“Stop running, you peasant! It’s a bloody luxury to be spit on by a king such as myself.”
“I don’t deserve such an honour, You Majesty!”
“Obviously, you fool! No one is worthy, but being spit on by me would make you worthy of being spit on.”
A hooded figure, cloaked in crimson, carefully pushed through the bustling crowds, halting as he heard the dialogue entertaining the masses. Every ten years, the City of Everlasting Light hosted the Kings’ Festival, a celebration of the ruling kingdoms of the world. The city derived its name from the light of lanterns, fires, and magic bedazzling every tiny square. The voices of thousands were everlasting even in the quiet echoes of sleeping breaths. Always, the city was noisy, the city was bright, and the city was awake.
That night, people of all origins had flooded the city to partake in the merriment of the festival. At the entrance of the city, people were greedily tasting food and drink from all kingdoms. The kingdom with the highest number of votes would be bestowed with the title of the Master Kingdom of Delicacies – a yoke easily borne by any king that wanted to enhance his kingdom’s economy by enticing tourists with their top-tier cuisine. Having satisfied their mouths, people moved on to play in the waters, danced around bonfires, and wrote prayers on lanterns. At the city center, various actors re-enacted the historical events of the different kingdoms. Most plays portrayed legendary victories, romantic tales, or tragedies with a dash of comedy.
However, the hooded figure grimaced at the mockery portraying the demise of the Kingdom of Kaan. One could manage to understand the ridicule and accompanied laughter if one considers that the narrative of the Kingdom of Kaan ceased over 400 years ago when the entire kingdom fell overnight. After that night, the rest of the world forced the Kingdom of Kaan into isolation. As the years passed, the tales had distorted into depicting a mad king dying among equally mad subjects.
With the jeering audience left behind, the hooded figure headed towards the end of the city. A broad staircase guided him up the mountain peak known as Central Square. The nobility of all kingdoms thronged the peak, gazing at the brilliant city below and the open night sky above. Compared to the playful City of Everlasting Light, Central Square communicated elegance and wealth. To the right, Central Square morphed into different bejewelled pavilions where the Kings and their companions would later gather. Bouquets of glistening fruit hung from the pillars on those floors. Weeping willow trees, decorated with diamond lanterns, surrounded the edges of Central Square. The gentlemen wore expensive robes representing their respective kingdoms according to symbol and colour. The ladies shimmered in gowns that seemed to float across the sleek floor, excluding the two queens also donned in their kingdoms’ robes. The slim glasses in the royal hands swayed the bottomless drink of bubbles to and fro.
Prince Viggo of Inara was a man light at heart, proud of himself for having no qualms whatsoever. Having disregarded the rigid expectations placed on him as the younger brother of King Sorin of Inara, he became ill-reputed for rebelling against authority and social structures, evoking the wrath of others for his own amusement, and befriending those generally frowned upon. He guffawed as he noticed the red cloak entering Central Square, which earned him a glance of chastisement from his elder brother.
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“Ryuu! Ryuu!” Prince Viggo of Inara beckoned the man over with a dramatic flail of arms. Onlookers threw curious looks upon the two men for two reasons. The first of which being that all were wondering about the identity of this newcomer. Though it was not inappropriate to call someone by their name alone, it remained unseemly to do so in public. It was often only done privately among family members, close friends, and lovers, thus, the second reason for the invoked curiosity. Except for the Kingdom of Moraa, where each subject has a name and surname, all subjects of other kingdoms had one name only. In these kingdoms, a person’s name was deemed sacred because of the unique destiny imprinted in every name. With a name came a title according to one’s social status, professional ranking, and kingdom. When speaking to another person, it was etiquette to address them by their full name and title. The people of Moraa were mere mortals and had therefore no destiny written into their names, so naturally, they did not follow these customs. Prince Viggo of Inara held true to his character with his improper use of name and title – he simply wanted to admire the shocked expressions he effortlessly induced.
The man in the red cloak remained nonchalant as the nobles whispered about him, the unknown acquaintance of the Prince of Inara. The latter found himself stunned once again at the air drifting around his cloaked friend – quiet confidence seduces with its subtlety before vigorously drowning one in its deadly depths. As the hood dropped to his shoulders, silver hair tumbled with it. The untameable silk stole the wedding veil of the moon, her brilliance diminished to bleak ashes. A yellowish bruise on the brow was the only blemish on this man that appeared like a devil summoned from the heavens.
“Have you no retinue?” Viggo asked Ryuu as they bowed their heads in greeting. “A King travelling alone? Unheard of.”
Ryuu scoffed, “Considering the current state of Kaan and my recent succession of the crown, a group of people accompanying me is not exactly possible, nor is it wise. Besides, I refuse to further subject my people to the disdain felt towards us.” He thought back on his journey through the Kingdom of Inara. On several occasions, people refused him food, water, and boarding because he hailed from the Kingdom of Kaan. And that was the best of it. He was forced to survive brutal ridicule, exploitation, assault, and attempted assassinations.
“Brother, won’t you introduce us?” King Sorin of Inara inquired of Viggo. It was custom for nobles to be introduced, as opposed to introducing themselves. This was partly due to social rank – a noble of lower rank had no right to approach or speak to a noble of higher rank unless they have been previously introduced or the high-ranking noble took the initiative to arrange an introduction.
“This is King Sorin of the Kingdom of Inara,” said Viggo. He gestured at the gentleman beside his brother, “And this is the renowned Music Master Mohan of the Kingdom of Hyr.” Both King Sorin and Master Mohan bowed their heads respectfully at Ryuu, who mimicked the action.
Viggo shuddered with barely contained excitement when he faced Ryuu and said, “I present, King Ryuu of the Kingdom of Kaan.” In no way were these words announced faintly. In no way did these words curry favour among the nobles around them. The bubbly drinks were spilled on the glistening floor, marring the beauty of the evening with its sticky residue. Heels slid over it. Servants rushed to wash it away.
“Ah, yes. I have the madness disease, after all,” King Ryuu of Kaan jested sardonically before he enveloped himself with a manner of nonchalance once more. He would not satisfy the judgemental stares by becoming their spilt drink.