Sunlight danced in and out of the sprawling tree branches as the royal party rode through the forest. It was a crisp spring day and Prince Asher of Aziria lead the group, followed by four of his Holy Knights. The cool air tousled his hair as they rode, and he was glad to be outdoors and on horseback.
Prince Asher wasn't much for the stifling library back at the royal palace, where he spent much of his time learning history, military strategy, and political maneuvering from his tutors. He much preferred being in the field, although he wasn't often permitted to leave the city gates, or even the palace for that matter.
Sir Tristan, Prince Asher’s second in command called out to him. “Runestone Village was the last stop on our schedule. We can bring the tithes we’ve collected back to the palace, my prince.”
"I see. Then let us return to the capital," Prince Asher said, his voice thick with disappointment. “I can't understand why father sends me to do these menial tasks anyways. I should be in Celestia, fighting in the front lines of the Holy War. That is where my duty lies," he continued.
“The King wants you to venture out into your nation and gain experience before going away to war, your Highness,” Lord Tristan replied.
“Experience? The only experience I’m gaining out here is taking coppers from poor farmers, which I despise doing if I'm being honest. Nothing interesting ever happens,” Prince Asher scoffed.
"Conflict and hardship will surely find you, my prince. It is not wise to wish for them prematurely," Lord Tristan replied.
Prince Asher pondered his mentor's words as they continued along the wooded road, but eventually shrugged off the sentiment.
I’m ready to take on whatever this world throws at me, he thought confidently.
After riding for several miles, Prince Asher noticed something curious. He thought he detected movement in the branches ahead, but he couldn't be sure. He strained his eyes, peering into the thick foliage as his party approached a particularly dense patch of forest. The trees spanning the path ahead were so large and overgrown that they converged in the middle, forming a canopy above the dirt road.
As they entered the dark grove, Asher abruptly got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Suddenly, a volley of arrows came flying out of the trees, hissing viciously with speed. One of them found its mark, burying itself in the throat of a Holy Knight, killing him instantly. Crimson blood sprayed the surrounding trees, glistening in the daylight. The royal party's horses spooked, wailing in fear and rearing back, almost bucking their riders.
Before the remaining knights could react, a group of hooded men swooped down from the branches, managing to cut down two more of them with ease. Prince Asher's head spun as the whirlwind of chaos unfolded around him. The deluge of blood that spattered the dirt made him sick with nausea.
In an instant one of the assailants came crashing down upon him, and he fell from his horse with a harsh thud. Pinned on his back, Prince Asher awkwardly drew his longsword and just barely blocked the lightning fast strikes that followed. His defense was successful, and he scrambled to regain his feet. His attacker leapt backwards, and paused a moment as he looked Asher up and down curiously.
“I recognize you... I knew a Royal Convoy would be headed through here... but I never thought we’d have the privilege to rob the prince himself!” said the hooded figure, stifling his laughter.
Prince Asher quickly sized up his opponent. His mysterious attacker was small in stature, wearing soft leather armor and carrying two simple short swords. Despite his unimpressive size and equipment, the bandit's body language displayed a complete lack of fear.
“These tithes are vital for the Holy War! You'll die for this insolence!” Prince Asher spat back angrily.
He tried to appear as confident as his opponent, but beneath the surface he was afraid. His heart was pounding violently, sending erratic thuds pulsing through his eardrums. His hand trembled, and it took all of his concentration to steady it. The prince had taken daily lessons on swordsmanship back at the palace, but this was his first ever life-or-death fight. He took a deep breath and tried to remember his training.
The hooded bandit spoke again. “Do you really think you're in the right? You and your Holy Knights have taken everything from us. You take our harvest, our coppers, and leave us with nothing! People are starving and for what? So you can keep fighting a pointless war in Celestia? To hell with that!”
Prince Asher was speechless. He had been taught time and time again that the Celestians were heretics, and they must be conquered or the people of Aziria would suffer eternally in the afterlife for their weakness. No one ever questioned the Holy War, much less a simple commoner.
“Enough talk!” he managed to spit out. He prepared to attack, but his opponent was quicker.
The hooded figure rushed forward with incredible speed, and lashed out with his deadly twin blades. Prince Asher matched the swift blows with his longsword, but he felt himself being overwhelmed and pushed back towards a steep embankment at the edge of the path.
He quickly realized that his opponent possessed great skill, and deceptive quickness. The prince continued to trade blows with the bandit, but he knew it was just a matter of time before one of his attacker's blades found him. He looked hopefully towards Sir Tristan, but to his dismay his strongest knight was locked in battle with several more bandits, including a dangerous looking man of immense stature.
I'm on my own. I'll have to go all out if I want a chance of beating this guy, Asher thought as he unleashed the last of his strength in a series of wild strikes.
Due to the bandit's light armor, one blow from Prince Asher's longsword would cleave him in two without much resistance. However, the agile figure dodged each attack with astonishing precision, and Prince Asher's longsword struck nothing but air. The prince was left off-balance, and vulnerable. His hooded assailant seized the opportunity, and retaliated with a firm kick to Prince Asher's chest. The prince tried his best to regain his footing, but the soft sandstones he stood upon crumbled away beneath him, sending him sprawling down the treacherous bluff behind him.
Sir Tristan heard the commotion and looked over to see the prince tumbling down the ravine towards the river. In a desperate maneuver, Sir Tristan deflected an attack and immediately drove his sword through one of the bandits, then spun and beheaded another, sending his remaining opponents reeling in fear. They had not expected a knight of his caliber to be among their targets.
He used the split second he had gained to sprint after the prince. Protecting Prince Asher was his sworn duty, and Sir Tristan would die before disobeying orders from his king. He stumbled and nearly fell a few times as he slid down the loose rocky soil of the hill, following after the prince.
He finally reached Prince Asher, finding him crumpled amongst the tall grass beside the river. The prince's plate armor was battered and dented after colliding with the falling sandstones, but Sir Tristan didn't see any blood. “Prince Asher, are you injured?” he sputtered as he gripped Asher’s shoulders firmly. Prince Asher stared back at him for a moment.
He thought of his countless sparring matches with Sir Tristan in the palace yard, and how he had lost every single time. Sir Tristan was a tall, well-built man, with long, dark brown hair and a thick beard. His face was strong, yet kind and inviting. He was twenty-six years old, ten years older than Prince Asher, and the prince had come to think of him as a reliable older brother. The one person he could count on. And now, Prince Asher felt a deep shame in Sir Tristan witnessing his first defeat.
“I failed,” he finally said. “Three of our men lay dead and the robbers have certainly made off with our tithe chests by now.”
Sir Tristan looked at him thoughtfully. “It’s true we’ve been soundly defeated, but don’t despair my prince. You survived, and that’s all that matters. There is no failure as long as you live to fight another day. Remember that.”
”It appears that my skill with the blade is woefully inadequate in a real fight,” Prince Asher said sourly.
”You have immense natural talent, and physical gifts. More so than anyone I’ve ever trained,” Sir Tristan began. “But you lack discipline and most of all, patience,” he finished truthfully.
Prince Asher sighed, but realized he was unable to refute his mentor’s verdict.
He suddenly realized he’d have to report his miserable failure to the king. His stomach sank in dread as he envisioned his father's reaction. The king didn’t tolerate failure, especially not one this disastrous.
Sir Tristan extended his hand to Prince Asher, and lifted him up from the weeds. The pair trudged back up the hill, and chased down their frightened steeds. Prince Asher placed his palm on his horse's snout, calming the beast.
”You’re okay Steel, It’s going to be okay,” he cooed softly.
Steel was a young thoroughbred, an undeniably handsome mount with a gray-dappled coat and a flowing white mane. He had been a gift from the queen, Prince Asher’s late mother. The prince loved Steel immensely, and often snuck down to the stables to feed his horse fresh apples and gently pat his neck. Steel seemed to return the sentiment, and was partial to softly nuzzling the young prince's cheek.
The prince climbed onto Steel, and sighed as he turned towards home in defeat. He and Sir Tristan traveled wordlessly through the great forest, a dense wood that separated the royal capital from Runestone. Asher’s anxiety grew with each passing mile, festering deep in his stomach. He knew there would be dire consequences when he returned to the palace empty-handed.
They made it back to the city walls just before dusk, and began traversing the extensive bridge that spanned the wide bay surrounding Artoria, Aziria's bustling royal capital. The city itself sat as an island, protected on all sides from land-based invasion. Many remote archipelagos dotted the seascape, with a network of smaller bridges connecting them to the main island. Green oaks and pines sprouted up from the rocky outcroppings, shading the busy walkways and providing a sanctuary for the city's wild birds.
As their horses trotted along the cobblestones, Prince Asher looked longingly across the waves as he often did, wondering what lay beyond. The setting sun painted the sky in orange and pink, reflecting its vibrant colors across the water's surface. Flocks of seagulls squawked as they cruised the skies, swooping down and robbing the fishing vessels of their catch.
The massive expanse of water known as Artoria Bay hosted hundreds of merchant ships, as well as royal war galleons. The city was known to be well defended, and a hub of trade for the entire kingdom. However, only noble families were permitted to engage in sea commerce, reporting directly to the Trade Congregation.
Prince Asher and Sir Tristan reached the city center, and the towering palace came into full view. Asher couldn’t help but marvel at it, just as he had done every time he returned to his home. He had lived in the royal palace his whole life, and the sheer size and beauty of the structure still stirred his heart.
Her ornate towers ascended far into the clouds, housing many of the proud noble families of Aziria. The main keep was stalwart yet elegant, made of the same thick white limestone as the majority of the city. The roof was comprised of thousands of vermilion tiles, hand crafted by artisanal builders. Hundreds of guard towers and ramparts spanned the lengthy expanses of the palace, making a siege all but impossible. In the five-thousand years the palace stood, it had never been occupied by enemy forces.
Stolen story; please report.
It took several minutes to reach the throne room as Prince Asher passed through lush gardens, elaborate courtyards, never-ending hallways, and hundreds of armed guards. The security of the Azirian palace was always paramount to the High-King.
Prince Asher finally arrived in the throne room, and slowly knelt before his father’s lofty position, head hung low. The chamber was unfathomably opulent, with a great glass ceiling towering hundreds of feet above them. Along the walls were several levels of balconies, complete with gilded railings and exquisite marble floors. The throne itself was perched atop a long staircase, elevating the king’s position far above the lowly level of his subjects. This only contributed to the prince’s anxiety, making him feel quite small in comparison to his father.
Sir Tristan took his place several paces behind the prince, also kneeling in respect. Prince Asher waited for his father to speak, and tried to remain calm. The silence in the room became increasingly uncomfortable as King Aemon glared at him wordlessly from above. The prince felt like his father’s gaze was cutting right through his body, and peering into his very soul. Finally the king spoke.
"Well? Report," he said impatiently.
"We successfully collected the tithes on schedule..." Asher began quickly. "But- as we made our way back through the forest, we were ambushed by cutthroats. Sir Tristan fought valiantly, but I was bested by their leader. Our remaining forces were killed... and the attackers made off with the tithe chests."
Another period of unbearable silence followed, and Prince Asher was completely unable to read his Father's expression. However, he knew the king's reaction would prove to be more than unpleasant.
“You were defeated by lowly bandits? This is an outrage,” King Aemon said, his voice seething with quiet anger. Prince Asher nodded solemnly in response. “And what’s more, you allowed them to slaughter your men and make off with our tithes. How could you fail a simple task so miserably? You’re the prince of Aziria.”
“These men were unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Their leader wielded dual short swords with deadly precision,” Asher mustered.
King Aemon stood up abruptly, causing Prince Asher to flinch. The sound of the King’s heavy boots descending each step echoed throughout the throne room. He continued until he stood directly before his son. The prince kept his head low and his eyes closed as a sign of respect.
The king paused for a moment and then suddenly lashed out with his greaved foot, kicking his son in the jaw with incredible force. Prince Asher went sprawling to the floor, and consequently spit up a mouthful of blood. He continued to cast his gaze downward, and took his punishment silently, not daring to make a sound.
“Excuses will get you nowhere. Do not show your face again until you retrieve every last copper that was stolen. Then, you will present me with the heads of any bandits who dared to attack a royal convoy. Do you understand?” the king demanded.
The most unnerving thing about King Aemon was the fact that he never raised his voice, but his words still commanded a great degree of fear and respect. The king was approaching fifty, but his shoulder length, golden-brown hair and cold blue eyes gave him a youthful appearance, and his large stature lended to heavily his authority. No one in the entire kingdom could best him in one-on-one combat, and his mere presence was enough to silence a room full of brash noblemen.
Prince Asher gritted his teeth. “Yes father, I understand,” he replied.
The king looked to Sir Tristan who still hadn't glanced up, opting to keep his head bowed and his mouth closed. “Sir Tristan, you’re the most skilled knight under my command. I’m counting on you to help the boy. Do not let him fail again,” King Aemon commanded.
“Yes, my King,” Sir Tristan responded graciously.
Prince Asher retired to his bedchamber, plagued with a sullen mood. His father had never showed him love, but today’s punishment was more severe than usual. His tongue traced his lower lip, finding a substantial gash where he had been kicked. The prince winced in pain, and quickly returned his tongue to its regular position. Not only had he been defeated, he had been shamed by his only family member. Prince Asher couldn’t deny the sting of disappointment he felt.
He stood up, and walked over to his mirror, intending to examine the wound. It looked considerably worse than he imagined. His lip was puffy, swollen, and mottled with black bruises. A wide gash extended from the inside of his mouth to his outer lip, still bleeding sparsely. He covered the wound and examined the rest of his visage, hoping it would heal soon.
His face was handsome and regal, the result of a five-millennium old royal bloodline. He usually wore a stern expression, accentuating his sharp jawline and strong brow. His hair was medium-length, golden in color, and worn pushed back with a few long strands falling across his face. His skin held a bit of color due to the sun’s rays bearing down on him during the day's ride. The eyes staring back at him were like bright emeralds, full of life and fervor.
A light knock on the door snapped him out of his contemplation. He prayed it wasn’t his father, but he didn’t detect the king’s heavy presence on the other side of the door. Prince Asher stood up and opened the door carefully, peering around it to see who his visitor was.
He was surprised to see Lady Rheya, daughter of the king’s closest advisor, Lord Baldwin. Her mother, Lady Alissa was a close friend and confidant of the late Queen Amariah, and now held a high place in court beside her husband. Lord Baldwin forged his bond with the king on the field of battle, proving his mettle time and time again.
Lady Rheya and her parents were the only ones permitted to live inside the inner sanctum of the royal keep, besides maids and servants. Lord Baldwin had advised King Aemon faithfully for over thirty years, balancing out the king’s fiery inclinations with a more reasonable perspective. His steadfast efforts more than earned his family's lofty position inside the palace’s sanctuary.
Since they grew up in such close proximity to each other, Prince Asher and Lady Rheya had formed a strong friendship early in their childhood. They could often be found laughing and running around the palace halls, having a splendid time so long as they didn’t run into King Aemon. Usually Rheya was playful and teasing, with an inclination for practical jokes.
One morning when he was about ten years old, Prince Asher awoke to find his bedchamber full of croaking bullfrogs, courtesy of Rheya. They spent the rest of the morning laughing hysterically as the palace servants struggled to catch the slippery creatures. However, as of late Rheya seemed a little more reserved, and Prince Asher would often go several weeks without seeing her. As a lady of the court, her attention was often required for extensive lessons on etiquette and protocol, which she found to be incredibly dull but attended nonetheless.
“Good evening my prince,” Lady Rheya said politely, looking over her shoulder for eavesdropping servants.
”What are you doing here at this hour?” Prince Asher questioned under his breath.
Rheya lowered her voice to a whisper. “I snuck out of my bedchamber,” she said with a mischievous grin.
”Get in here before someone sees you!” Asher said, grabbing her wrist lightly and pulling her inside his chamber.
Rheya laughed softly as she stepped inside. “So this is what a prince’s quarters look like at night,” she said teasingly.
”Yes, I’m sure it’s quite fascinating,” Prince Asher said dryly. “Now why are you here? My father will have your family banished from the palace if he finds you in my chambers at this hour.”
”Don’t worry about that old killjoy, he won’t find out,” she replied confidently.
Prince Asher was happy to see her, but he couldn’t help but fear the consequences if they were discovered during this little visit, especially for Rheya. Her position in the royal court would likely be in jeopardy in such an event.
Rheya however, didn’t seem worried in the slightest. She strode over to his large window, and threw open the curtains, bathing the room in moonlight.
”The stars are so bright tonight,” she said softly.
Prince Asher took a moment to gaze at his best friend, realizing she looked exceptionally beautiful. Her features were illuminated in the pale glow, giving her an otherworldly aura. Her ebony hair shined brilliantly, complementing her smooth ivory skin. Her eyes were a light hazel, but could be described better as golden due to their intensely bright luster. Her irises were home to tiny flecks of green, appearing like minuscule islands in a sun-drenched sea.
His heart began pounding quietly, which was unusual. Growing up, he spent much of his free time with Rheya, and had always felt at ease in her presence. However, something about seeing her in his bedchamber at night made him see her in a completely different light. She was wearing a sheer silk nightgown, and he could almost make out the graceful form of her body beneath the fabric.
”Are you just gonna stand there gawking, or are you coming with me?” she said playfully, swinging the window open and stepping out onto the roof.
Prince Asher quickly followed after Rheya, and she gave him her hand to steady himself as he climbed through the windowpane. She looked around briefly before leading him to a wide gap in the rampart, large enough to accommodate the two of them.
”Sit,” she commanded him with a wry smile.
Prince Asher couldn’t help but oblige her, and settled himself, dangling his feet over the edge of the palace wall. Rheya let go of his hand and took her place beside him, her body pressed snugly against his. The prince’s heart continued to pound, and he hoped she couldn’t feel its powerful rhythm. Her warmth was infectious, and her soft skin felt magical against his own.
Neither of them spoke, instead marveling at the breathtaking view before them. The royal palace they sat upon was the tallest building in Artoria, giving them an unobstructed view all the way out to the great bay and the oceans beyond.
The inky sky was alight with bright stars, and they could even make out the beauty of swirling galaxies glittering above. Prince Asher could identify a constellation known as Angel’s Eyes, its beauty shining down, watching them. Below the stars, the vast ocean was dark and alluring, concealing untold mysteries beneath its surface. Its lapping waves were tinged with reflected starlight as they crashed down again and again.
The salty breeze coming off the water was wonderfully refreshing, and they could hear nightbirds singing their melancholy songs, crying out in the darkness. Prince Asher let out a deep breath, the weight of his struggles seeming to fade away with each passing moment.
It was Rheya who finally broke the peaceful silence.
”How did it go today? You must have been excited to venture out into the kingdom,” she asked genuinely.
”It was…. fine,” Prince Asher said, lying through his teeth.
”You can tell me the truth, Asher,” she said.
Rheya was the only person who ever addressed the prince by his first name, and he secretly loved it. It felt personal, like she could actually see him for who he was and not just as a prince.
”There’s nothing to tell,” he said dismissively.
”I always know when you're lying,” Rheya said with a slight smile. She placed a warm hand on his cheek and turned his face towards hers.
”What happened here?” she asked, gently stroking his torn and swollen lip.
“It’s nothing. I bit my lip when Steel stumbled over a stone in the road,” he lied. Prince Asher preferred not to worry her with his woeful tales.
”Okay,” Rheya said. She knew he wasn’t being truthful, but she didn’t want to press the issue. She decided to change the subject instead.
”Do you ever wish to climb aboard one of those and sail away?” she said wistfully, pointing to one of the large ships slowly drifting across the dark bay.
”Only all the time,” Prince Asher replied honestly. It was true that he lead a luxurious lifestyle in the royal palace, but he was constantly walking on eggshells, fearing his father’s wrath. The castle's thick stone walls served more as a cage to imprison him than a barrier to defend him.
He recalled one instance when he was eight, where he accidentally knocked over his cup while dining with his father and a few of his esteemed guests. King Aemon stood up, and walked over to his seat without so much as a word. He proceeded to slap Prince Asher in the face so hard that his handprint left a red welt for over a week. Since then, Prince Asher had done his best to keep his head down while in the palace and avoid his father when he could.
Noticing his discomfort, Rheya took Prince Asher’s hand.
“Don’t fret about things you cannot change, Asher. Just be here with me,” she said softly.
The two remained there for a long while, enjoying the cool night air and each other’s company. Sometime before midnight, Rheya stood up abruptly.
”I’m afraid I must return to my chamber,” she said with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I cannot have my handmaiden go to check on me and find me missing.”
Prince Asher smiled. “I understand, just please be careful walking through the halls. We can't have you getting caught wandering the palace at this hour. I’ll escort you to my door,” he said, offering his hand, which she took graciously.
He helped her back through the window, placing a firm hand on her slender waist as she stepped over the threshold. The pair glumly trudged over to his chamber door, and he cracked it carefully, peering down the hallway.
”The coast is clear,” he whispered.
“Then this is goodbye,” Rheya whispered back. She took his face in her hands, and kissed his cheek softly. Prince Asher was stunned as she slipped out the door and sped off down the hallway. He gingerly touched his face where her soft lips had been just a moment ago.
He wondered where her sudden change in behavior had come from. They had always been exceptionally close, but Rheya was usually more likely to tease him than to be vulnerable with him. It was almost as if she knew something that he didn’t.
Later that night, Prince Asher laid awake despite his exhaustion, staring at the stone ceiling of his expansive chamber. His thoughts drifted back to the day’s events. They raced through his mind unchecked, troubling him.
Who was that hooded bandit, and how did he get so strong? Was he telling the truth about the tithes bankrupting the villagers?
He had never given much thought to the costs of the Holy War. Everyone in the palace spoke of the war as a necessity, and considered dying in battle the highest glory one could achieve in life. The prince wondered if going to fight in Celestia was his true desire, or something that had been planted by his father.
He tossed and turned in his sheets, his mind plagued with worry. The only thoughts that gave him comfort were of his peaceful night with Rheya. He hoped he would spend many more nights with her in a similar fashion. In the early hours of the morning, he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Prince Asher awoke at dawn, curious as to what fortunes the day would bring. He hadn't slept much, but his desire to redeem himself after yesterday's failure rendered him wide awake. He rose from bed, and found a note lying on his desk.
King Aemon requests your presence in his study after morning worship. Do not keep him waiting.
-Sir Tristan