Morning came in its usual seamless fashion, and the Prince carried on with his daily routine as if today were any other. He mused over the idea that his tale may even enter familial legend. His sons would know he was the one who usurped a weak king and restored their name to its proper strength.
As the Sau tended to his bath and helped him dress, he wondered how they would react when he drove a dagger into his father’s back. What emotion would their faces show him? Perhaps relief that a weak leader was felled. Perhaps it would be a face of horror, witnessing an icon of the kingdom fall, only to be swiftly replaced like a faulty handle on an ax. Simply another tool to be used until it is broken. He didn’t like thinking of himself as a tool, or even as something to be used. That was a slave’s position in life. He was worlds beyond their capacity for existence, and today he would stride even further beyond their pathetic lives.
Once he was washed, dressed, and prepared in his ceremonial finery, the Prince tucked his dagger into the loose fabric of the back of his gold-trimmed burgundy tunic, and sauntered off to find his uncle so they could confirm the locations of their men. Uncle Oswald was in his usual visiting chamber on the far-right wing of the castle and met his nephew with a slightly more refreshed demeanor.
“So nephew, you’re ready for the big day?”
The Prince nodded, “I don’t think I’ve ever been more prepared for anything.”
“A bold claim, you’ve only been gathering supporters over the last year. Are you certain that today is really the best day?”
The Prince felt his mood start to sour. “Uncle, are you having second thoughts?”
He scoffed and began walking back towards the main courtyard of the castle. The Prince was initially anxious about his uncle’s aid but accepted it due to his reputation as a strategist. Uncle had shown no signs of questioning behavior until his arrival, and this left him uneasy. Although, even without support, the Prince had a plan. Because of the fickle nature of the lesser lords, the Prince had gone out a few nights prior to seek out some insurance.
He paid a band of mercenaries a thick bag of Kingsmark to rescue him from captivity should he fail and survive. They were to await nightfall, and then use an old map of the castle grounds that only the Lovenburg family ever knew existed to access an old escape tunnel hidden within the jail walls. The tunnel would lead to the hall between his playroom and the main jail. After entering, all they needed to do was find him, and escort him beyond the city walls if he were not on the throne tonight. They had a reputation for getting hard jobs done, as far as mercenaries go, and his men had reported to him yesterday that the group had not left town. He could do without the help now.
Uncle Oswald picked up his walking pace to catch up, and said “Nephew, look… no stories, I’m going to be straightforward with you. Your father is the most beloved king the people have had since the days of our ancestor Günter the Kind. They are not going to take your rise to king in a good light under these circumstances.”
“What should I care about the opinion of the Sau…”
Oswald followed after his nephew, and his worried face withered into disappointment. “We talked about this, nephew. They might be slaves, but they are still people.”
“They are not OUR people though, uncle. You taught me that. The First People come First.”
“I am aware of my old lessons, and I have learned better in my time as lord. I have grown and been molded by experience, as you should do. You can learn a surprising amount from people of different bloodlines. The reason goblins, spiders, and samodiva haven’t ravaged my keep is because of the vigil efforts of the Miškosūnūs who now fight beside us.”
“Uncle, what does that matter? Your exact words were that these people can be useful, but they can’t be better. I haven’t forgotten. They have proven their use, but they are nothing to our superior blood. We conquered their kin before Grandfather’s fathers time as king. They deserve to fight and die for our lands.”
“Gods be damned, Nephew…”
The Prince had already begun attempting to outpace his Uncle when the King stepped into the courtyard from the left-wing of the courtyard. Even being the younger brother of Oswald, his father struck a terrifying presence for being such a weak man. His chest was barrel shaped, as he had gotten fat in his time as king. He had not lost an ounce of muscle in the process however and could still throw a man like a sack of potatoes with one arm if the mood struck him.
The Prince wouldn’t dream of facing his father in combat, so the dagger to the back was the only option left. His golden locks rivaled Oswald’s in extravagance, but he maintained a far more refined look, having slicked the waterfall of gold and silver atop his head back to be worn comfortably under the Conqueror’s Crown.
The crown was made of wrought iron, and family legend claimed it was the first item forged by the first blacksmith of Ersta blood. It definitely looked like it, but tradition maintained its position of importance in the kingdom.
“Father, are the preparations done?”
“Soon Hans, but not too soon. Only a few more banners to hang, but the feast is still in preparation.”
The Prince wore the mask of a smile and hugged his father, but only for a few moments.
The King chuckled, “Oh, a good day I see. Not often you get very affectionate.”
“Well it’s such an exciting day. We herald in the coming year, sacrifice a few beasts for the next year’s harvest. It would be hard to not be in a good mood.” The Prince looked back to his uncle expectantly.
Oswald put on a smile, and also embraced his brother in his warm crushing grasp. There was an audible pop of back bones, but it was not the King’s.
“Gods blessed ye, brother, still got arms like a damned vice. You could crush stones with those bastards.”
They shared a laugh. Hans observed that his father and his uncle had an incredibly unique laugh and hoped his own didn’t have such an obnoxious rhythm to it. It wasn’t necessarily that he laughed often enough to worry, but he felt it was not a real king’s laugh.
They exchanged the standard pleasantries and set about walking the castle’s courtyard. Hans lied about interest in any of the visiting lord’s daughters. They were all vapid pleasure holes in his eyes, despite being from ‘superior’ stock. He detested speaking to them, for they showed no meaningful wit and would produce offspring he would deem unworthy of his own line. He would never tell his father this. Not because he cared for his opinion, but more to preserve the illusion of security until it was no longer needed.
Oswald shared the story of his voyage through the water ways. The kingdom had few roads worth traversing, and any city worth setting foot in was built along the rivers that flowed through the kingdom. Hans didn’t really listen to the story, but it sounded like the trip would have annoyed him had he endured it.
His father and uncle discussed political things that bored him immeasurably, but he occasionally caught keywords so he could pretend he was listening if they asked. He noted that ‘war’ had been mentioned a few times, ‘incident’ had been mentioned twice, and ‘servants’ had been mentioned three times, which Hans assumed meant that the Sau were still acting out on the warfront. He relished the idea of getting to administer their punishment for treason against the crown, when he detected a new, more troubling word. ‘Ending,’ and it was used dangerously close to one of the uses of ‘war.’
“Father, did I hear you correctly?”
“Oh, so you were listening.” The King chuckled, “Yes my boy, the time for war is coming to an end. We need to focus on our people, build them up so that there may yet be glory to have in these lands.”
His words poisoned the very air, and Hans felt lightheaded. Every tutor he had in his life taught him the values of the war effort. To end the war was to end the warrior culture of the great Ersta lineage. How dare his father even think to end what his hereditary destiny was since before he was even a thought in the ancestors minds! Adorning a mask of confusion to conceal his anger, Hans began his questioning.
“But father, why must the war come to an end? Does it have to do with the recent incident?”
“Ah, you were listening for the words again. Little shit, I love you, but you need to take your role as prince more seriously. No, it has nothing to do with an incident, I thought it would be humorous to mention it since Oswald mentioned you were watching the servants a little more ‘attentively’ than usual.”
The King sighed heavily, and then continued, “I am bringing an end to the war, because there are almost no men left to send out to win it. All this bloodshed, all this death. Our ancestors mustered up the greatest kingdom these lands will ever remember, and for what? The people live merely to die. They toil to death in the fields, or they fight to death in the mud and sand. That is not living, and as king, I have the authority to let them truly live.”
He paused a moment, looked to Oswald, and then back to his son. “I’ve spoken with the Council, and they see the wisdom in teaching our conquered peoples real skills so that they can help make our lands great. We need skilled craftsmen, educated men, and people who can be here to raise their children to be people worthy of being the greatest kingdom under the eyes of the Gods themselves, and it is high time I saw this through.”
For a few moments of genuine horror, Hans thought he would faint. This was… too much. Far too much, even beyond his reasons for killing them all now. If he had the window of opportunity to do so, he’d slit his father’s throat right now. How dare he yield his might as king to those walking corpses. Educating the Sau? The unworthwhile filth that milled between the streets wasting all their collected resources? It would have been better to train more war hounds at that point. The Sau did nothing but toil in the positions that the Ersta did not want, and even then they did so poorly. The Prince barely trusted them to wipe his ass on his behalf. They were nothing, and disgusted him, just as the presence of his father disgusted him now. He no longer needed justification; his actions were right, but now there was no room for dispute.
“Son?” the King asked, “Are you ok? You look like you’ve witnessed a poltergeist.” Unsure of what to say to keep the illusion of safety, Hans dismissed himself to get some water.
He left his father and uncle by the door to the throne room to go to the well on the far side of the courtyard, where upon reaching it, he drew a bucket worth of chilly water and splashed a small amount on his face. As he regained his composure, he reminded himself that as the new king, he’d just restart the war. It would be no real complication. It angered him greatly that he would have to, knowing the troops and generals would bitch and whine like mewling children who were deprived of a plum dumpling.
So many insufferable people, but he wouldn’t need to suffer their presence much longer. The coming hours would see to that. Knowing his father expected him to be upset, Hans put on the mask of annoyance, and returned to find his father and uncle speaking together. Uncle Oswald looked like he had been run through, but his father seemed to be in rather good spirits.
“Is all well, Uncle?”
“Oh, all is well son,” the King interjected, “Your uncle here just forgot his role in the celebrations today.”
Oswald nodded hesitantly, “It seems age is catching up to me, I need to find my scribe and have him draft up some inspiring words. I’ll be there for the ceremony, have no fear.”
“With you brother, I have no worries.” The King smiled, and patted Oswald on the back, and they hugged once more before Oswald jogged away to his chambers. The King and the Prince stood alone now amongst the verdant gardens of the courtyard, with the dancing winds as their only spectator.
Though his uncle’s behavior seemed strange, Hans knew the customs of the Neuanfang festivities. The King was to address all his subjects, or at least those in attendance. Then the burden of information fell upon the Duke’s, which meant Uncle Oswald, Duke Otto of the Südmarsch, and Duke Gunther of the Sandmeer.
Hans hadn’t wasted his breath persuading those two to see his father’s weakness, for they were his left and right hand before he was born. After his birth, the last male heir of the Brun clan, his mother’s family, died in the Südmarsch, so his father chose Otto to oversee matters south. Shortly after, when preparations had been finished north in the conquered area of the deserts, it was time for a third Duke to be appointed. His father’s first choice had been his next best friend. The Prince knew that after his rise to power, they would need to be arrested for a brief time, which would be handled imminently.
The King motioned for his son to follow him, and the Prince obliged. “So, my boy, I know you’re all dressed for it, but are you ready for today?” The Prince discerned that he seemed to be studying his face as he asked the question. Hans gazed back into the prying eyes of his father, making sure he wore his mask well, as he responded, “Yes father, I don’t think I’ve ever been more prepared.”
“Good.” His father seemed satisfied with this reply, and he gestured Hans towards the throne room doors. They opened the thick oak barriers that led to the great hall of their ancestors. It was rebuilt, redecorated, and restored countless times. Not every battle was won in their conquests, but every war eventually tipped into their favor. Though the hall was decorated in regal finery to celebrate the end of the Winter season, the scars of combat stood as the predominant showcase on the lower walls. As they approached their usual place in the room, Hans noticed the unique emptiness in the hall. He assumed this meant the Sau were tending to the food preparations, and the ‘other nobles’ were still getting ready to kiss up to his father in hopes of coveting more favor from his family.
“Son, since we have a moment, I need to speak with you about something dire…” the King turned to face his son, and held him by the shoulder, “… about your mother. About us.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Hans stood silent in a half-genuine state of confusion. It had been seventeen long years since his mother had died during his birth. His father, being king, handed his upbringing off to tutors and experts in the varying arts of warfare and statecraft while he tended to the kingdom. He watched his father closely and allowed him to continue.
“I… don’t know how else to say this, so I’m going to say it straight. I feel like I’ve failed you, son.” Hans withheld the urge to smile and agree while maintaining his mask. He observed the beginnings of tears in his father’s eyes. Weak fool, too prone to allow his emotions to get the better of him. His father continued “When your mother brought you into this world, and when she left it… I… Well, I didn’t know what to do. Though she was a little bit touched by the Challenger, she was still the love of my life. You, my little Hansel, are to be the legacy that she and I shared into this world, and despite the pleas from the council, I have not remarried or attempted for another progeny. However, there are… growing concerns about your behaviors as crown prince. The Council see’s something in you that I did not, but recent light has been cast in my eyes.”
The King rested a hand on each of Hans’ shoulders and said “I spoke with your Uncle while you went for water. I need you to look into my eyes and speak the truth to me now.”
His blood felt as if it had frozen over. For the moments before his father spoke again, he knew his Uncle betrayed him and sealed his fate. In the deep silence that followed, the Prince thought over his options.
Direct confrontation was more than likely a swift death. The next best option was attempting to run, but there was no escaping his father. He recalled his father’s nickname among the combat trainers was ‘The Ox,’ because he was as fast charging at you as he was physically strong. The Prince had his dagger, but his father had a notable height and strength advantage, as well as a firm grip on his shoulders. If he tried to run, he might perhaps only be arrested, but then he would have to trust the loyalty of all those who claimed to follow his cause. That in itself seemed foolish, he knew the lesser nobles turned on each other over even the smallest petty issues. Showing weakness now would mean dependency on mercenaries, and without the funding of the crown, he didn’t have that either.
On the other hand, all he needed was one good stab, and the difference in strength wouldn’t matter as much. As he slowly grasped for his dagger, his father spoke again. “How would you like to spend a few years learning statecraft in the Waldgebiet with your Uncle?”
The twisting within his chest untangled, and this unexpected turn was very welcomed. Switching from a smile from his original stoic expression, Hans asked “Father, it sounds like a great idea, but may I ask why? Aren’t my royal duties here, in the capital?”
“Astute observation, Bärchen.” Hans cringed at the pet name his father had given him in his youth. Being the ‘little bear’ of the clan was always a source of annoyance to him, and his father annoyed him often.
His father continued, “However, I’ve come to realize that you don’t seem to take your responsibilities here seriously. The Council speaks the truth, and I see it now. You ignore the nobles who come in to inform us of the changes in the kingdom, you spend most days terrorizing the servants of the castle, or in that damned prison chamber you promised me would be used to gather information on battle formations and resource routes. You look at blood the way your mother did, and I know better than to assume that same thirst has avoided you. I’ve turned a blind eye to it all this time because I love you, but truly, spending some time learning some humility with your uncle will do you worlds of good. You two are obviously close, you’ve already spent most of his time here by his side. Perhaps you’ll pay more attention to how he runs his section of the lands.”
The King relaxed his grip on his son, and walked him to the throne, gesturing to the King’s seat in the center. “One day, maybe sooner than you realize, this will be your place to rest. It will be you who decides the future of our people, and I know that in my mourning for your mother, and in my responsibilities to the people, I haven’t given you enough time. At least not enough to understand the role you will play in your lifetime. If things had been different, it would have been my brother would be up there, and we would have handled the Südmarsch with your mother’s family instead of Otto.”
Turning back to his son, the King continued, “I know we aren’t… close. Not as close as I’d have liked us to be. You are my bärchen, my legacy, and I want to offer you the best the kingdom has to offer. My brother is a well-traveled man, and one of the few people to have left the kingdom and returned. He is learned in the cultures of the Diarkír in eastern Evandria, the Wehlathi of our neighboring Namandla, and the Minalrimal of the Aldaayim in the distant north. He opened my eyes to the truth about the people we lead, and I have ample respect for him. Oswald is willing to have you with him in the west, but I won’t make you leave if you don’t desire it.”
Today was a strange day filled with good omens. Hans knew his answer didn’t matter, today he would kill this sentimental disgrace, and then he’d go where he pleased as King of the Ersta. In this moment though, he put on his best happy mask, hugged his father, and reassured him that he had not failed as a father, and even went to the shameful act of apologizing for not gathering any actual information, claiming that the warriors often refused to talk. He agreed to spend some time with Uncle Oswald and reminded his father of how much he loved his uncle's stories. His father seemed happy with this conversation, kissed his forehead, and sent him to fetch his uncle for the final celebratory preparations.
Hans left the throne room with a little more pep in his step. His uncle had not betrayed him after all, all things were going according to his plan. There would be nothing to stop him from taking the throne now.
In an hours’ time, Hans returned with Uncle Oswald to the throne room, where Hans took his seat behind his father’s left-hand side, and the seat which would have been reserved for his mother remained empty. Uncle Oswald sat in the far rows with the lesser nobility, but in the front where the three dukes had separate seats, one for the Waldgebiet, one for the Sandmeer, and one for the Südmarsch. They sat under the wall of crowns and weapons of leadership collected from the clans that now made up the kingdom.
Over the main throne were the heads of many great beasts felled by Hans’ ancestors: There was the Lindworm, who’s emerald scales still maintained a bright luster. Beside it were the heads of a greater Nachzehrer that had grown to monstrous size by feeding upon dozens of tribes before being brought down and decapitated. On the other side of the Lindworm’s head hung the trophy of a Tatzelwurm, who’s dark feline features still gave off the foul stench of its poisonous breath if the breeze caught it right. Surrounding these three great trophies lie the heads of dozens of beasts that terrorized local communities and met their end to sharp iron. These trophies, much like the conquered lands, told the tale of the greatness and glory that the Ersta legacy earned through blood and combat, and in mere moments, blood would see King Hans, first of his name enter that tale.
The ceremony began, the crowds of common folk filled the chamber to listen to his father’s speech. They were well practiced words of inspiration, speaking on the hardships of the Sau, and of the soldiers. There was thundering applause, but as the speech continued, Hans eyed the guards at each doorway. They were all his personal men, just as they discussed. All of the men who came down with Uncle Oswald were poised to handle burning the Weisen council upon hearing the last bell chime in the belltower during the sacrifices. All that mattered now was waiting for the moment his father would make his ‘very important’ announcement, the heresy of ending the war, and Hans would drive his dagger through the King’s heart.
The Prince sat and waited through the dreary status reports from the varying nobles who handled the unimportant and unnamed areas around the kingdom. Some complained about the harvest seasons yielding little food, others complained about a rise of monstrous creature activity. One noble cried about how his son and a hired mercenary died hunting an afanc in the swampy lands along the western coastal mountains. The Prince found the part of some slaves’ boy returning with a note and proof of the hunt to be entertaining, but beyond that, there was no interesting tale spun by these disinteresting curs. It was nearing the hour of destiny, and the King began his address.
“My people, the sons, and daughters of this great kingdom, and of those who have joined it by the might of our ancestors, pay heed, for I must speak on a matter that will surprise you.” Hans braced for those poisonous words and prepared himself to lunge as his father mentioned the end of the war. “There are whispers of betrayal in my court.”
Permeable confusion and discomfort seeped into the crowds, both the nobles and the commoners. The Prince sat uneasy in his seat, hand resting on the blade hidden within his finery. Had his Uncle lied? Why was his father acting so unbothered then? The King spoke again, gesturing to the nobles, “I have not spoken to the Weisen council on this subject because I was unsure of who I could trust on this matter, but my Spymaster has kept a keen ear out for the last few months, and has found substantial evidence of an attempt on my life.”
Hans gripped the handle of his dagger tightly and prepared to strike. Spymaster? No such position existed, at least not of which he was aware. Even the faces of the nobles paled, uncle’s included. Uncertain looks shifted back and forth, murmurs from both crowds grew, but the King called for silence, and it came.
“Fear not, for this plot has already been handled. In fact…” he snapped his fingers, and several whistles darted from the high places of the throne room. Bolts buried themselves into the guards by the doorways, the men collapsing or finding themselves pinned to the walls in a hail of crossbow fire. Gasps and screams came from the crowd. “… Thanks to the Spymaster, the culprit will be handled today.”
Hans lunged, dagger drawn and poised for his father’s heart, as a coiled serpent lunges for prey when it’s desperate to avoid starvation. Hans noticed his father managed to sidestep the blade but failed to notice the incoming blow that followed. Pain thrummed through his skull as it ricocheted on the stone floor, and as vision and strength failed him, the last words to reach his ears were “May this stand as a lesson…”
---
Freezing water was his summons back to consciousness, and as his eyes shot wide, he was presented with the terrible sight of dim torchlight, a familiar dark chamber, and the figures of both his father and his uncle before him.
“Finally. Fuck, I thought you’d killed him with that punch,” Uncle Oswald sighed, “Nephew, I tried to tell you this was a terrible plan.” The Prince lashed and writhed against the restraints that bound him to the wall and bellowed “YOU BETRAYED ME!” The King released the cackle of a broken soul. The rage that burned within his breast brought the bright flush of red to his face, and he retorted “You had the audacity to try stabbing me, YOUR FATHER, in the back, conspiring with my own brother, WHO IF YOU LISTENED TO ANYTHING IN THE COURT, you would have known he OWED ME A LIFE DEBT, and then sit here with the gall to claim that HE betrayed YOU?! Son, are you daft?!”
The King grabbed the Prince by the collar of his finery that he had been chained in and shook him with vigor. The Prince stared defiantly into his father’s eyes now, and a wrath previously unknown dwelled within them. “My own flesh and blood, his head so far up his own ass, he can’t smell the difference between shit and spring air. I’m a god's awful father…”
“Brother,” interjected Uncle Oswald, “You’re not a failed father. Ilse was more or less a monster in her own rights, but you still had a son with her. You remember the night with the alley cat. She was the type to have killed her own mother and not cried a tear. I tried to warn you, but you’d find the sun in someone made of moonlight.” The King remained unmoved, staring distantly at the stone floor, Oswald resting a hand on his shoulder, when a voice from the far wall chimed in.
The Captive contributed “Not to… interrupt what seems like a very… sad family moment. However I am right here, and I can say firsthand that your son is a dangerous one. He has the glassy look of a hungry crocodile about him.”
The King rose slowly, and much to the surprise of everyone in the cell, made a single stride across the room and struck the Captive squarely across the head with a tight fist. The crack of flesh and bone was sickening to all but the Prince, yet despite the weight of the blow, the Captive spat out a few teeth, raised his head, and said “By the Gods, with a strike like that, no wonder your people became Kings. I felt my grandfather’s head cock from that.”
The King gave the Captive a look that could have killed lesser men, the Prince watched the scene unfolding before him as he fought his iron bindings, and Oswald stood with his jaw slacked at the spectacle before him. Oswald broke the silence with “Holy shit. I’ve never seen him swing a blow that hard, and I’ve seen larger men actually die to that. No wonder the northern front is going nowhere.” The King grabbed the captive firmly by the head, and demanded “You shall be silent, so long as I will it, or I will strike you with the zeal of a forge master. Do you understand?”
The Captive seemed to consider his options, only for a moment, when he relaxed himself, and nodded. The King nodded with him, “Good,” and let his grasp loosen. He returned to Hans with the fury of a father scorned.
“How long, son. How long had you been planning this?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Do NOT fuck around with that little attitude right now boy, you’re already in chains. The Council demands you be executed, and I’ve delayed the vote until dawn’s first light.”
“Why waste the time. You’ve already become the Council’s lap-bitch.”
The King took three long strides, and cleared the gap from the first captive to the new one, “Hans Pasak Lovenburg, is your brain rotting between your ears? I was raising a king, not a draugr, but by your thirst for blood, clearly I am mistaken.” He grasped at the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated groan. “Do you realize how beneficial having a council is to being a king, son? Do you have any idea of what I do all day besides wasting money on our ancestors' war of vanity?”
Hans lunged and fought against his bindings for what felt like hours as his father reprimanded him and spat more envenomed words. The Prince refused to even look at his father when his head wasn’t forced to do so. Though the dialogue was going nowhere, his father would not relent. Accusations of shortcomings, jagged insults about adequacy in the position of father or son, and several prying questions were exchanged.
The King learned that his son had always felt he was weak, based entirely on what mostly seemed to be lessons from the tutors and martial experts who oversaw his education, and that his son was in fact without remorse, or any other true feelings on the matter, besides angry that he had been caught out.
The Prince, however, learned far more. He learned that there was no Spymaster. Several of the nobles and his own uncle all came to the King first thing upon his conceptual betrayal. The King thought it was a delusion of grandeur until it hadn’t gone away after a month. He allowed the nobles to indulge this ‘fantasy,’ hoping that impulsivity would take over and that his son would forget. The Prince viewed this as yet another weakness of emotional bonds. His uncle’s reaction earlier in the day wasn’t one of being caught, but of being ordered by his father to have the crossbowmen of the Waldgebiet execute all of the Prince’s personal guardsmen. Someone needed to take the fall beyond just the Prince, and regrettably that meant the personal guard would have to fall along with him. The Weisen council hall had been untouched. The year of plotting had been a waste. The Prince’s efforts had only been successful in getting him chained to a wall and forfeiting his life and rights to the crown.
The King grew silent, and after a few moments, he turned to his brother. “There’s no real use to this, is there brother?”
“Ulrich, what do you mean?”
“Sitting here, berating this ungrateful animal I helped create.” He looked back to his son, “I tried everything in my power, and even now, chained to the wall, he won’t bother with a word I say beyond what he wants to hear. I’ve been wasting my breath on a long dead love, haven’t I?”
“Brother, I…”
The King turned back to Uncle Oswald, “Haven’t I?”
Oswald stood statuesque for a moment, before replying “… I honestly don’t know. I wish I could just tell you no. I can’t say with certainty.”
The brothers held a silent conversation between their gazes, while the Prince and the Captive sat silently, waiting for something to break the silence.
“Oswald, leave us, please.” Oswald’s face grew pale, even in the torchlight, but he nodded, and turned to leave the cell. The King waited until he heard the door on the far end of the hall close, and he produced a small object from his belt. It was the Prince’s favorite dagger.
“You know son, when I had this forged, I requested the inscription along the grip. Did you ever bother reading it?”
The Prince remained silent, for he had not even noticed there had been words engraved. His attention had always been drawn to the edge of the blade.
“It says, ‘the wise man knows when to stay his blade.’ It was a statement your grandfather made to me, before he executed the family of the man who tried to kill your uncle. He told me that I should be a wise man, for he was not. When your mother gave you to me, I often dreamed of you sitting on the throne, the wisest of our people, having to never raise a blade at all. I longed to give you a world where you would not have to see it… the meaningless bloodshed, the hollow vanity of a long dead man’s war, claiming some woman gave him permission because she saw the sunlight. Yet you seek it out… Perhaps I am an oddity, and you are the truth of our family line. That hardly matters now.”
The King turned to the door. “Perhaps I, too, need to become a wiser man…” He sighed and closed the door. The click of the lock turning hit the two captives' ears, and the footfall that followed faded away. The torch fluttered silently as the Prince and the Captive met eyes, and for a long time, maintained silence.