King Rowland Whitewood took another deep inhale, feeling the fatigue of another night’s restlessness underneath his eyes, the morning breeze cold against his skin as it welcomed itself through the Great Chamber’s window. He had managed to ward off the seductions of a demon tonight, an insurmountable victory compared to the prior months of drunken absence he loathed himself for. The temptation of an induced, deep sleep continued to gnaw at his most primal instinct, physically feeling the addiction in the pulses of his temple. At odds with his personal needs was a staggering development he never thought possible, as the family heirloom continued to shine.
His mother, the late Queen of Runswick, had given him the speech that her father had given her. The spiel had been an unceremonious, boring affair in which his attention had been divided, with matters such as the quality of imported cufflinks much more present on his young mind. The discussion fell on the same day as his coronation on the Runswick council, the first of many responsibilities that would be officially his as the Prince. He could not recall his mother being worse off by his distractedness, only that the woman had been a rarity of sobriety that morning.
How long has my blood been mad? The soothing thought was on his mind again, the dismissing of what had been legend and lore for all time except now. His mother had been wrong as the sun broke the crest of the horizon and brought light to the still-existing world. In the nearly three weeks since the heirloom glew, the only perils and tribulations being fought seemed to find their arena in the King’s mind.
He hadn't been afraid of his duty, as active precautions continued to busy his hours. Within a couple hours of the heirloom’s wakening, King Whitewood had the masses of the capital city heed his call to arms. While the added forces were sorely lacking in any experience, his militia had nearly tripled in size. On the same day, he had written letters to the nobility and leaders of all countries and provinces of Angea, offering well wishes and reaffirming their peaceful positions.
Estonia, High Hillford, the Islands. The three responses he still waited for troubled him, but the relief of Silver Acre’s increased support had done well to quell some of his nerves. Runswick’s most powerful neighbor, Queen Alice had written in length that the peace in Runswick was not only an obligation, but an effort that Silver Acre would not allow to be in question, offering to send a portion of their standing army on loan. Offering his most sincere gratitude, King Whitewood gladly accepted.
While neighbors in other countries offered their hand, his noblemen and women had begun to offer their increasing concerns. What had started as nearly exciting for his generals, scribes, and treasurers, the continued duties and cost to the Kingdom began to become lost on them. Whitewood had a gnawing sense that he made an error of judgment by concealing the revelation of his family heirloom from his trusted advisors. With questions and tension rising, he could not foresee any benefit now in revealing the truth behind his worries, for if they knew the cause of all the alarm was truly the glow of a small rock, the rumors of his mental ability would surely spread through his ranks.
Although the doubts were present in his mind, a sense rooted deep within his gut continued to correct his thinking. No one would mistake the heirloom as just an ordinary rock, as even the most shrewd eyes would be enthralled with the value of such an artifact. He felt assured that in those weak moments in which he considered getting the piece appraised elders of his blood must have had related ideas as well. Before it glowed, the heirloom held a special awe as the sun would reveal small rainbows seemingly trapped in a colorless confine. To their knowledge, no matter how far and wide the world may be, the Whitewood family owned the highest quality diamond in all of them.
The minute he had been allowing himself to settle his thoughts had extended, and King Whitewood mused with the idea of standing here forever. His feet disobeyed, as he walked away from the window and towards the heirloom’s pedestal. A sheet was present and covering the pedestal, a crude defense he added to do away with the light that radiated for all hours of the night in his room. Much more was present in the room as well; robes of red and gold hung absently on a chair or fallen to the floor, piles of paper littered and spilled over and off the large desk several feet from the base of his unkempt bed, and numerous shoes and boots found no home and often were absent of their pair as he walked over them. In the past three weeks, he hadn’t allowed a single soul, sans his daughter, to step foot in his chamber.
This was becoming routine for him, and he felt in his bones that this was an issue that was increasingly coming to a head. He had done so well in his reign and duties as King, an admittedly tedious yet elementary responsibility for the free kingdom of Runswick. Remaining present had always been his most crucial of responsibilities, and had the diamond not shone his life would have continued in this leisure. But the shine seemed to invigorate him.
He wanted that warm glow now before his day officially started. At the pedestal, he removed the white sheet, but still held it in hand as the thought of a sudden intrusion was prevalent even in its impossibility. Settled delicately on the white marble pedestal, the stem a set of fine grooves forming defined lines rising to the platform's base where a series of intricate scrolls and accents were carved, was the nearly white diamond.
Powerful, he thought. The wind and breathing be damned, the diamond had been the elixir of life the King desperately needed as his destiny seemed to be in the balance. The diamond was nearly seven inches in diameter, a palmable mass that glowed off-white with heat to it. No more did the diamond reflect light that hit it, the rainbows of color it once created were now gone, instead projecting its light that seemed paramount to even the sun.
He looked closer at it now, looking for the detail that shocked his senses when he first discovered it. He wished he had better analyzed the diamond before, but had been quite sure the shine had revealed what he was now seeing. Though his recall was quite troublesome, nowhere could he find any instance of his mother mentioning just how exclusive the diamond was to the Whitewood family. The ownership was apparent, as in the off-white glow the diamond gave off, there was a more intense, almost inscribed word that burned a rich white, and at the proper angle, one could read the words.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Whitewood
Had this single word not been present, King Whitewood wondered how serious he would still be considering all this matter. The thoughts had trekked deeper inward this week, whether the word had been a long-dead relative's idea that just wasn’t passed down knowledge-wise, but speculations he could not confirm could not nurse the weight he felt on his shoulders.
My family’s legacy is this diamond!
Underneath his family name, there looked to be another word that was cut off by the size of the diamond. The first letter may have been an M or an N, but the rest of the letters were ineligible.
What does any of this mean? He angrily threw the sheet back over the diamond, the frustration fanned by the wave of tiredness he suddenly felt. There was so much that he did not understand that was happening, and yet nothing was changed outside of his chamber. There hadn’t been a sudden descent into an apocalypse, the world was not engulfed in flames, and to the best of his knowledge, no country seemed to be on the verge of a dark collapse.
That was all he had taken away from his mother's speech all those years ago: should the diamond shine, and continue to shine, the continent of Angea and all its inhabitants would be at the same mercy the people of the Great Carnage endured. If the diamond shines and were to lose its shine shortly thereafter, the inhabitants should rejoice, as the danger has passed.
He was angered with himself for not knowing more, angered with his mother for not forcing him to listen well, and angry with his blood for relaying such a convoluted message to a duty he now bore the full responsibility of. In a week, when the reserve troops on loan from Silver Acre will truly seem an extravagance to the treasury, and the whispers of new troops spilling the truth about the officer’s confusion for all the panic, he knew the matter would slip through his grasp entirely. A sin of a thought crept to the front, wishing something would happen.
Quick, light knocks interrupted his troubled mind. He knew it would be his daughter, for any other living soul disturbing him so early was surely suicidal. He took a long sigh, trying to read his best face for his pride and joy.
“Come in Ellie!” He said.
The door opened, and there came his bright-eyed and smiling daughter, the beautiful Princess Elenor Whitewood. Cups of steaming tea in each hand, the king saw his mother in her then, as she wore her hair in the same sideway pigtails held up by the same golden rings his mother owned, her naturally brown hair having added highlights of blonde. Still wearing her slippers, she already dawned on his mother’s dress, as she did every day now. It appeared white this morning, the neutral color that signaled that the ability was on standby.
Remain this way forever my love, unbothered and happy, not needing to be anything besides pure.
Her face quickly transformed, gawking at the mess she found herself in, “Father! Why do you live like this? Should I be concerned about your madness?”
Yes, he thought, before saying: “Maybe, darling, maybe.”
She moved silently, bouncing around the mess on the floor in whimsical dance moves, before making a home for the cups by pushing papers to one side of the desk, as a stack fell off.
“Oops!” She said, going to pick them up.
“Do not trouble yourself, my dear. Frivolous things, those pages.” Any my worries, he almost added.
Elenor continued to pick up the pages, “Allow me to clean up father, I know your worries are strong with the staff, but surely this environment can't be a productive one to resolve your stresses.”
“A funny thing, the unknown is Ellie. I would say that the mess of pages probably did help until they did not anymore. Preparing for an event one can not predict, I often wonder if the over-prepared are the most ready, or if the preparation has soured their minds. And who is to say that one can overly prepare or under-prepare for an event they do not have a hold on? If that event should exist at all.”
Elenor made a face at her father. The past couple weeks of sobriety surely was affecting the King’s mind and mood, and while she would always be present for this battle and rooting for her father, the doom and gloom that seemed to have a strangle on him was not correlating with withdrawals. She looked over to the pedestal, seeing the sheet still thrown over it.
“It still shines, doesn't it.”
“It would have been a bad joke had it gone out during the night. The punchline for this one is certainly greater than that.”
“Oh Father,” She reached out, holding his hand in both of hers, “I want to help you Father, I truly do. I know Silver Acre improved your spirits, and I believe a response from those who have not yet would do even better to relax your spirit. Allow me to travel in person, protected of course by our best and most loyal soldiers, and with Grandmother’s dress I can reveal the truth that-”
“Absolutely not Elenor.” Cutting her off, her father’s face turned stern, “I need you by my side and safely next to me more than ever. I admire your courage greatly and know you can do great things on your own, but these troubles are best faced together. The family Whitewood will remain here.”
Elenor sighed, knowing the expression and tone meant a retort would only fan the fire. She loved her father very dearly but felt deep down that he was in error for not placing her in a position that would allow her to use all of her ability and the original thread that made up her dress.
“I have exhausted most of my efforts in the library, Father. With so few texts surviving the Great Carnage, it is hard to piece anything together. It seems like a world that never existed compared to now, with only the remains of fabled keeps to show a history. But there are no mentions of a diamond, and outside of the diary of King Winfred-”
“Who knows that you have searched for texts on diamonds?” Her father raised his voice over hers.
“No one father, I can search the library after hours by myself. I am just trying to find something that can help you.”
The King felt embarrassment in his throat, unhappy with himself for speaking to the only ally in this world he could trust.
“I am sorry, love.” He said, head bowing, “Forgive my outbursts and forgive me for having you worry so much. I may need to ask for such forgiveness from a lot of people soon, but yours is the only one I value.”
She moved and hugged her father warmly. Squeezing tight, she could nearly feel the tense knots in his back, the way his slouched shoulders seemed to just be settled into a defeated pose until he hugged her back.
King Rowland Whitewood stood there, holding his precious daughter in the early parts of the morning, an eye still fixated on the white sheet. There was an obvious glow coming from underneath, and with it, he knew his destiny remained in doubt. But nothing more, not even the warmth the diamond produced, could motivate his resolve better than the warmth of his daughter, his beautiful, strong little girl.
“Never apologize to me Father, for the Whitewood family and all the worries that involve Runswick are mine to bear as well.”
He kissed his daughter's forehead then, staving off the foreign feelings of emotion he suddenly felt. He knew that was his greatest fear, unsolving the truth of their destiny before the consequences had a hold of his Elenor.