming down her face. She was clearly terrified. Jackson’s feet halted on their own accord as anger took root. How dare they touch a maiden like that? He had to stop them but at the same time, he had to get Mark to safety. Torn, he glanced from the prince to the girl and back to the prince who by now had realised why Jackson had stopped running. Mark could see the mental struggle in Jackson’s eyes and knew that if Jackson turned his back on this, the squire would never forgive himself. So Mark decided for Jackson.

“Go,” said the prince.

Relief and gratitude flashed upon Jackson’s face. He hustled Mark to the closest hiding place behind a tall stack of barrels and applied slight pressure on the prince’s shoulder to indicate that he should hunch down. “Stay hidden. I’ll be back.” Mark nodded and in the next instant, Jackson charged at the group of men, shouting that they stop what they were doing.

“Release her!” Jackson demanded, positioning himself closest to the ruffian who had a hold of the girl.

The men laughed jeeringly at the brazen interruption. “Or what, shrimp? Goin te’ kick us in our shins?” Another quipped, “Go home to mother, kid, if ye know whats good for ya.”

“I said, let her go,” demanded Jackson again, tensing his muscles to strike or react, depending on which came first.

At this, the girl whimpered, “S-save me,” but it only caused the ruffian holding her to yank her hair even harder, eliciting a horrified yelp that made Jackson’s anger burn even more.

“Aw, come on girlie, we said we’d show ye a good-” but the man could not finish his words as Jackson’s leaping kick landed right in the centre of his gut. Doubled over, the man’s grip on the girl loosened enough for Jackson to pull her behind him.

As the man coughed to regain his breath, the others had stopped laughing as their faces slowly filled with anger. “Ye’ll pay for that,” one threatened while another cracked his knuckles.

Jackson was no fool to try to take on three men while trying to protect a girl at the same time. “Run,” he murmured to her though his eyes did not leave the three who were advancing on him.

“Thank you,” came a rushed whisper and the Jackson felt the draft of air that indicated the girl had taken to her heels. He lowered his stance, feet shuffling to get a firm foothold. He wasn’t one of the best in hand to hand combat for nothing but still, what would he have given for his sword and shield. All he had were his bare hands when he saw the flash of dull metal illuminated by torches. They had daggers.

One man lunged first which Jackson sidestepped easily but swung his knee out to catch the man’s on his forearm as Jackson grabbed the man’s wrist. A sharp jerk and the dagger fell from the man’s hand. Picking it up, Jackson twirled it in his palm, positioning the blade so that the hilt was grasped between his thumb and forefingers. It was a grip designed to slice rather than stab. Sinking again into a lower position, he waited for the next move. The men were clearly untrained fighters used only to brute force so Jackson’s agility and training soon allowed him to overpower another. There were two left, one looking a bit hesitant when he saw his comrade bleeding and winded on the ground but the other looked enraged. Jackson thought he had done enough, however, because winning this fight had never been his priority. He had wanted to save the girl and that was done. Now to get the prince back to the castle.

Jackson turned to head towards the alley where Mark was but saw a sight that made his blood run cold. They had Mark! Cleary the three men he had been fighting were not the only ones in their groups and now two of them held Mark in their hands as they advanced towards where two of their men lay unconscious.

“LET HIM GO!” screamed Jackson, lunging like a wild animal towards the two who dared to lay their filthy hands on the prince.

“Ah ah ah ~ ” sang one of them, waving an insolent finger at Jackson while the other leered as he slid a dagger up towards Mark’s throat.

Mark hadn’t noticed the two men creeping towards him in the shadows. He had remained hidden but the grunts and thuds were too much for his curiosity. He wanted to see what was going on and peeping out from behind the barrels, he watched as Jackson fought, seeming to effortlessly take down two men in quick succession. Then the girl ran for her life but before Mark could feel any relief, a rough foul smelling hand had clamped itself on his mouth. The stench of the man almost caused him to gag as he was wrestled into full view of the man’s companions and Jackson. Mark saw the horror in Jackson’s face and though Mark was trying hard to keep calm, he was inwardly yelling for Jackson to remove him from their grasp.

Jackson froze, his eyes locked on the prince who seemed to be unbelievably composed. Even with a blade to his throat, the prince never uttered a scream of showed any sign of weakness but Jackson guessed and knew he was probably right in thinking that the prince must be frightened. Nothing remotely of this sort had ever befallen Mark and cursed be the stars that this should happen. The squire knew he could not launch an attack, he couldn’t risk the blade moving anywhere closer to Mark’s person. So he waited for an opening and if one didn’t present itself soon, he’ll create that distraction.

“Oi, Ollie!” yelled one of the guys, mockingly stepping around Jackson who did not react to the man’s antics, “we’ve got ourselves a rich one! Clothes alone’ll be enough for ye numbskull to drink yerself stupid.”

Jackson gritted his teeth. They not only had Mark captured, they noticed he was rich and with these lawless cads, there was no telling what they might do next. He had to get to Mark. Jackson did a quick evaluation of the situation. Six men. Two down and out. Three seemingly under the impression that Jackson wouldn’t fight back and one more, the one who held Mark captive.

Just as Jackson was trying to decide what to do, the man trailed his finger along Mark’s jaw, causing Mark to take a sharp intake of foul air as the man chuckled. “Ye have nice skin,” the ruffian drawled, tongue flicking out to his lips. All thoughts and hesitation disappeared from Jackson’s mind when he saw the man touch Mark. All the squire’s anxiety and worry replaced instantly by white hot fury that brought with it an intensely calm but grim determination. What had been clouded with uncertainty was now unquestionable.

The man must be punished.

Unheeding the three behind him, Jackson threw his dagger at the vile villain who had touched the prince, causing the man to startle for the blade had missed his face by a couple of inches, lodging itself into the body of the barrel next to him instead with quivering intensity. The next thing the man registered was a twist of his own wrist as it was gripped mercilessly and yanked up and away from his body which resulted in both the release of his captive and the loss of the dagger he had been holding. The next thing he knew was that he was tossed unto the ground with a knee digging into his back. His arms scrambled to push himself up but a hand yanked back roughly on his hair to bare the man’s throat while the blade he had held earlier pierced its owner’s skin ever so slightly, causing a drop of blood to form.

“How dare you,” a voice hissed above him. It was a voice that curdled his blood and struck him with fear. It was a controlled merciless voice, unfeeling, angry and even inhuman. “How dare you even touch him?” The blade moved ever so slightly, slicing the tiny gash longer.

“H-help,” the man choked out as he saw his three companions beginning to move towards him.

“Your friends want to have some fun as well it seems,” Jackson hissed, his gaze locked on the other three who began charging at him with a roar. “So you’ll have to wait your turn,” added Jackson with a drawl. Without another word, Jackson stabbed the man in both his thighs to immobilize him. Leaving the man now screaming in agony, Jackson faced the three attackers. He moved like a man possessed. The squire avoided every attack, every lunge, every kick but landed most of his own. He had them writhing on the ground and even begging for mercy before a voice broke through the shell of anger that had encased his mind.

“Jackson!” cried Mark, half-bewildered and scared as he tried to make sense of the scene before him, trying to block his ears from the painful groans of the man on the ground near the barrels.

The squire, who was just about to plunge a dagger into one of the villain’s chests, looked up and caught the prince’s frightened eyes. The shock of seeing the expression on Mark’s face halted the unbridled fury that Jackson had let overwhelm him and jolted Jackson back into his senses. Mark was still here. Mark was in danger. Sounds started coming from behind them and Jackson’s eyes followed the direction of Mark’s to see shadows approaching. There were more bandits. Without wasting another moment, Jackson kicked the man in the gut and leaped over the unconscious bodies of the other two. Reaching Mark, Jackson hesitated for a moment because Mark had visibly pulled away from his touch. Even if it was just a fraction, Jackson felt it magnified and it hurt that Mark was now afraid of him. Of course the prince would be. Jackson had let his rage dictate his actions, hurting their attackers more than was necessary, to inflict unbearable pain out of vengeance for having dared to toy with the prince’s being. He had acted like a beast. Of course Mark would be afraid of him. Jackson’s heart sank with a heavy weight. Mark should never have had to witness such violence or see Jackson at his worst.

Gulping, he forced himself to gently take hold of Mark’s wrist, not wanting to frighten the prince even more. Only then did he notice that the prince was hurt. There was a gash in Mark’s upper left arm where the villain’s blade that Jackson had thoughtlessly yanked away before had unknowingly slashed through the fabric of the cloak and tunic to reach flesh. Bile rose in Jackson’s throat. He had caused the prince bodily harm. “Your highness, I’m so sorry,” murmured Jackson, brows furrowed and guilt etched on every inch of the squire’s face.

Mark, on the other hand, was more than relieved to see the Jackson he knew return. For a while, it seemed he had lost Jackson and in place of the bright eyed boy with an infectious laugh, there had been an unfeeling agile being b with murderous intent. This guilt-ridden sensitive face was the Jackson he knew, this was the Jackson he treasured. Mark pulled his wrist away from Jackson’s hand which caused Jackson’s face to scrunch in regret but before Jackson could indulge in a continued misinterpretation of Mark’s actions, the prince slipped his hand into the squire’s, squeezing it tightly before holding Jackson’s hand in a firm grasp.

“Your high-” gasped Jackson in wide-eyed surprise.

“Let’s go,” said Mark as the sounds behind them increased. Jackson nodded and off they sprinted towards the direction of the castle gates. They encountered more ruffians along the way though the largest group was behind them. They had seen the hurt Jackson had dealt to their group and were intent on hunting Jackson down but this time, Jackson made sure to keep going. The one or two who intercepted them were dealt with swiftly so that they did not have to linger. Jackson was determined that not a single one of them would have the chance to even touch even a strand of hair on Mark’s head which meant that he bodily shielded Mark from any advances resulting in him taking gashes and bruises to his own body but it mattered not. He had to protect Mark.

Rounding the final corner, they were greeted with a large-scale skirmish between ruffians and the castle guards. A quick glance told Jackson that the guards were in the midst of rounding the intruders up while the ruffians tried to resist. Catching a glimpse of his Captain, he breathed a sigh of relief because Captain Paul would be sure to get the prince to the castle.

“Captain!” yelled Jackson, pulling Mark with him. “His royal-”

But Jackson did not have to say anymore. Comprehension dawned on the Captain when he recognised the prince but hardened when he saw the prince was hurt. “You two, to the castle!” he ordered as two of the knights nearby bowed in haste before rushing the prince away up the castle ramp.

“Your conduct has to be accounted for, Jackson,” the Captain said, unable to keep his tone neutral.

“Yes, Captain,” was Jackson’s answer for he knew he deserved to be punished. He tried not to think about it as he assisted in rounding up the last of the ruffians, especially pointing out the one who had dared to touch Mark. That particular villain had fainted from loss of blood and Jackson’s conscience pricked him to no end. How could he have lost such control? How could he have been so cruel? They marched the captives to the prisons and with a last command that Jackson be ready to be called in front of the Captain and knights tomorrow, the day was finally over.

*            *            *

Mark was confined to his bed chamber. As much as he protested that it was really just a shallow cut on his arm, his father the King had reacted as if Mark had been on the brink of death. So Mark had to endure lecture after lecture about his responsibility to care for his wellbeing, how important it was for the future of the kingdom that Mark be in good health, how vital it was for the stability of the entire region. Though his father and advisors were over-reacting, Mark knew he had behaved recklessly and thus, did somewhat deserve the lectures thrown at him from all parties. When he wasn’t having his ears chewed off, however, his thoughts often wandered back to that night at the fair. Two days had passed since he had experienced both freedom and the most frightful moments of his young life thus far. He remembered the music, the singing, the laughter and Jackson’s beaming smiles. Yet, in his dreams, Mark shivered when he remembered the blood, groans and flashes of blades as they glinted dully in the light of torches. He especially remembered Jackson facing off against three men and how animalistic his movements had been. Though such thoughts made him shiver, he would then remember the feel of Jackson’s hand as he held it, the rough, worn and calloused hands of the squire who had trained as hard as he could in order to do what he essentially succeeded in doing that night – to protect Mark.

Two days since… there was something happening today though. What was it? Flipping idly through the pages of a book, Mark tried to recall what it was that he had forgotten. Looking up at his window, he caught sight of a bird flying across the clear blue sky and then he remembered – it was the day of the last test to select his royal guard! Jackson had been extremely excited about it and Mark himself found that he was looking forward to the squire being more present in Mark’s immediate vicinity. Jackson had been fairly confident he would be chosen and though he had suffered some scrapes and bruises at the hands of the bandits that night, surely he could still win the competition. After all, if he could fight like he did without his sword and shield, he should surely be even more formidable when he wielded his weapons of choice.

“Yugyeom,” called Mark and his page stepped into the room.

“Your royal highness,” wished Yugyeom in a bow.

“Go and watch the trials at the knight’s training ground. Let me know what happens,” Mark instructed but Yugyeom knew enough to infer that the prince meant for him to report on Jackson’s progress.

“Yes, your royal highness.”

Then all Mark could do was wait. The sun was setting soon and Yugyeom had not returned. Heavens, how long were these competitions? Surely the squires weren’t meant to spar the entire day. Mark was beginning to fidget in his chair by the window which unfortunately did not offer him any view of the training grounds. He wondered if it would be too much of a hassle to request a change to another room in the castle. After all, the castle was vast and had many unoccupied chambers. The drumming of his fingers grew more and more impatient until he was extremely tempted to end his curfew on his own accord. The physicians had advised one day of rest in bed, his father had made it three. It was soon sundown meaning the second day would be over so one day less would not hurt anyone, least of all Mark. Tired of waiting, Mark stood up to head towards his dresser that held his clothes. He’d go and find out himself.

Just then, there was a knock on his door and Mark gave permission to enter. Yugyeom slipped in with his head oddly bowed because he didn’t want to face the prince. Yugyeom’s behaviour raised Mark’s suspicions.  Something was wrong.

“Well?” asked Mark.

“Your royal highness,” said Yugyeom, eyes flickered upwards only for a moment, “the victor was Nicholas.”

“Nicholas?”

“Yes, your royal highness.”

“What of Jackson? How did he fare?” Had Jackson been injured that badly? He had seemed alright and even as Mark had left the crowd with two knights, Jackson had been fine. Was there a mistake? It then occurred to Mark that he could suggest that the test be done again because it would not be fair if a participant was not in his best condition. Yes, he could tell the Captain that.

“Jackson. He, um,” hesitated Yugyeom, unsure of how to tell the prince what had happened without upsetting Mark. “He did not compete.”

What? Why?

Yugyeom took Mark’s silence and frown as a sign to elaborate. Taking a deep breath, because this was bound to upset the prince, Yugyeom continued, “He was disqualified due to misconduct. He has been withdrawn as a candidate for the selection. Even if he were to compete,” Yugyeom gulped, “he would not win in his current condition.”

At this, the prince did not keep silent any longer. “Explain,” commanded Mark.

“Jackson was punished, your royal highness,” Yugyeom said, his words almost tumbling over each other as there was no point hiding it any longer. “After that night, he was called to their council the next day. He was questioned. I don’t know what happened during the inquiry but the verdict was a flogging and isolated confinement with no food for three-”

Mark slammed his book hard unto the wooden surface of the dresser, the sound of which was what had stopped the flow of Yugyeom’s words.

“You mean to tell me that Jackson was flogged?” rephrased Mark in a murmur, lowering his voice in order to keep it under control as he glared at his page.

“Yes, your royal highness.”

“And,” said Mark, his eyes narrowing as his hands began to clench into fists, “he has been starving since that night? For two days?”

Yugyeom winced at the rising anger in Mark’s voice. He could see that the prince’s fists were beginning to shake in what could only be outrage. Even Yugyeom had found it hard to believe when he had first been informed of Jackson’s situation for truly the squire had not committed any crime befitting such punishment. “Y-yes, your royal highness,” Yugyeom confirmed, fighting the urge to back out of the room before Mark lost his temper. What Mark did next, however, surprised the page. The prince haphazardly yanked out some dress shirts and grabbed the nearest overcoat he could reach. It took Mark only a few moments to dress before Yugyeom realised that Mark intended to break his curfew.

“Yo—your royal highness, you’re not supposed to-”

“Where is he?”

“It’s not yet three days, your-”

“Damn it! Where is he?!” demanded Mark, “Tell me. Now.”

“You can’t leave your room, your father-”

Mark stormed right up to Yugyeom and though the page was taller, he shrank back in the face of the prince’s anger. “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Kim Yugyeom,” the prince warned. When Yugyeom didn’t respond, Mark declared, “I shall find him myself.”

With that, Mark made to walk out of his chamber but Yugyeom pleaded at the last instant, “Please, your royal highness, it’ll only hurt Jackson more.”

Mark paused in his step, turning his head to look at his page who used the chance to speak. “It seems the Captain and the council are under the impression that it was Jackson who persuaded you to break the rules, that he was the one who coaxed you out of the castle. And that he was the reason why you were hurt. If you disobey your father’s commands now, the council might see it as a further result of Jackson’s negative influence and that would only get him punished further. Please, your royal highness, please do not respond so. He, he’s hurt enough already.”

Mark listened attentively to Yugyeom’s words. Was that what the council thought? How had they arrived at such an absurd conclusion? But Mark could see the logic in Yugyeom’s explanation and knew that though he had not wanted to dwell on it, others would have noticed that Mark treated Jackson differently. It was absolutely unheard of for a prince to seek out a squire and another impulsive rash act could be misconstrued in many ways. More pressing than that, however, was Yugyeom’s last utterance.

“How badly is he hurt?” asked Mark, his tone much quieter and certainly more in control. He had to handle the situation as a prince would, as befitting his status.

“I’m not sure, your royal highness,” confessed Yugyeom but he was quick to add, “I could go see him if you wish. You going might bring more trouble but maybe if I go, there’ll be less talk?”

Mark had to agree. “Go,” ordered Mark but indicated that Yugyeom wait a moment. Mark had walked over to his nightstand to pick up a vial of liquid that the physicians had used to apply on the cut on his arm. It was a concoction that stung but it relieved the pain and was supposed to help heal wounds. Mark handed the vial to his page along with fresh linen. “Give this to him. Make sure he uses it.”

“Yes, your royal highness,” said Yugyeom, taking the vial before bowing and then he left. Once Yugyeom had gone, Mark sank unto his bed. He had to give careful thought about how to handle this. For Jackson’s sake.