The inn had some of the worst beer in the city, and the food served there was over priced and usually more than inedible. For this very reason, only people who wanted something very specific came there. It was almost as certain as going to a baker's for bread; he would find himself a nice fight.
He ordered a mug of the vile, foamy liquid the sold and sat down at a table where five dodgy looking figures already sat without bothering to ask for permission. A man next to him grumbled as he pushed himself sideways to make space. Prince Alexander grumbled back. A deck of cards were produced by one of his new friends. All a part of the game, he knew.
He assumed that most of the men there thought they came for beer and games of cards. The first time he had gone there, he had thought it was a coincidence that a small disagreement had led to fifteen men punching each other with fists and bits of furniture. When he had come back for more, he had not been disappointed, and he had never been since.
He settled down for the moment, not wanting to draw attention to himself by being the one who started the fight. None of the men spoke more than a few words, but they were all laden with accusations and distrust. Movements became faster, voices grew louder. It was like watching a storm drawing up. In the end he got impatient. He was dealt a card. He snatched it aggressively then stared at the man who had thrown it towards him.
“Hey,” he snarled, putting as much resentment in his voice as possible. “You're packing the cards!”
It was enough. The man made a sound that resembled a “what,” and jumped at him, fists swinging. Alexander had anticipated, or hoped for this, and he let his clenched fist swing straight into the man's nose with a satisfying crunch. Everyone at the table jumped up from the chairs, some shouting accusations at the dealer, others at Alexander. Everyone were pushing, slamming their hands down on the table and getting into each others' faces.
Alexander grinned darkly as he punched the man who had growled at him, ignoring the fact that he was also accusing the dealer of having cheated. The results were immediate. All around the inn, chairs were being thrown to the floor as angry, drunk men came running to have part of their discussions.
He felt someone moving behind him and grabbed his chair by the back. Turning around himself in a small circle, he brought the chair to his chest, then let go as he felt the pull of gravity. It hit his would be assailant square in the face, but Alexander did not have time to watch him fall. Someone broke a bottle against his back, making him thirst for pain and blood.
For the next few moments, all was roars of hatred and anger. He received several hard blows to his face and soft spots, but he made sure to repay every single one of them with an even harder blow. Then he dealt a few more, just in case anyone had been planning anything. He had picked up bits of a chair ans smashed the leg into an elderly, bearded man's face, feeling a few teeth break loose as the doors flew open and armed men came running in.
He grinned. This was what he had been waiting for. Drunk men in a bar were nothing against the challenge of fighting off a heavily armed soldier with his bare hands. A rush of blood filled his head as he dove into their little group. His hands met with jaws and noses, with eyes and throats. He felt invincible, certain of his impending victory as he saw them fall, one by one, unconscious and defeated.
He barely even noticed the hands that were taking hold of him, did not see how several of his brothers were already being thrown out through the open doors. His mind was set on violence and nothing else. Only when he was flying through the cold night air and landing in a pool of sodden mud did he realise that the fight was over and the arrests had begun. He got to his feet and looked around. The few soldiers remaining on their feet were occupied with the last three men inside. He saw his chance and made a run for it, somehow ending up behind a small house next to the man who had been dealing the cards.
The two men looked at each other. The silence seemed endless, only punctuated by the shouts comping from the inn and the sound of running feet. A small part of him was celebrating the fact that he had made it possible for almost everyone to escape the arms of the law. The rest of him was focused on the bleeding, wheezing man in front of him. He noticed several bruises already forming on the man's face.
“You're a right beast,” the man said admiringly, his damaged face splitting into a grin. Prince Alexander grinned back.
“You were not too bad yourself, sir;” he said. A chill went over his back when he realised that his act had slipped. The man was looking thoughtful now, pursing his lips and looking at him more intently. Prince Alexander did not wait for him to ask any questions. He got back up from his crouched down position and started running silently down a small street. He heard the man grunt behind him and looked back over his shoulder to see him waving. He grinned and waved back, still running.
It had been a wonderful way to end an evening, and he would make it back in plenty of time to have someone trustworthy help him with his wounds. Running through the city at night, body aching and face swelling, was a pleasant reminder of his youth. A soon to be king deserved his pleasures, he decided. Reliving a time long since past was not the worst thing he could be doing.
As he let himself onto castle grounds with the help of a key no one else had a copy of, a sharp pain drew the air from his lungs. He crouched down on the carefully cut grass and heaved for breath. When the pain did not ease, he found himself emptying the contents of his stomach onto the pristine field.
“Catherine,” he spat out through clenched teeth. “Catherine!”
It was not a cry for help.
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