“This will hurt, child,” the doctor warned, and Gabriel felt a deep sting as the man rubbed something onto his wounds. A sharp arch of pain shot through them, and Gabriel's breaths became labored. He clenched his fists against the sheets and screamed into the mattress, trying to stifle the proof of his pain.
It felt like an eternity passed as the doctor tended to his wounds, but Gabriel was too disoriented to care.
The door suddenly burst open, and his mother's panicked voice filled the room. “Gabriel!”
His mother's presence offered a brief respite from the torment. “It's not as bad as it looks, mam,” he managed to say, trying to sound reassuring.
Her muffled cries spoke of her distress, but Gabriel was determined to be strong for her. He didn't want her to suffer because of his own stupid mistakes. “Doctor, how bad is it?” she asked, her voice trembling with concern.
The man paused before replying, “He will recover. The next moon cycle will be painful, but there won't be long-lasting damage—other than the scars.”
“The scars will serve as a reminder,” Gabriel interjected quietly, his voice filled with a mix of regret and acceptance.
The doctor continued to clean the wound, and Gabriel winced in pain with each touch to his raw skin. “Can you do something to dull the pain?” his mother pleaded.
“I’m sorry, my queen, the king's orders are that nothing is to be used to reduce the pain,” the doctor replied helplessly.
With a clenched jaw, his mother's expression shifted, and she pointed at the doctor. “I don't care about your orders. Your job is to heal, so do it!”
“My lady, I want to, but I can’t,” the doctor said, clearly torn between his duty and his path to heal.
Determined to help her son, she pleaded with the doctor, “No one would know. He's just a child. Don't let him suffer. Please.”
Time dragged on, and Gabriel could hear the doctor fumbling with his materials, the clinking of glass and metal filling the room.
Footsteps approached his side, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to see the doctor's wrinkled face. The old man's eyes were downcast, and he seemed burdened by the weight of the situation. With shaky hands, the doctor placed a small tin containing a concoction in front of Gabriel's face. “Swallow this.”
Gabriel couldn’t move his hands, he merely allowed the doctor to tilt the medicine into his mouth. The taste was putrid, akin to an apple tart left in the sun for a week. The odor filled his senses, a strong sugary smell permeating from the tin.
As the concoction took effect, Gabriel felt a sense of drowsiness washed over him. As he fell into shadows of darkness, he hoped that, somehow, amidst the turmoil, he could find a way to make amends for his actions.
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“How are you feeling?” Gabriel's mother asked, he wasn’t sure how many hours had passed.
He laid on his stomach, the damp sheets cooling his flushed body. Tilting his head, he looked at his mother kneeling on the floor with her elbows propped on the mattress. Her eyebrows were drawn into a deep frown, and her eye makeup was ruined, with black streaks reaching the tops of her cheeks. She was so close to him that he could feel her warm breath against his skin, offering a reassuring presence in the midst of his pain.
Her grip on his hand was tight, as if she feared letting him go, as if she could somehow shield him from the agony he was experiencing. Gabriel yearned to offer her comfort, to reassure her that he would be fine, but the pain and exhaustion made it difficult for him to find the right words.
“It doesn't hurt as much as it did before,” he managed to respond, trying to calm his worried mother.
A heavy silence enveloped mother and son, emotions swirling in the air, leaving them both unsure of how to break the tension that lingered between them.
“I'm sorry, mam,” Gabriel uttered, his voice tinged with remorse. “I didn't think this would happen.”
His mother's face softened. “It’s alright, just rest for now.”
Gabriel's eyes welled with tears, and he turned his head away, unable to bear the weight of his mistakes. “I should have been more careful. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“I know you didn't, you have a good heart, and you always want to do what's right. But intentions don’t always matter.” Gabriel could sense that his mother had more to say, but she held back, choosing not to speak further.
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“What has happened since...?” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. The words reminded him of the pain he wished to bury—the shame of feeling utterly powerless, the humiliation from those who witnessed his whimpering and cries, all of it enveloping him in a suffocating sense of helplessness.
“Your brothers are raising the war band. They will set out at first light,” his mother said, a hint of distress evident as she tucked her hair behind her ear nervously.
The weight of the confirmation hit him like a blow, harder than any whip, and hurt more than any insult. He longed to disappear into his physical pain rather than face the consequences of his actions. He turned his head back to his mother, her gaze more intent than usual.
“Why didn't you come to me?” Her voice remained soft, yet it held an edge of something new.
“I don't know, mother. I thought I could protect you, protect the kingdom.”
Gabriel continued to wrestle with thoughts of how he could have approached things differently, what he should have done instead. For some inexplicable reason, he had felt a deep fear of approaching his mother, as if he already knew she wouldn't approve of his investigations. The thought of facing her judgment, knowing she was the one parent who truly loved him, was too daunting. He couldn't bear the risk of disappointing her. On the other hand, a part of him had yearned for the glory of helping the kingdom, to impress the king enough to finally earn his elusive sense of approval—and perhaps even love. The weight of regret consumed him, and he found himself desperately wishing he could turn back time to undo his actions.
“Protection from whom? Loftus?” his mother asked.
“Yes,” he whispered, fearing the weight of the words.
“The kingdom needs just as much protection from the king as the lord. You are still a child in a world of adults,” she said. “Why did you involve yourself?” Her eyes held disapproval as her hand squeezed even harder onto his.
“I… I thought I could help.”
“You could have if you had gone about this the right way. You should never have gone to your father with this; you should have come to me.” Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, and it pained him to see her like this.
“I had to do something,” he justified. “The people are starving, and Loftus was selling our grain to the enemy. I had to stop it, I had to do it for our people.”
“Better them starving than dead,” his mother said, her words dull with the harsh reality of their situation.
Regret and realization settled within him like a heavy weight. He had read the histories and understood the potential consequences, but he had not foreseen his father setting a war band into motion. Perhaps he should have been more vigilant, considering the king's power and influence over the nobles.
“What have I done?” he asked quietly, his words laden with remorse.
“Let us hope that none will be hurt. But you will need to be strong, Gabriel, for what is to come,” she said. He could tell by her tone that he wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Overwhelmed by emotions, tears began to fall. He hated himself for letting his ego drive him, for not thoroughly considering the consequences before acting. His mother gently placed her palm on his cheek, the coolness of her touch soothing his heated emotions. She wiped away the tears with her thumb, the sensation calming his raging mind.
“I won't lie to you and tell you that everything will be alright,” she said. “Steel yourself, my son, and know that I love you, and that I always will.”
“Why did I have to grow up a Prince? I wish I was anywhere but here.”
“At least here, you have the opportunity to make a difference. You won't always make the right decisions, but at least you’ll have the power to make them.”
“I wish I didn’t have to make decisions. If only I could leave, not be a prince—maybe be a librarian, a scholar, something not related to bloodshed. Maybe then I wouldn’t have caused this to happen.”
His mother gently tucked her hair behind her ear, taking a breath before responding. “Valandor is a harsh land. It is not fair; it cares not for what you do. Even a librarian or a scholar is just as likely to end up on the wrong side of the sword. Neither nobleman nor commoner are safe from danger.”
“Accamania is the worst of them all,” he sighed.
His mother’s eyes bored into his. “Gabriel, no land is without danger, violence, or corruption. In Galatia, wealth rules; those with little have no power. Eldoria prioritizes bloodline and intellect above all else; if you are not born of Eldorian parents, you can never truly belong. As for Balatia, I know it better than most, having grown up there. Their ruler is decided based only on their strength as a warrior; nothing else matters to them. No matter where you go, the world is not fair.”
He had extensively read about the injustices and realities of various lands, but hearing those words uttered by his own mother made them ring with a deeper resonance. His mother had shared little about her time in Balatia, except that she was raised there, and it usually stirred his curiosity, but not today.
“Then I can never truly be free, can I, Mam?”
“Freedom is found in cherishing the moments with those you love; I am never freer than when I am with you and your sister,” she said.
“So, there is nowhere for me but here, where I am hated and ridiculed,” he said, anger bubbling up.
“Life will be hard now, but one day, it will be but a distant memory.”
Gabriel offered no reply, but gradually calmed his tears. He remembered how, not long ago, he had laid in the courtyard, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face, and he couldn't have imagined life becoming any more difficult. He cursed himself for his naivety.
“You are smart, and your intellect will serve you well. While you may not have the respect of the people now, that will change one day. But remember, you're not yet wise. Understand when to use your intellect and counsel those around you,” his mother said.
That reminded him of something Tunklard had once said, though he hadn't fully grasped its meaning at the time. The words came to him with unmistakable clarity, like the chill of the wind on a midwinter night.
“The two most dangerous types of men are those who commit unspeakable evil for the sake of the greater good, and the fools who believe themselves to be smarter than everyone else.”
The weight of the truth settled upon him like an anchor pulling him deep into the ocean's abyss. Gabriel now realized that he was the biggest fool of them all.