I wake up with a start at the sound of knocks on my door. I groan as I blink my eyes awake. “What is it?” I mumble.
Waiting a second, I hear another knock. Clearly, whoever is knocking didn’t hear me. “Come in,” I shout, the door opening immediately thereafter. The same servant boy from before — I’ve really gotta learn his name at some point — comes in. Hopefully he is not here to plunge a dagger into my throat.
“M’lord,” the young swain kneels in greeting, his voice projected clearly, “his highness, your father, has called you to a banquet.”
A banquet? Is he insane? With a revolution approaching, he wants to spend his time partying?! Though I suppose, the desire to have even just one last merriment before we leave would be rather appealing to him.
Myself, on the other hand, no way. It just sounds like a headache. I’ve been to enough feasts and banquets and debuts to know they’re only a bunch of rich arses getting drunk on mead.
“Tell his majesty, I am fine right where I am,” I order the servant. I would like anything other than to attend a banquet right now. With the panic from the uprisings, I don’t need another source of existential dread.
“But, m’lord, his highness requests that you be there,” the boy opposes with clear reluctance.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” I say with not-so-well-hidden strain in my voice.
“But-”
“What’s your name?”
“Er… Baudouin, m’lord?”
“And your surname?”
“I don’t have one, m’lord.”
"Okay, Baudouin no-last-name, tell his majesty, I. AM. FINE. RIGHT. WHERE. I. AM!” I yell, Baudouin clearly wincing.
Baudouin’s face contorts in shock, before he bows twice, apologizes profusely, and runs right out of the room.
Maybe I went a bit overboard. The stress must really be getting to me.
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Hours go by, I watch the sun set, I take naps here and there, though I can never stay asleep for long due to the loud clamor from no doubt the banquet hall.
I am immersed in a book when loud knocks come from my door.
“Go away,” I shout, not feeling up to whatever trouble is behind that door.
“M’lord, it is very important!” Baudouin’s voice rings out from behind the entrance way. As the knocking hastens.
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“Oh, fine, come in,” I shout back.
The door opens with a start as Baudouin rushes in, slamming the door behind him.
I glance at Baudouin, noting his panicked expression, “what is it?”
“Sire, the banquet, it- it was raided. It was a massacre,” Baudouin’s face takes on an aspect of horror.
“The revolution. It’s begun?”
“Yes.”
“God damn dalcops! This wasn’t supposed to happen so soon.”
“M’lord, I am sorry for being out of line earlier, but we must leave. Now.”
“And you figured you had to knock? For something this immediate?”
“M’lord, you told me just this morning to always knock.”
I sigh deeply, rubbing my forehead in irritation before getting up from my chair and crossing the room. I grab him firmly by the shoulders, “did anyone survive?”
“I- no…”
Father? Mother? My brothers, they may be asses but I still love them, my sister...
I fight back the tears brimming my eyes as a lump forms in my throat. No… I collapse to my knees, the tears I fought back against winning the battle.
“My liege, we must go now. Your life is in danger,” Baudouin insists, taking my hands and pulling me up and towards the door.
As he leads me through hallway after hallway, it’s as though I am watching a play. As though I am not there, but merely observing.
We sneak through room after room. The halls rage and burn. Then reality pierces through, and I am suddenly in the moment. No longer does it feel like I am watching something from meters away. No. I am back, and I am running like my life depends on it.
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We cross through a room with walls painted in the forms of men on horses, men in armor, men with torches, men with swords. The battles inscribed on the paintings seem to move in the heat of the fires spreading throughout the room.
We pass through the room, and the next room, and the next. Why is the palace so large?
We come to a stop as several revolutionaries round a corner, shouting at us with torches and rifles in hand. One raises their rifle before I can react, and Baudouin throws himself in front of the bullet. He doesn’t even cry out. He just looks at me with a smile, and mouths, “run,” as he collapses in a pool of blood.
I run. I run, and run, and run. I have no idea where I’m even running, now. Surely not towards the palace entrance. All my racing mind can think of is to run from those men. Run from those murderers. As my vision is lined with red, I recognize the familiar sight of the throne room. I look around frantically, but there are no hallways to take aside from the one I am already in. Behind me, the guards block the way, firing off poorly aimed shots that glance just next to me.
My only option is the throne room. Maybe I can hide and wait for them to enter, sneaking behind them and running down that final hallway towards the entrance. That plan quickly leaves my mind as I see the pillar collapsing, and in a panic, I dive through the entrance to the throne room as it collapses behind me.
Panting, I look back. The revolutionaries mutter something about my being trapped in a collapsing room ensuring my death, and walk away.
I close my eyes, and let the tears stream freely. The deafening roar of the fire is overwhelming. Looking around, the dark corners of the throne room are lit with dancing orange and yellow lights. And yet the chandeliers… the chandeliers… what the fuck?
No. Nooooooo. This- deja vu. This is exactly as my dream went. What the literal fuck?! What kind of sick game is this?!
From the burning pillar blocking the doorway, to the chandeliers. What the fuck, God? Or whoever might be up there! I am not doing this again. Y’know what? “Hey, God? Fuck y-” And the roof caves in.
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My eyes open, calmly this time, to the sight of my room the same way it was this morning. All but confirming my predicament as Baudouin opens the door — without knocking — and bows his head.
“M’lord, your father has called for a family meal in the grand hall.”