There were times when being the seventh child was not so bad after all. Zach Gardwin tussled on his bed even when the sun was at noon. The curtains were well made, thick and opaque, a custom order from the seventh son himself just for the sake of hindering that dastardly sunlight that usually bothered his comforting sleep. Yet his well-thought plan was not foolproof. The thundering knocks on his bedroom door were like the devil’s trident, poking right at his sensitive eardrums.

Peace turned to frowns, and frowns became an annoyance. Zach pulled his blanket over his head, his last attempt to neuter the disturbance of his peaceful sleep. Yet the shouts of his name came from the other side of the door. It got louder and louder, and the young man under the cover gave in. He threw the blanket away, glaring at the door.

Zach got up. The young man was five feet ten in height, hair as black as the night itself and eyes as grey as the ash-bear from the north. The long loose tunic draped over his body as it was a perfect cloth to sleep in during the summer's night. He then opened the door of his chamber.

A familiar face greeted him. Someone he liked better at a distance rather than this close to his face. A middle-aged man with grey hair was not exactly his ideal view in the morning, or in the afternoon after his cherished sleep.

“Morning, Desmor,” Zach said, flashing a smile.

“It is noon, young lord,” Desmor replied.

“Oh is it? Gosh, I better get breakfast before they cook up lunch,” Zach said. Closing the door, and yet, a hand forced it to be opened.

“Your lord father calls for you, young lord,” Desmor said. The old man was as stoic as ever with not a hint of emotion.

“And why he would ask for me?”

“There’s an emergency, the King is coming,” Desmor said.

The news raised his eyebrows. It was definitely worth being called an emergency. But Zach played it off. “Ay, that’s a good one, Des,” Zach said, playfully pointing his finger at Desmor. “I can see you pretty good with jokes these days.”

Desmor sighed. “Young lord, please cease this foolishness. The King’s arrival requires the attention of every household, and the lord is expecting you to be present. So do not be late, young lord,” Desmor said. He took his leave, leaving Zach at the door sill.

“Boring as always,” Zach said. He went back in and changed to a new set of clothes, thin and loose, just the way he liked it. Before going to the Great Hall, Zach made a quick detour to the kitchen, grabbing a few cold hashbrowns that were still crispy on the outside. In time, he reached the Great Hall with a mouth full of flaky potatoes, and oily fingers as they were finger-lickin' good.

Zach’s appearance drew the eyes of the early-comers as well as his lord father sitting on his high seat. It would have been called a throne in the early days of this family, but not now. Not when their reigning power was signed off to the family of the current king.

“Morning,” Zach said. Raising his hand with the hash brown.

“You’re late, brother,” said a lady, adorned in light leather armor, with a sheathed sword hanging by the side. She was the third child of the Gardwin family, Amarda Gardwin. Her brunette hair flowed beyond her shoulder as her eyes followed their father’s, blue like the clear tranquil lake of Melissani.

“Still swinging irons, sister?” Zach said. Eying at the sword on her belt.

“Better than a lazy donkey,” Amarda smirked.

“Enough prattling, we have a bigger issue at hand,” said Lord Gardwin. His black hair reached his shoulders while his blue eyes were rather dull as if he had seen his fair share of the world.

“Is it true, father?” the firstborn asked. His name was Cyrus Gardwin. He had brunette hair, and green eyes, sharing the exact characteristics of their mother’s. He was adorned in verdant silk trimmed with silver, the color of the Gardwin family.

Alren Gardwin nodded. “I’ve sent the twins to the woods to hunt. If the angels smile upon us, we will have a feast befitting the king,” Alren said. “Now for the rest of you, do as I ask…”

Cyrus was to ride to their vassals with the swiftest horse. Calling their bannermen to greet their King with much splendor in mass. Amarda was to prepare a jousting tournament, entertaining enough to suit the King’s mood. While Zach’s task was rather simple.

“Behave yourself, and don’t make a mess,” Alren said.

Zach lightly bowed. “As you wish father,” he said. The seventh child didn’t mind not having a task like the rest of his siblings. To be fair, he rather enjoyed the lack of responsibility.

“Humph,” Cyrus responded.

Zach slightly glanced and noticed the short glare from his eldest brother.

“Before I ride, why so sudden, father?” Cyrus asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine, son. Our special king has his own way of doing things,” Alren said. “But whatever it is, we better be prepared to receive them.”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The sudden meeting ended. Cyrus and Amarda took their leave, but Alren had another intent for someone else. “Stay Zachary,” Alren said.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Amarda chuckled. “Be sure to savor the punishment, little brother.”

Cyrus just gave a stern glance and the two of them left the hall.

“Come,” Alren said. Beckoning Zach to come closer.

He stood in front of Alren, hands behind his back, his weight leaning to one side of his leg. The seventh child smiled, acting as if nothing was wrong.

Alren sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve heard you have been sleeping,” Alren said.

“Like everyone else, my lord,” Zach said.

“Till noon?” Alren asked. Raising his eyebrows.

“Indeed I did. But not without reasons, father,” Zach said. “They say you need eight hours of sleep for your body and mind to be fully functional.”

Alren sighed. “Again with your nonsense. You know well sun-dials do not work in the night, son,” Alren said.

“Even so, we still can—”

“Enough,” Alren said. His voice boomed across the Great Hall. “Are you still going to continue like this? Doing nothing but lounging around, visiting taverns, and brothels like nothing else matters? What are you doing, Zach? Where is that passion you once had in the sword and in the books? You were once a genius of the family. You could walk by one, you could talk by two, and you could read by three. You’re unlike any I’ve ever seen, son, and I’m proud of it. But what went wrong? Why are you wasting your talents, and becoming like this?”

The smile was no longer there. Zach appeared as stoic as ever, dead as a stone one might say. His childish gaze turned to one of an adult that had lived through the years.

“An opportunity is at hand here,” Alren said. “With the King’s arrival, perhaps I can ask for a favor to get you to be a squire for one of the Royal Swords.”

“I’m grateful for the offer, father, but I—”

“It’s either this or I’ll send you to join the Silver Fleet,” Alren said.

The topic of the Silver Fleet narrowed Zach’s eyes. For whatever reason that made his father turn a drastic measure, it wasn’t going to be well for Zach, and he had to take a stand.

“Lord Gardwin,” Zach said. His voice was different from his usual easy-going nature. “I will say this bluntly. I intend to build my own family, my own land, and my own heritage.”

The sudden answer made Alren open his eyes wide. But soon narrowed back with a cynic. “Big dreams for someone who does nothing but waste their time,” Alren said. “And if you’re expecting a free plot of land then I have to disappoint you. No man, not even my son would gain something freely without any merit under their name.”

“Good,” Zach said. “I’m not counting on it.”

Alren frowned. “Then you prefer being a vassal of the other High Lords than your own family?” Alren asked.

“I’m afraid Brittania is not a place I would settle in,” Zach said.

Alren leaned back on his high seat. Staring at this son of his with his hand kept twirling the end of his mustache. “Is this one of your jokes, Zachary?” Alren asked as the mention of leaving Brittania flustered him a bit.

“I wish I was,” Zach said. “But a man has to dream.” He smiled.

Silence prevailed in the Great Hall as father and son stared at one another. “When are you leaving?” Alren asked.

“Surely not this year,” the mischievous returned in Zach’s tone.

“Listen well, Zachary. If this dream of yours turns to be just smokes and dust, the Silver Fleet would be the least of your worries,” Alren said.

“May I go?” Zach asked. His father shooed with his hand and the seventh child went away.

By the time night blanketed the sky, the King’s entourage was warmly welcomed by the Gardwin and their vassals. The Great Hall of Feywood was brightened by the candle chandeliers and the intoxicating smell of roasted venison, freshly hunted by the twins. Colorful banners adorned the beige stone walls, green and gold: the Drasil tree of Gardwin, and the crowned Griffin of Valion. A bard stood on top of a platform, stringing his lute with a lively voice. His jolly anthem riled the crowd as they sang along and chugged their ales. They laughed and chortled, enjoying the festivity while the lords at the front table had a class different than the rest.

They dined and enjoyed the night with ethics befitting when around the King of Brittania. Zach sat beside the twins. His fake smile never left his face, more so when the twins kept on bugging him with their exaggerated tale of their hunt. It was painfully boring, and he wished he could leave right now, right at this instant.

Then the King took his leave along with his father. He presumed the both of them had something to talk about in private, away from prying ears. A second later, Zach was up from his seat, with the pewter cup in his hand. He left the moment the chance was upon him. His steps were light and before he knew it, he was among the sons of his family’s vassals. Cups clang and the festive went on.

The night sailed, and Zach had enough of drunk companies. He found his way outside at the bailey, and took another sip of his cup, his eyes appreciating the full moon of the night.

“It’s a beautiful night isn’t it?” a voice came from his back. He turned and saw a lady in a lavish pink dress. Her wavy purple ombre hair was the exclusive trait of the royal family, and her eyes were like the golden jewels in the treasury. This lady was none other than the princess of the realm, Naella Valion, and a step behind her, was a man fully armored, one of the knights of the Royal Sword or to put it simply, her bodyguard.

Zach didn’t even bother glancing at the bodyguard as the Royal Sword would definitely give a death stare. “Indeed it is, princess,” Zach said. He courteously bowed out of formality. If he didn’t, his head would probably be flying right now. For a while, he had noticed Naella had been taking a few peeks at him during the feast. He couldn’t really say she fell for his charm, but he had to admit, his face was pretty top-notch. So for now he assumed the princess was just a wee bit interested in him.

“May I have the pleasure to be of your company?” Naella asked.

“It is my honor, princess,” Zach said. He couldn’t really say no right in the face of the princess if he still wanted to keep his tongue intact.

“The moon is beautiful here. The skies clear, and stars dancing around the lady of the night,” Naella said. “A pity that I can’t see this night every other day. Unlike Feywood, Kingshill’s night is always cloudy.”

“But I bet the view would be nicer on the back of a griffin,” Zach said. Giving a glance at the princess, and she met him back. She smiled and he did too.

“Indeed it is,” Naella chimed. “The feeling of being in the air, and close to the moon is like a never-ending dream.”

Zach glanced back at the moon, taking another swig of his cup. “A dream only for the worthy,” he said.

“Would you like to see the moon closer?” Naella asked. Her question brought an interesting gaze from Zach. This lady here was really stringing him up to something. But Zach knew his own limit. In this kind of world, a limit was put to be obeyed as breaking it might invite wrath that he couldn’t avoid.

“I’m afraid I’m more comfortable being down here with my two feet on the ground, princess,” Zach said. He saw slight displeasure on Naella as being turned down probably wasn’t in her train of thought.

But then a sudden burst of light drew the gaze of the trio under the night sky. Zach gazed at the moon and frowned. ‘Is the moon getting brighter?’ he thought.

Then out of nowhere, an archaic voice drifted in the air, reaching his eardrums.

“War of the Worlds initiating. Planes convergence is in progress. Participant’s Prelude will begin.”