The Crown Prince's Most Disrespectful Attendant

Ch3: Trouble Walked In

Albert remained behind the counter, arms folded, watching the cloaked figure drip water onto his clean floor. 

The stranger was still breathing hard, as if he'd run across half the town, but instead of speaking, he slowly turned his head and began looking around the shop. 

At the shelves. At the jars. At the cloth bundles. At the tools near the wall. Like a customer inspecting quality, not like someone who'd just burst in like a chased criminal.

Albert's eye twitched.

The figure kept looking. Silence stretched.

Then Albert slammed his palm onto the counter. The bang shook a stack of cups.

"We're closed!"

The cloaked person turned sharply toward him, coughed once, then straightened. When he spoke, the voice that came out was low, smooth, and annoyingly arrogant.

"Do you have a Lyra Flower?"

Albert stared at him for a long moment before answering flatly.

"No."

Inside his head, the response was very different. *Yes, I do. One. Exactly one, dried carefully and sealed in wax cloth.*

He'd nearly frozen to death getting it years ago, crossing the Frostpeak road out of the capital, snow to his knees, wind trying to peel the skin off his face, a guide who'd confidently died halfway through the trip. 

He'd found the flower growing between two stones on the mountain path. So no. He wasn't handing it over to some lunatic in wet clothes.

The stranger gave a small chuckle. "I can buy it for any amount. Name the price."

Albert's expression didn't change. "No."

The figure paused. Albert leaned one arm on the counter.

"And who told you that in all of Redvale Town I had a Lyra Flower?" he asked. "Or are you simply going from shop to shop asking like an idiot?"

The room went still. Even the stranger seemed taken aback. Then he stiffened.

"Do you know who you are speaking to?"

Albert yawned. "No." Then, after a beat, "And even if I did, I wouldn't care." He pointed lazily toward the door. "If you're not buying anything, get out."

The stranger's shoulders tightened beneath the cloak, clearly offended. Albert found that encouraging.

Before either of them could say more, noise rose outside. Shouting. Running footsteps. Voices calling through the street.

"Search that side!"

"He couldn't have gone far!"

"Check every shop!"

The cloaked figure went rigid. Albert slowly turned his head toward the door, then back toward the stranger, then back again.

"Interesting."

The figure looked around in panic, turning left and right like a trapped animal. Albert watched with growing disbelief.

"Don't even think about it," he said.

The stranger bolted, straight past the counter and toward the back room. Albert lunged forward.

"Don't you dare!"

The stranger shoved through the storeroom door and slammed it shut from inside. Albert stopped dead, then began pounding on it.

"Open this!"

No answer.

"Get out of my storeroom!"

Still nothing. Albert kicked the door once. "You dramatic parasite!"

The front bell rang. Albert froze, then sighed, slow and pained.

"This day," he muttered, "was getting worse."

His shop door dinged opened a figures walked in. 

Albert turned toward the entrance. Five men walked in, heavy boots, ugly faces, cheap weapons, the kind of posture only men who bullied weaker people thought looked impressive.

Thugs. Wonderful.

The largest one stepped forward, grinning with several teeth missing. Without warning, he kicked over a crate of oranges near the wall. Fruit rolled across the floor.

Albert stared at them. Then at the oranges. Then back at them. Something inside him went very calm.

The thug leader spread his arms. "Shopkeeper," he said mockingly, "did you see a man in a black cloak come through here?"

Albert glanced once toward the storeroom. That fool was definitely the one they wanted. He looked back and yawned.

"No." Then he smiled politely. "We're closed. You can leave now."

The thug laughed loudly. "How can you say no? Everyone outside said he came in here and hasn't come out."

Albert's fingers tightened slowly around the pen in his hand. He'd been using it for inventory earlier. Now it felt more firm.

He forced a smile. "Anyone can enter Merri-Len Store," he said lightly. "It is accessible to the public."

The thug leader frowned. "That sounded stupid."

"It was wasted on you."

The grin vanished. The leader gestured sharply, and the others spread out. One knocked jars from a shelf. Another kicked a stool aside. A third began pulling open drawers.

Albert didn't move. He simply watched.

A bundle of cloth hit the floor. A jar cracked. Someone stepped on dried herbs. The room grew quiet, dangerously quiet.

Albert inhaled once. Then spoke.

"Leave."

The men paused. The leader turned. "What?"

Albert smiled. "I said leave."

The thug barked a laugh. "And if we don't?"

Albert rolled his shoulders. "Then I stop being polite."

The men burst into laughter, one of them even slapping his knee. Albert nodded slowly.

"I did warn you."

Then without thinking he moved. 

The first thug only saw a blur before Albert vaulted over the counter and drove a kick into his chest, sending him flying backward through the open door. 

The second swung wildly. Albert caught the wrist, twisted, and introduced the man's face to the floor, hard. The third reached for a knife, but Albert threw a jar at him first, and it shattered against his forehead, dropping him without dignity. 

The fourth tried to run, so Albert grabbed the back of his collar and used him to knock over the fifth. Both crashed into a display shelf, wood splintering, someone screaming, possibly both of them.

Within seconds, all five men were outside, groaning, sprawled across the dirt road.

The market had gone silent. Several nearby merchants stared openly. Mr. Jo slowly picked up one of his fallen oranges.

"I'm not asking," he said as Albert stepped out of the doorway and crouched in front of the thug leader, who tried to crawl backward. Albert placed the tip of his pen gently beneath the man's left eye.

The street held its breath.

"Listen carefully," Albert said pleasantly. "If you ever enter my shop again," he pressed just enough for the man to whimper, "I will remove this eye." His smile widened. "And feed it to you."

The thug went pale. Albert stood, and the five men scrambled to their feet and ran. One shouted over his shoulder.

"Monster!"

Albert dusted off his sleeves. "Rude," he muttered, and turned to walk back inside.

Then he stopped.

The shop looked like a battlefield. Broken jars, spilled fruit, cracked shelves, herbs everywhere. Albert closed his eyes.

"No."

He opened them again. Still destroyed.

"No."

He bent slowly to pick up an orange.

Then the storeroom door opened as Albert straightened.

The cloaked stranger stepped out calmly, as if emerging from a pleasant nap. He glanced around the ruined store.

"Have they left?"

Albert said nothing.

The stranger adjusted his cloak and started walking toward the exit. "Good," he said. "Then I'll be on my way."

A hand seized his shoulder. Strong and firm and oh so furious.

The figure froze.

Albert's smile had vanished. His eyes had not.

"Where," Albert asked quietly, "the hell do you think you're going?"