Kingdom of Gragik
Date: 307 Teroen 23 in the Gragikian Calendar
“You pig-faced grangir!” the Prince’s voice bellowed from the dining room, sharp and shrill with rage. “You made me spill my wine!”
Lucien paused in the hallway, suppressing a sigh. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard Prince Isaac’s temper flare over something so trivial, nor would it be the last. These tantrums had become routine—predictable storms that left chaos and bruises in their wake. And, as always, they wouldn’t end until someone paid the price.
A loud bang echoed, followed by the crash of shattering glass. Another bang.
Lucien’s stomach tightened, but he stayed still, waiting, listening. At least today, it didn’t sound like he was the Prince’s target. Not yet.
“Lucien!” the Prince barked.
Or perhaps he was wrong.
“Come here, now!”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Reluctantly, Lucien stepped into the dining room, his boots sinking slightly into the thick, lush carpet. The room was as opulent as ever—gleaming golden candelabras, a sprawling mahogany table—but the air was heavy with a sickening, metallic scent. Blood. His eyes instinctively dropped to the trembling crying figure on the floor: a boy. A new hire, barely old enough to shave. Lucien remembered him mentioning his sister, how this job was his first step toward buying her a gift.
Lucien forced his expression into something neutral as he addressed the Prince.
“I’m here, my lord.”
Prince Isaac, lounging in his high-backed chair as if nothing were amiss, wiped his bloodied hands with a handkerchief. “Ah, there you are. Clean this table up.” He gestured to the mess—a splatter of blood streaked across fine china and the crimson-stained floor beneath it. “I’ve lost my appetite with... this in front of me.” He waved a hand dismissively at the boy on the ground. “Oh, and take him to the barracks.”
Lucien hesitated. “The barracks, my lord?”
“Yes, the barracks. Since he’s clearly useless as a servant, the least he can do is fight on the front lines for his country.” The Prince’s lips curled in a sneer, his tone mocking, as though the thought itself amused him.
“As you wish, my lord.”, although his chest burned with anger he dared not show it. It’s not his country, he thought bitterly. And it’s certainly not mine.
“This is why you’re my favorite servant, You always get things done.” He said with a smirk as he made his way out of his chair to the hall leading to his room. “Make sure there isn’t a speck of blood when I come in the morning.”
Only when the doors fully closed did Lucien dare run to the aid of the boy.