6

The Prince

He looked himself over. Following the nice contours of his jawline. He smiled; teeth white and sharp. His mane had not grown out yet, and it wouldn’t for a while. Still, it would have made him look much older, so he was happy for it to stay that way.

He always knew something like this would happen. Well, maybe he didn’t know per se, few people could ever predict something like that beyond the Seers of Phaos, but he always felt it.

Like he was out of place. A fine crystal decanter sitting amongst the stained mugs and tankards. Not just because he was a lion living to horse parents, it was something more than that.

A knock on his door woke him from his reflection’s trance.

‘Come in.’

A ram entered, droopy faced and chin thick with hair, donned in the heavy robes of Evandian governance, and a gold sash denoting a position relegated to internal affairs.

‘Prince Arval, I do hope your new accommodation is to your liking.’

‘Ah, Chancellor Dalvis, right?’ He said, disappointment only mildly visible. ‘I was expecting the Regent.’

‘High Chancellor Ocava is preoccupied at this moment and assures me that he will pay you a visit when he is next available, your highness.’ “Your highness.” It had a very nice ring to it.

‘I see. Well then, I expect this visit is not just for a simple checking of my wellbeing.’

‘Quite astute,’ the Chancellor said, soft aged hands clasped together. ‘There is the matter of your royal tutorage.’

‘My what?’ He stopped fussing with his reflection and turned to the ram, granting him his full attention.

‘All nobles of the Great Houses and rulers to be must be tutored of the proper ways of lordship and governance. You were certainly born for this role, your highness, no one can deny that, yet you were raised outside it. We’ve arranged with the College of Granther to accommodate you in this.’

Everyone was familiar with Granther. Prestigious was a term far below an accurate description. They specialised in teaching the future generation of rulers, not just in the kingdom, but beyond it too. They even managed to get some nobles from beyond the Broken Sea.

His previous family were certainly wealthy, but Granther boasted an enrollment fee worth more than what most people would see in their lifetime. It would be quite the experience.

A tempting offer, but he surely was king now, wasn’t he? Why must he wait? He wasn’t about to waste more time away from his promised throne.

‘Is it right for a king to waste his time gallivanting around at college instead of assuming his office immediately?’ Said Prince Arval, pulling himself away from his dresser.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

‘An ill-prepared king is an ill-prepared country. Do not fret, your grace. Your council will see to the kingdom’s matters while you prepare yourself.’

‘Surely my council would properly advise me during my reign?’

‘And how can you be sure they’re completely correct? That they do not have certain agendas of their own?’

‘... Well, I’d figure it out.’ Even he was less than happy with his own answer.

‘What do you know of current tax policies?’

‘I’d… well, not much, but surely I could keep it the same?’

‘The markets are ever changing, your grace. We should move with it. What of potential civil unrest among the peasantry?’

These endless hypotheticals began wearing on the prince. ‘Why should I care for the dirt farmers? I am king.’

‘And the unrest from your negligence?’

‘I…’

‘And the potential civil war? Of foreign invaders capitalizing on the kingdom’s instability?’

‘... Fine.’ He had no more rebuttals, not that he had many to begin with. ‘I’ll attend.’

‘Excellent, your highness.’ He finished with a deep bow. ‘We shall make the necessary arrangements.’

‘One more thing, Chancellor.’ stopping the old ram mid turn.

‘Yes, your highness?’

‘Before I go, I believe it would be prudent for me to say something to the public.’

‘Ah, a public address! An excellent idea, your subjects would relish the chance to see their future king.’

‘Of course they would. Look at me!’

‘We shall prepare it at once.’ The ram swiftly left, leaving the future king only in the company of his own reflection.

He checked himself over once again, imagining how he would look with a crown.

The High Chancellor can keep his “Regent” title for now. Soon, none would contest his new claim. Earned through the right of gods and kings before.

Chancellor Dalvis left the prince’s quarters behind him and walked the adorned halls of the Orrick Palace; blue and gold, the colours of the kingdom.

It wasn’t long before he was approached by another, bearing the similar robes of office and a crimson sash of foreign affairs.

‘Chancellor Dalvis, how fortuitous to find you here,’ said the approaching Chancellor, whose beak was long and thin, and feathers white at the front and reddened as it moved up his head.

‘Chancellor Welcur,’ he reciprocated.

‘I trust our guest is satisfied with his new arrangement.’ They both continued along the opulent halls.

‘He appears more reluctant than I’d like. Far more interested with his own reflection than listening to his advisors. Hopefully, some time at Granther may wrench that out of him. What news from the west? All good I trust?’

‘The League’s compliance is assured. In fact, I believe some notables will be accompanying our future king on his studies.’

‘Wonderful. Those connections will do wonders for us.’

‘And the king?’

‘Yes, of course, him too.’

‘Still, it is fortunate for us that the common folk have taken to him so well, despite having never even seen him.’

‘The threat of homegrown violence is enough to place fear into even the toughest of men. All will rejoice for their ‘saviour.’ And he’ll be completely compliant.’

They passed the portraits of previous kings, ending at the grandest portrait of all, Horic the Unifier, whose blood and ambition built the kingdom. His strong, proud face sat within his white mane. His wise, stern eyes always watching. Welcur began to speak, but hesitated.

‘We must exercise caution,’ he finally said. ‘There are… troubling rumours... from The League, Manté, even as far as Phaos.’

‘... Continue.’

‘Something is rising in the west. Deep in the shadows of the setting sun. They tell tales of a land where the avians dare not fly. I don’t know what to make of it, but this could present a problem for us.’

‘Hmm.’ Dalvis thought for a moment. ‘provided your claim is accurate, we have time. We’ll not act only on rumour, for now. Let them tear at each other. Their weakness is our strength.’