Calder let out a breath of relief and rubbed his sweaty palms against the sides of his tunic. “Then let's get to it.” He whispered under his breath. Pushing the door open he strode out into the wide hallway. This is progress. This is what Mother wanted. He took the next right and walked past two men in flowing black robes. He paid them no attention. If he stopped for even a second he would have to explain to them why he wasn’t attending the ceremony. Even if the diplomats from Mareion had not shown, he never had any intention of attending the bloodletting.

The ordeal sickened him to his core. A Stellapuer drained of its blood until the nobles had drunk their fill. The same fate would befall Orion, Eren, Ahri, or Lilith if he had not hidden them. The golden blood of the Stellapuer lengthened the lifespan of those who drank it. His grandfather had lived for one hundred and thirty years. Much longer than kings of any other nation, yet death had still come for him. Calder grimaced as he quickened his pace. Was committing such a grievous sin worth it? His father seemed to think it was, but he could tell his mother never approved. Her wistful smile was forever engraved in his memory. A look of disappointment was always on her face when his father went to participate in the bloodletting. Her eyes had carried the burden of the king’s sins up until the day she died.

The king had convinced everyone that the nobles of Mareion had killed her, and perhaps at this point he had convinced himself. But Calder knew that was a lie. The king had killed her himself. This war could not begin until she was dead. She was the only one truly holding the peace. He had not fully understood that as a child but he did now. It was his turn to take on that role, that burden his mother had carried for far too long.

In a large archway ahead of him a group of five men in dark purples and blues stood with stern faces. “Welcome, I am pleased to see you are all in good health.”

One of the men shifted uncomfortably. “It was a miracle we even made it here with how devastating the war has become.”

Calder put his hand on the man’s shoulder and smiled warmly, “And I’m happy such a miracle brought you here to put an end to this war.” He motioned to a table at the center of the circular room beyond the archway. Next to the table stood a boy with curly white hair and behind him were two large armored men holding halberds. “Let us proceed then.”

“As I’m sure you’re all aware this war began with the death of Queen Regala.” The noblemen frowned and then reluctantly nodded their heads. Calder noted their reactions and then continued. “She saw a kinship between our nations and strove to strengthen relations between us before she was tragically taken from us. I hope to rekindle those ties. Yet due to the actions of the few many have suffered. I believe you all know what needs to be done to rectify this issue.”

The oldest of the group motioned to the youngest member who presented a piece of parchment to the prince. Calder took it and saw a list of names written with precision and care. The oldest of the group bowed as he spoke, “A list of those who conspired to kill the late Queen Regala. It is information to do with as you please. In addition to this information, we promise to aid in bringing those on that list to justice. Any investigations or arrests will be held at . . .”

Stopping mid-sentence the noble gaped in horror as Calder tore the parchment in two. Each piece floated to the ground as the eyes of all five diplomats followed the shreds. “It seems you have misinterpreted the purpose of this meeting. This meeting is meant to put an end to the killing, not to continue it in a different fashion.”

The old diplomat’s eyes swirled with confusion. “But my Lord, if you do not demand retribution for the late Queen’s death, what do you demand? A monetary payment? Perhaps a gift of land?”

“All I ask is your cooperation.”

“With what?” A distrustful glare tainted the noble’s face.

Calder strolled calmly over to the table. “An initiative the Queen had laid plans for not long before her death. A shared city-state on the border of Mareion and Obsidius. I ask for your signatures on this charter she laid out. I have made my own refinements since she drafted it four years ago but I believe the terms to be agreeable.”

The noble closest to the table leaned over the charter and scanned it with great focus. The wispy mustache on the man trembled as he continued to read. “This is idealistic drivel. You expect our people to willingly participate in this project after what has happened these past three years?”

Calder placed his finger on the charter and leaned in closer to the noble. “This is the only way neither of our people will have to fight again. An effort to understand one another. To share ideas not just among the rulers of each country but the common folk too. This will be the sign that Obsidius does not just want revenge, but to lift its neighbors from the ashes.”

“The ashes your armies created!” An accusatory shout came from the youngest of the nobles. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it.” The young diplomat’s voice shook. It was a mix of anxiety and anger. “To destroy us then remake us in whatever image you want.” He pointed toward the white-haired boy at the end of the table. “That's what you do with them! The Stellapuer. You just see them as . . . as objects to fit whatever sadistic need you have for them.”

The two armored men tightened their grips on the halberds. Calder put his hands out defensively. “That is not . . .” He glanced at the guards remembering that he could not speak openly here. “This war was an overzealous response. You must understand what grief can do to a nation.”

“I understand it all too well.” The young noble had burning tears of rage streaking down his cheeks. “My father, my younger brother, my mother, their deaths were all due to your mourning. I get that now.” He reached for the left side of his waist. “THIS IS MY GRIEF, PRINCE CALDER!” He lunged toward the prince with a silver blade in his left hand. Calder stepped back as the tip of the knife passed over his chest. A halberd slammed into the young man’s body. It ripped through flesh and bone until the bloody tip appeared out the boy’s back. Calder gasped as his hands touched the stone-cold floor. Looking up, he saw the young noble’s body being pushed off the spear point. It landed with a hard thud as blood continued to spill out of the wound. Lifeless eyes stared back at him as a single stream of blood trickled down the boy’s cheek.

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Calder’s chest heaved with heavy breath as he gazed at the dead body with wide eyes. This is not what was supposed to happen, he thought. He swiveled his neck to face the remaining four diplomats. They stood huddled on the other side of the table with two halberds pointed at them from the left and right. He put a hand on his chest and felt the gash the boy had made in his shirt. Raising his hand, he saw no blood on it. Calder pushed himself off the ground, his hands still quaking at his sides. He took a moment to steady himself, then he furrowed his eyebrows at the nobles.

His head was swirling with a million thoughts that crashed against the inside of his skull like the ocean waves. He gaped at the nobles with sympathy, confusion, hate, and anger. In all honesty, he didn’t know what emotion marred his face at the moment. Whatever emotion it was, it quickly prompted a response from the oldest noble.

“We had no idea he would lash out like that.” The wrinkles on his face shook with fear. “You have to believe us,” he pleaded.

“I want to believe you. I truly do.” Calder frowned as sadness filled his eyes. “But as of now these negotiations . . .” He paused. Was he really about to accept defeat now? After how far he had come. His father's words rang in his ears. Was he ready to accept this as a foolish endeavor? No! This was his only chance.

Calder cleared his throat and continued with a stern voice. “Are you willing to sign the charter? Here and now.”

The oldest noble opened his mouth, his lips shaking. He quickly closed it and then turned to consult the three other men. After a few hushed whispers, he turned back and nodded. The corners of his mouth pulled at his wrinkled face as his jaw tightened. Calder could tell he was not pleased with the decision but had accepted the reality of the situation.

The prince motioned the two guards to let the nobles pass. Each of them hobbled over. A few exchanged nervous glances as they stepped past the gaze of the armored men. One by one they picked up the feathered quill on the table, dipped it in the ink bottle, and signed their names. After they were done, Calder looked over at the Stellapuer. The boy took it as a signal to continue with the proceedings. With his slender pale hands, he took out a thin needle from his coat pocket. The boy pricked his own finger with more force than seemed necessary. A golden droplet of blood formed on the end of his digit. Squeezing the skin on his finger he let a little more blood leave the wound. He then pressed his finger beside the signatures on the document. When satisfied with his work he took a cloth out from the other side of his coat and wiped the gleaming liquid from his finger. The boy stepped back and bowed, bringing a close to the proceedings.

This boy is just a religious figurehead propped up by the state. Perhaps he could call him one of the lucky ones. Yet he would be lying to himself if he called any of the Stellapuer lucky. Calder sighed and scooped up the charter. “Thank you for your time today gentlemen. This is a major step towards peace.” He glanced over to the corpse on the floor. “Despite the unfortunate circumstances this treaty was forged in. I will relay this information to my father and the war shall cease.”

The nobles nodded grimly and proceeded to leave the room. After they had left, Calder handed the charter to the Stellapuer. “Wait outside my father’s study and present this to him once he comes by.” Without turning to face the guards he gave a command. “Remove the body and clean the area. Under no circumstances should my father know of this.”

A curt, “Yes my Lord” came from the two men.

Calder took a deep breath as he exited the room. “I need some fresh air,” he muttered to himself.

He exited the palace, yet the sight that greeted him wasn’t much more comforting. Four guards stood on either end of the entrance. The soldiers all straightened as he came near and each forcefully put a hand against their shoulder. After the salute, six rushed to his sides and made a protective square around him. I truly don’t need this protection, he thought. Yet as the Prince, they couldn’t let him get stabbed in the streets. Dying such a disgraceful death would be a terrible look for the kingdom.

A silvery sky cast the city in a depressing twilight. Gray buildings pressed in against a cobblestone walkway. Several buildings had fading red clay for rooftops, while others had dark wooden panels. Faralain was the capital of Obsidius, named after the first king Faralanther, yet it did not carry the grandiose nature one would expect from it. The palace behind him, carved from volcanic stone, towered above the rest of the city. It was one of the few things left that hinted at Obsidius’s former glory. As he continued farther, the harsh winds carried a variety of scents to his nose. At one moment he could smell the filth of newly dumped excrement. He held his breath and passed by quickly. As he went further down the road the scents of a market wafted toward him. Freshly butchered meats and spices made their presence known. A few carts here and there wobbled across the cobblestone road drawn by tired-looking horses and guided by weary men. The marketplace was not as full as it used to be. Several stalls that used to lay along the road now sat empty with their tattered canvases blowing in the wind.

This peace with Mareion will change things, he hoped. He took a deep breath, hoping the remaining scents of the marketplace would put him at ease. Whispers followed him as he walked. The noise blended until it was nothing more than a chaotic hum. The eyes of the people carried a certain anxiety with them.

It was a sad sight to see and it was all the more frustrating to know his father and his grandfather's foolish ideas about expansion had brought this fate upon the people. Expanding the kingdom when the people you currently rule are not content seems like an asinine idea. That lust for power, for more, I can not understand.

Ahead Calder saw a woman quickly scurry past a storefront. Nearly tripping she recovered and increased her pace. The prince focused his vision on what had startled the women. His jaw convulsed and his face turned a ghastly white. It felt as if all moisture had left his mouth.

No.

He pushed the two guards in front of him aside.

No, not this.

He wanted to scream. Every fiber of his being told him that was the correct response, yet his mind told him to stay calm. Looking up he saw the bruised face of a young boy. A thick rope hung around his neck and was stained with golden blood from a gash that exposed the boy’s esophagus. The blood ran down the body’s waist, then legs, until it dripped off its feet into a bucket below. A strangled tongue hung out of the boy’s mouth as if he still wanted to plead against his accusers. The young face was one Calder had just seen just a few hours ago.

“Orion,” he whispered. Aggravated, Calder bit his lip until crimson blood seeped from the self-inflicted wound. Why? Why are you here?