The Lost Prince and The Demon King

Perry stumbled through the forest after the boy, panting and doing his best not to trip over his own feet. His right foot throbbed with each step, reminding him of his encounter with the cart door. The shackles around his wrists clanked as he ran, the rusty metal chafing his skin raw.

"Wait," he gasped out, his lungs burning. "I need to stop."

"We cannot," the boy called back over his shoulder. "They will find us."

Perry's legs felt like lead, and his stomach churned dangerously. He'd never been particularly athletic, and running for his life through unfamiliar woods was proving to be too much of a workout. A branch whipped across his face, just another sting to his collection of aches and pains.

"Please," he managed between ragged breaths. "Just... one minute."

The boy glanced back, seeming to really look at how Perry was doing for the first time. He slowed his pace, then stopped next to a large tree. "Fine. But only until we catch our breaths."

Perry doubled over, hands on his knees, trying not to vomit. Sweat dripped down his face, sticking strands of his hair uncomfortably against his neck and forehead. "Where... where are we?"

"Just outside Millstone Town," the boy said, scanning the trees around them. At Perry's blank look, he added, "The one closer to the Eastern Capital, not the one down south."

"Eastern Capital of what? How far are we from downtown?" Perry ran through his mental files, trying to remember if he knew any Millstone Town. 

The boy's brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could answer, they heard the sound of boots crunching through leaves. Without a word, the boy grabbed Perry's arm and pulled him behind a thick cluster of bushes. They crouched there, barely breathing, as several footsteps passed nearby.

"I am called Myran," the boy whispered once the sounds had faded. "There is an inn not far from here. A family friend runs it, we can rest there, get some food." His eyes traveled over Perry's jeans and T-shirt. "And maybe find you some proper clothes."

Perry looked down at his outfit, now covered in dirt, blood, and what looked like soot. Still, the familiar fabric was oddly comforting in the middle of all of that strangeness and insanity. He'd keep them, mysterious stains and all.

"I'm Perry." Perry extended one hand toward Myran, but the boy just blinked at his hand, and then at him. "Never mind."

They waited until the sound of the steps had completely faded into the background noise of the forest. Only then did they slowly move from their hiding spot. 

"It is this way. Not too far."

Myran led the way through the deepening shadows of the forest, choosing their path with the confidence of someone who'd done that many times already. Perry's muscles protested every step, but if he stopped, he knew he'd probably not get back up again. So he kept on moving. 

***

The sun was sinking toward the horizon by the time they reached the inn. It was a modest two-story building with weathered wooden walls. A few people stood or walked around outside, all dressed in what looked like simple clothes that would have been all the rage anywhere from 500 to 1000 years ago – Perry had never paid much attention to History class. 

Robes of different lengths, fitted jackets with high collars, and cloth or leather shoes seemed to be the dress code around here. Some people wore thicker-looking jackets with lots of brass buttons. And while he stared at them, they openly stared at Perry and, what must be to them, his strange clothing. 

Perry felt more and more like he'd stumbled onto a movie set. Except the pain in his foot and the weight of the shackles were far too real. A chill wind cut through his shirt as Myran led him toward the inn's entrance.

The interior was dimly lit and while the main room was simple, it felt welcoming, with tables where a handful of customers sat eating and drinking. A fire burned in a stone hearth, and the smell of some kind of stew and sizzling meat made Perry's empty stomach clench and his mouth water.

Myran tugged at his sleeve, pulling him toward what Perry assumed was the kitchen at the back. They'd almost reached it when a man stepped into their path, wearing a crisp blue jacket with brass buttons and silver trim. His white pants were just as crisp and spotless as his jacket. His posture was military-straight, and his hand rested on a sword at his hip.

"Your Highness," the man said, bowing deeply after blinking several times in confusion at him. "What are you doing here? Why are you like this?"

The man gestured at the shackles and stepped closer to him.

Perry froze. The conversations around them died away as heads turned in their direction. Myran had gone very still a few steps ahead of him.

"I... what?" Perry managed, his voice barely a whisper.

The man straightened, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Perry's appearance. "Your Highness, you don't remember me?" He frowned and looked almost hurt. "It is me, Captain Orryn of the Royal Guard. We met some time ago in the Palace and we spent a long night… discussing political affairs." 

Perry blamed his slowness to react on all the smoke he'd inhaled back when the cart caught fire. 

"I… no, you have me confused." Perry shook his head. 

The hurt look on the Captain's face morphed to genuine concern and he stepped even closer. "Your Highness, are you well?" His hand tightened on his sword hilt as he took in Perry's disheveled appearance again. "What have they done to you?"

Perry opened his mouth, but no words came out. The room seemed to spin slightly, though that might have been from exhaustion and hunger. Or the smoke. Or the drugged coffee he'd probably drank earlier. 

Your Highness? Royal Guard? He looked down at his dirty clothes, his shackled wrists, then back at the guard's earnest face.

"I'm not who you think I am," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "I'm not... I'm just..."

But he couldn't finish the sentence. Just what? Just a guy who'd been pulled through a magic mirror, thrown in a prison cart, rescued by sword-wielding wizards, and was now standing in what looked like the set of a strange costume drama?

The guard's expression hardened, his gaze locked on the shackles. "Who did this to you? Tell me, and I will personally ensure they pay for this insult to the crown. To you."

Perry felt the weight of every eye in the room on him. Myran had backed away, looking between Perry and the guard with growing alarm. The smell of cooking food, the warmth of the fire, the low murmur of shocked whispers – it all pressed in on him at once.

His legs, which had been threatening to give out since they'd arrived, finally made good on their promise. The last thing Perry saw as the world went dark was the guard lunging forward to catch him.