Chapter Text
He threw his gauntlet on the ground hard enough to kick up dirt.
“Pick it up.” He hissed, baring his teeth like a ferocious animal. A hush had fallen over the courtyard. People stopped and gawked shamelessly because a potential duel drew in a crowd better than anything else.
The other knight blinked. Then again. His own prince had challenged him. “What are your terms?”
“Noon. Tomorrow.” The prince didn’t hesitate, not even over his next line, “To the death.”
The courtyard erupted into gasps. The knight towered over the prince, big burly muscles protruding from every inch of his body. Even his eyelids seemed liable to sprout a six pack. But this was not the reason for their surprise.
Prince Mike had never lost a duel.
He was known to be quick-tempered when it came to sparring or duels, sure, but oftentimes he only did so to keep them in place or from getting a big head. He was the Achilles of his time, after all. The best of the best in every field: swordplay, jousting, archery, even basic combat. He excelled, rather. The kingdom’s Great Protector.
The knight looked around. Who was he to deny such a request from the prince, even if it cost him his life, even if he knew he had no chance of survival? He bent down, seeming to remember it was the knightly thing to do, and picked it up. “I accept.”
Prince Mike snatched the gauntlet out of the other’s hands, and returned to the castle.
–The Great Protector–
“What the hell were you thinking?” His sister, Nancy, swatted him on the back of the head in the midst of her pacing. She wrapped her arms around her body, her expensive silk dress draping onto the floor of the great hall like a curtain. She was skin and bones as her father had demanded, eating scraps of bread upon occasion, but really having to play into the role of the ‘selfless princess’ as expected.
Mike huffed out a breath, sitting in his chair with his arms crossed around himself. His armor was still intact and he clanged when he moved, “He said horrible things about you! You might not have heard, but I did!”
“I don't care, Michael! Let him talk, he’s a knight, I expect it.” She dismissed.
The prince only shook his head, growing annoyed with the sound her heels were making on the floor, “No, they’re supposed to protect you. That is what I train them for, nothing else.” Mike said, rather calmly, which clashed with her frantic voice.
“So he should die because of that?!” She shouted, “He should die because he insulted me?” She paced more, and Mike didn’t respond to her rhetorics. She was practically purple in the face with all the rage bottled up inside her body, “Your last-man-standing duels were frustrating enough, but this? This is too much! You have to call it off. You have–”
“You know nothing about code, Daughter.” Their father’s booming voice echoed off the cold, stone walls. He was standing next to the window in silence until that point, looking down at the people in the courtyard. His presence was always felt, and often the line between King and Father was blurred for him.
Nancy let out a strained hiccup, sitting adjacent to her brother while she allowed tears to streak down her face. She truly was beautiful, many people called her “The Jewel of Hawkins” and with her beaming smile and (usually) shining personality, they had no reason to think otherwise.
“Father, the knights simply cannot think that it’s okay to speak about a woman that way. Especially when that woman is an heir!” Mike stood up now, planting his fists on the table, “I’m using him simply as a lesson for the others… a message.”
“What you’re doing, Mike, is nothing short of idiocy!” He said. He turned and his cape sprawled out behind him, whipping as it did so. He had a wrinkle between his eyebrows and a vein on his forehead. He was angry, this Mike was sure of, but when was he not? “As much as I agree with your sister, you knew the rules when you challenged him. You are the example, and you cannot back out of it.”
Mike clenched his jaw and gave a firm nod, relieved to have any kind of support from anyone at that point. Nancy wiped another tear away, adjusting her sleeves over her sunken shoulders and trying to regain her complexion. She didn’t speak.
The King slumped into his own chair at the head of the table and refused eye contact with both of his children, “This will not happen again, Michael. Your job is to protect, not kill. Know your place.”
Mike’s heart lurched. Still he bowed to his father, “Yes, sir.” And he left.
—
He was the only one in the arena. The sun was getting ready to set and the spring air was right at that point where it was getting warmer. As the breeze streamed through his black hair, he launched a knife until it slammed in the middle of his target. He was bored and practically able to do this with his eyes closed and facing away. Yet, he threw another one, and another until his hands were empty.
He never once felt the slightest twinge of worry for his match tomorrow. He knew he would win. He was sure of it. The only thing that seemed to cross his mind twice was the thought of taking another person’s life.
On his way out to the arena, many women of all ages had stopped him to thank him for putting his opponent in his place. They all recalled stories of the knight making lewd comments about them, brushing a firm hand over their breasts, and even suggesting they have sex with him. Each time he was denied, he would try to use his authority over them, and to Mike’s understanding, he had gotten away with it a few times. When he recalled their stories, the knight’s fate didn’t seem so bad after all.
He took the knives off the target, twisting and turning them until they were wedged free from the wood.
There was a small noise from the stands. A tiny creak followed by dense footsteps. “You’re not gonna win with those tomorrow.” they said. He didn’t even have to look up to know that it was his younger sister, Holly.
She was the opposite of Nancy. Boyish, no grace in the way she moved, and loud. Nothing like what a proper princess should be, but mature when needed. She did not wear a dress, but an outfit similar to Mike’s, brown cotton pants and the signature Royal Blue shirt. She hopped over the railing and joined her brother out on the dirt.
“No shit.” Mike scoffed, launching another knife out of his hands until it hit perfectly in the center of the target. He let out a cocky hum, throwing his sister a sideways smirk.
She rolled her eyes, “You missed dinner.”
He said nothing. Just felt the leather hilt twist in his hands before throwing another knife, this time much harder and with more intention.
“Mom was worried about you. She made the maids save you something to eat. You should really eat, you k–”
“Yeah, Holly, I know.” Mike cut in. She flinched at the sudden harshness in his words. “I have a duel tomorrow, alright? I gotta train.” He let out a sigh, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone. The last thing he wanted right now was for someone (especially his family) to scold him for the things he knew he did wrong.
“You’re always training.” She shot back. “I mean, seriously, don’t you do anything else? You don’t even have the knights to practice with anymore, so what’s even the point?”
He grunted. Her annoying and persistent voice was starting to ruin his concentration. He held the knife next to his ear, “I have to train, Holly! It’s quite literally my only job as a prince right now. You clearly have no idea what it means to be royalty yet!” He hissed.
This made her go quiet.
She had always had a habit of doing this when scolded or yelled at, and though it had not been Mike’s intention to make her feel like she was a burden, he knew that he had been in the wrong and would have to apologize. He sighed and put the knife down, “Look, Holly, I’m not trying to be a dick, but the stakes for this duel… they aren’t like my other ones, alright? It’s not just an in-and-out situation.”
She blinked at him, eyebrows tight together, “I know.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “Mom said it’s to the death.”
Mike clicked his tongue, “So you see why I have to train? One wrong move and it’s over for me, and who would be here to protect you?” He said, raising the knife up once again when she seemed to regain her color.
“I know you won’t lose…” She began, Mike locked eyes with the center of the target, “...but, don’t you think it’s a little mean to kill him?” He winced, launching the knife out of his hand with impossible force, watching it hurdle forward until it split the target in half. Holly went still.
Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Holly, he’s not a good knight, okay? He deserves what’s coming for him tomorrow. Trust me, the kingdom will be a better place without him.”
For a moment, Holly stared up at her brother like she had been trying to read further into his expression. What he had said was vague, and she didn’t know whether or not to pry or to leave it as it was. Seeming to pick the second option, she nodded slowly.
Mike gave her a small pat on the head, “What about you, huh? How’re your powers coming along?”
Holly beamed at this. It had always been her favorite topic of discussion–her powers, because she had been one of the lucky few selected to hone them. Sorcerers had been a rarity nowadays, and especially with the strict laws placed from the neighboring kingdom. Lenora, people were being less and less vocal about having abilities. She, however, seemed to tell everyone, but when it would come time to prove that she had any sort of magic, she would falter.
“I still can’t control them, but I’m getting there!” She smiled. Mike had always been jealous of her optimism.
“Oh?” He smirked.
“Uh-huh! Today I was by the fountain in the courtyard and this person dropped a glass bottle. The sound of it scared me and it was like this…frost came out of my hand. I dunno how to describe it, I’ve only been able to move water, not freeze it. The fountain became one giant icicle!” She said, trying to recreate the moment but only able to produce one tiny snowflake from her finger tip.
Mike laughed at her, “Well, once you get a trainer, I’m sure you’ll be the most powerful.” He nicked under her chin with his pointer finger, “Has Mom heard back?”
Holly stuck out her bottom lip with a huff, “She sent the letter to that Lenorian wizard in the woods like…5 days ago.”
“Still nothing?”
She shook her head, “No.”
Mike laughed to himself, “Go figure, most sorcerers are afraid of confrontation anyways.” He said, kicking the dirt under his feet.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Holly squinted her eyes at him.
He laughed, “Nothing! Nothing! Just, you know, it seems like the lazy way to get out of…well, fighting.” He said. When Holly didn’t seem satisfied with this answer, he continued, “You know, it just seems like, why would they rather stand behind this wall of power when they could learn how to use a sword, or throw a punch, for fuck’s sake!”
“That's not true!” Holly shouted, sticking her tiny finger as close to his face as it could reach, “Wizards and witches have to work for their magic just as hard as you do for your fighting! If they had it easy, I would have been born knowing how to use it.” Now she crossed her arms across her chest.
Mike only laughed again and placed a hand on her head, “Whatever, kid. I’m just saying, it seems a little unfair that I have to work my whole life for something they can do in the wave of a hand.”
She smiled now. Devilish. “Sounds like you’re jealous to me!”
Mike rolled his eyes, “Shouldn’t you be going to bed?” He said through his teeth, and now his sister laughed and scampered off, leaving him to his training.
—
He was not nervous the day of his duel. The crowd loudly funneled into their seats, booming footsteps across the wooden bleachers, fanning themselves of the sunny spring day. He stood in his tent as he had so many times before this, doing his same ritual of recollecting the particular knight’s fighting patterns.
Most were too fluid or too stiff, but this knight had a perfect balance of them both, quick when needed, broad when it mattered, and Mike could admire that about him. He had taught him everything he knew, after all. But, no matter, it was not an issue at all. Mike had always taught his knights that the best place to look at during a match was a balance between your opponents chest and eyes, to see what each limb will do and to anticipate their next move. Their eyes would give it away. However, this knight had been too dense to really master this aspect, and Mike was sure to exploit this.
The sunlight pooled into the tent as the curtains were pulled back. Standing there were his two most trustworthy (and closest) knights, Lucas and Dustin.
“Shit.” Dustin said with that familiar lisp, allowing himself inside, “Shit, shit, shit! What were you thinking?”
Lucas stood next to Mike, scolding the prince, “Seriously! To the death? Are you nuts?”
Mike said nothing, looked nowhere, and didn’t move. He was all too familiar with his heat-of-the-moment decision, but no matter how badly he wanted to (which was not badly at all) he could not back out now. It would not be the princely thing to do.
Dustin grabbed Mike’s first piece of armor, “You’re lucky this guy is dumber than a bag of hammers, I’ll give you that much. The only muscle of his that isn’t strong is the one that matters.” He placed a finger on his own temple. Dustin had always been quick to make a quip at other knight’s stature and build considering he himself had not been the most buff one of the group. Frumpy and missing bones. Had it not been for his well renowned father, he wouldn’t have been pressured to be a knight at all and could have used his smarts for things that mattered.
Dustin and Lucas latched Mike’s chestplate over his shoulders. Lucas made his retort now, “It doesn’t matter anymore, you’re in too deep. You gotta fight–” He picked up a kneepad, “-- you’re lucky you’re gifted as shit with a sword or you’d be fucked.”
Mike allowed himself to nod.
Lucas, the more logical one of the three, continued, “Just make sure you get it over with quick, yeah? My dad had to kill a knight once and said he was never the same. Maybe if you hurry up and do it, it won’t be too bad.”
Mike sighed and sat down with a clank. They had strapped his armor as tightly as he had liked it, expertly doing so over the last few years and knowing how Mike needed it to operate, “Look, guys…” he started, “I know I said to the death, but what if I can’t do it?” His heart was racing just imagining how it would feel to lodge a sword through someone’s chest.
“Can’t do what?” Dustin said, which earned him a quick smack on the shoulder from Lucas.
“Kill someone, numnuts.” Lucas rolled his eyes, then redirected his attention to Mike, “Look, man–” no titles, the way Mike had preferred. “-- It won’t make you look bad to spare his life, alright?”
“Yes it will!” Mike hissed, digging his palms into his eyes, “What kind of prince would I be if I can’t even kill someone? Future Kings are supposed to be ruthless, and what about my ‘legacy’?” He sighed so much that his chestplate almost touched the leather straps on his thighs.
Dustin sat down next to him, “Just because you’re supposed to be the Achilles of our time, doesn’t mean you have to aim for that.”
Lucas nodded, “Yeah, those are just rumors. You don’t have to be the best at anything.”
This just wasn’t true. They had no idea the kind of pressure Mike had always had put on him. Expectations he had to meet. Tales he had to make come true. People he had to please. He was the protector of his sisters, of his mom, of his people, of his kingdom. That was his place. He could prove to everyone today that he knew this, and would do whatever it took to make them happy.
He grunted and shouldered his way past Lucas and Dustin, peeling back the layer of his tent and stepping out into the sun. His sword clanged to his side and his helmet stayed tucked under his arm. The audience suddenly erupted into cheers, claps, and whistles celebrating their undefeated prince, and for only a short moment, he allowed the pricks of pride to form in his chest.
He gave them all a valiant wave, sticking his hand in the air, and then placing it over his armored heart. He looked to the center of the stands, seeing the most prominent figure out of them all. His father.
The King had been relaxed in his throne, slouched to the side in an almost too comfortable position. His crown was slightly off center and his robes not up to par. Just from his un-kingly appearance, Mike knew that this was not something he cared about. A bump in his already rocky schedule, and he would not be entertained in the slightest.
To his left, his wife. She was antsy, fidgeting, and craning her neck just to get a better look at her son who was the size of an ant from where she sat. Her stress lines had never looked so detailed than now as she bounced a knee under her dress.
His two sisters sat next to each other, the oldest sitting like she had a rod down her back and on the edge of her seat. The youngest seemed to be trying to control her powers which had a tendency to get out of control when she was feeling any strong emotion.
He took a deep breath and placed his helmet on his head. It had been the lightest one in his collection and he only needed it for show. He knew he would come out not only victorious, but unscathed.
He went through his motions, killing time before the knight had left his own tent. The crowd had not given him the same reaction as they had with Mike, and he seemed to notice this, sticking both his arms up in the air as if he might win them over. The prince sighed at his sad attempt, and suddenly the burden of his situation weighed heavily on his chest.
They stood face-to-face in their metal armor which was incredibly hot in the sun. Mike gave him a polite nod, but the knight didn’t return it.
“I wonder how Daddy’s gonna act when his only son’s blood stains his arena.” He said. Mike had never noticed how much the man had sounded like a neanderthal until now.
He cringed, “Dude, that’s fucking weird…don’t say that.” He took his sword out of its sheath, and held it in his hand. He wasn’t worried about losing. In fact, that outcome hadn’t even crossed his mind. The most potent and burning thought was Let’s get this over with.
The knight lunged with his right foot first. The crowd gasped as Mike nicked the sword away from his side with ease, not bothering to back away. Another joust, another gasp, and another swat.
The knight circled him for a moment, flipping his sword in his hand as if he were simply toying with his prey. Trying to intimidate Mike. Trying to mock him. And maybe the appropriate thing to do would be to slice his head clean off right then, to end it before it even started. This is the only way Mike could show any mercy at this point. Or, he could let the knight think he had a fighting chance.
Mike sloppily thrust his sword forward, letting it hang in the air as the knight all but backflipped out of the way. A cocky smile played on his lips, and Mike knew his plan was working. Their swords clanked together in the air, Mike predicting and blocking all of his moves while staring directly at the center of his chest. His shiny armor had all but blinded Mike, and this gave the other the slightest advantage. Truthfully, Mike had trained to do a duel blindfolded if needed, so a bit of spotty vision would not be the bane of him.
A sword whooshed past his head just after he ducked, spinning on his toe while sticking his leg out and kicking his opponent in the shin, knocking him on his ass with a great thud.
Mike could have killed him then. It would have been easy. But instead, he picked up the stray sword and gave it back to the disarmed knight, “C’mon, don’t tell me you were talking a big game just to get your ass kicked.” Mike said. The first row of people let out a small chuckle.
Though the knight wore a helmet, Mike could tell he had been embarrassed, for his next lashings were much more sporadic and intentional. Mike, however, dodged them with ease, trying to find a way to make it look like he was struggling (but failing.)
He was only just now starting to feel the slightest bit of fatigue, deciding that he no longer should play with his food and just get it over with.
As the knight continued with his barbaric swings, Mike had managed to sneak behind him in one fluid move, kicking the backs of his legs until he was promptly knocked down again. The straps on his chestpiece had been loosened enough to make the chunk of metal launch off his shoulders, sword flying through the air and landing in the ground with a thwang. And now it was time for the hard part.
The knight scurried backward, still yet to stand up. Mike had him cornered. It would be the end of his miserable life. “Please.” The knight whispered.
And Mike’s heart hiccuped. Suddenly, this man was not a man, but a boy. A child. An infant. Someone’s beloved son with his own story and his own history. Someone who had really fucked up his life to get to where it was today, and Mike suddenly had all the power in the world to take it. Could he really kill him? He winced, straddling the other.
He hesitated, sword in hand, “If I let you go free, both our honors will be destroyed.” He said it as a whisper to the trembling man.
He shook his head, “No…spare me and people will know you have mercy.”
The words made Mike glance up. The audience was quiet. Wide-eyed and expectant. They looked as if they themselves didn’t know the outcome of the match. Would Mike show mercy? That was the question.
But, suddenly, Mike’s eyes fell on his sisters. The wind caused by Holly’s anxious powers made her hair whip behind her. Nancy seemed ignorant to it, lasered onto her brother with her sad, pleading eyes. And then he looked at his father.
For a moment, they locked eyes. The King was no longer bored, but surprised. His eyebrows were raised, sitting up in his throne. And then he gave Mike the slightest nod, and that was all he needed.
It happened in slow motion, the sword between his palms had positioned itself above the knight’s chest. He had always said in his lessons to never find yourself in this position, or it would surely be fatal, and maybe the knight had been just as ignorant those times as any other time. His arms flexed, muscles contracting until they had built enough strength to send the sword between two ribs which crunched under the weight, piercing the man below him like a kebab.
The air left the man’s punctured lungs like a heavy sigh, and Mike opened his eyes to see the last glimpse of life spread throughout his face, before his head rolled back into the dirt.
Dead.
The crowd was silent for a moment, and Mike had never felt more like a savage than he had in this moment. He stepped back on his uneven footing, and suddenly the earth was spinning around him. He held up a hand, hearing the woozy sound of the crowd applauding him, but had this really been cause for celebration? Taking another man’s life? Had this really been something to stand and clap for?
No matter, Mike had already made his unsteady way back to his tent, feeling his stomach wriggle around inside of his torso like he had eaten a parasite. He gripped his side, removing his helmet and any fragile piece of armor as best as he could before he felt his first dry heave. It punched him in the gut until everything he had eaten that morning made its way back out through his mouth, throwing up all over the ground.
It did very little to soothe his spinning mind. He kept a hand placed on his stomach and was now afraid to blink, for every time he closed his eyes, he would see the knight’s dead body at the end of his sword which was still stuck in his chest. He could practically smell that horrid stench of iron and flesh mixing together with the sweat he had poured into the match.
He deserved it! He tried to tell himself. In truth, who was Mike to decide who gets to live and who gets to die? This was a kind of power that should not be given to anyone, especially a 22 year old man who was still a child at heart.
He shook his head, hoping to rid himself of the dizziness but only making it worse. He threw up again, this time only stomach bile, and this mixed with the heat in the room only made the smell more potent.
He removed pieces of his armor quickly and left the tent the opposite way he came in, finding himself at the start of the forest.
In the midst of his chaotic mind, the woods had provided a sort of sereneness that he had only read about, greenery starting to sprout, blossoms beginning to bloom letting out that flowery smell that most would find sickening– but not Mike. The fresh air had never felt so good in his lungs and the world started to move normally again.
He walked further into the trees. The sunlight streaked in through their canopy, the birds sang their first song of the year and he could hear the rushing water of the river.
He was now calm.
For a moment, he allowed himself to picture a life without responsibilities. One where he had not been in line for the throne and could spend his days as a tradesman, whittling little figures of animals, writing about all the places he had seen and people he met, the mere beauty of life that people could only dream of seeing held in the palm of his hand. He pictured himself going from tavern to tavern, kingdom to kingdom, until he was too old for the journey and let himself be at peace with the world in death. He was a poet trapped inside a prince’s body.
In the middle of his mumbling mind, he heard a small whisper. It was as light as the breeze and for a moment, he thought he had made it up. He turned around, but still found himself completely alone. It sent a chill down his spine, that sudden wave of cowardice when he realized he had been all but defenseless. Then, he heard it again. This time from nowhere in particular and louder. Whatever this person was saying must have been in some foreign tongue because Mike had no idea what they were saying.
“Hello?” He called out to the air around him, but saw nothing. He heard the leaves rustle playfully in the wind, the tree branches creaking as they bobbed happily. The whisper sounded more like a crowd of encroaching people now, like they were not able to use their voices and could only use the wind to speak. The sound surrounded him, but no matter where he turned, he could not find the owner of the voices.
He had no sword to draw out, only left over scraps of armor from his lashing out to protect him. He kept a fist balled at his side and shouted once again, “Who’s there?” But the whispers could not answer.
As he perched upon a high rock, hoping to at least have the advantage of higher ground, he could see something rather peculiar. Something he had never seen before. Something he hadn’t even read about.
A fog had suddenly sprouted across the forest floor, only it wasn’t a fog at all. Shimmery and white, glowing just as brightly as if it were the northern lights in the sky. The whispers seemed to be emitting from them, as they got louder with every inch the fog covered.
He had no idea what to do. It hadn’t really posed a threat besides the magical qualities it possessed, and as far as he knew, it was completely harmless. Still, he did not let his guard down as it swept up the rock he stood atop, and crawled towards him, dancing around his ankles. Even though it seemed the whispers were right in his ear, he was never able to make out a single word. However, they sounded…happy. Excited, almost, like they had been bursting at the seams to tell him a story they were on the cusp of articulating.
“MIKE!” Someone shouted a few paces from his tent. He ripped his head around at the sudden noise, and the whispers vanished just as mysteriously as they had appeared, leaving a ringing in his ear. The fog was no longer anywhere, like the Earth had absorbed it in the blink of an eye. And for a moment, Mike thought he had lost his mind. Maybe killing someone really did make you go crazy. “Mike! You there?”
He staggered, taking one more glance at the ground and seeing nothing, “Coming!” He called back.
It was Dustin, and right next to him as always, Lucas. They each put a hand on his shoulder, “You okay?” They asked in unison.
He only nodded.
“We– uh, saw the puke in your tent.” Lucas said, sheepishly. “We just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been too shaken.”
Mike shrugged their hands off his shoulders, walking past them, “I’m fine.” He said, more curt than he had intended. He had yet to shake the mist, “My father didn’t go in the tent, did he?” He held his breath until they answered.
“Nah,” Dustin said, “They all went straight to the castle after.”
Mike nodded once again, thankful the King had not seen his vomit all over the ground. This would have been an amazing way for him to find out that his son was just as cowardly as a sorcerer. Dishonorable.
Mike returned to the castle, too preoccupied with his own swarming theories to notice that his people would stop and gawk as he walked by, leaving a trail of open mouths and haunting whispers. Why wouldn’t they gossip? They had all watched him kill a man, and only he had to carry that burden. His eyes were dry from lack of blinking as he walked the halls to his chambers, throwing the doors open and breaking free of any pieces of armor he had tied on him still.
For the next few hours, he stayed in his room with a pile of books that he had requested from the library right next to his desk. Each had coincidentally been about ancient spells and magical forests, which got him nowhere closer to figuring out just what the hell that fog had been. Minutes upon minutes of reading stories he had already read, ones he had not, and ones he had only heard of, just to come out empty handed.
He sighed back into his chair, seeing that the sun was about set, and decided to head to dinner.
—
When he was younger, dinners had always been something he looked forward to. Of course, it was every kid’s dream to be a prince. To have someone else wash your sheets and dress you, to feed you grapes while they fanned you with a leaf. It all sounded luxurious. But, reality set in, and he quickly learned that it was not as glorified as they made it seem in his fantasy novels.
Riding into war with thousands of men waiting for his command had sounded so amazing on paper, but Mike found out that these were just wandering profits who wrote stories based on what they thought would sell, and who would want to read about a Prince who made a neat little treaty with their neighboring kingdom? Being a Prince was not all they made it out to be. It was boring, most of the time. Tedious, definitely. And most of all, it was a burden.
How could he tell the peasants that he was jealous of their freedom? How could he tell a poet that he would trade lives with him at the drop of a hat? And how could he tell himself that he craved freedom more than anything? Simple. He couldn’t.
So that thought was pressed down many years ago, and he accepted that he would never truly know what it meant to be a Prince, but one thing was for sure. He could do what was asked of him. This gave him the slightest bit of purpose he could ask for, and after a while it started to be his new way of life.
Holly sat across from him, picking at her plate with her fork. The King had seemed to be the only one with a full belly, scarfing all of his food down with ease.
“I was so impressed by your performance today, Michael!” He said to his son, reaching over and clapping his back with a greasy hand. “You know, you had him pinned down, I didn’t think you were gonna do it, never in a million years. You’re too soft!” He laughed, “But then, when you put the sword over his chest, I knew he was done for!” Now he threw his head back into a fit of laughter, showing everyone the food he had yet to pick out of his teeth. Very unkingly of him.
“Thanks.” Mike whispered, jabbing his turkey leg with his fork.
Nancy kept her hands properly folded in her lap and kept her mouth sewn shut. Maybe this had been for the better. Mike felt as though he would crumble under any pressure right now and he was happy to know he had made at least one person proud.
The Queen diligently wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin, “Holly, sweetie.” She said. Her voice had always been so gentle when she talked to any of her kids, “We heard back from the Sorcerer today.”
The mention of this sorcerer seemed to wipe the smile clean off the King’s face. Now he was quiet. Observing. Jaw clenched and fists balled.
Their mom placed the letter on the table and slid it to her daughter with two fingers. The messenger bird had left the mark of its talons embedded in the paper. A bigger bird, perhaps an owl or raven.
Holly shook with excitement as she unfolded the thick wad of paper, reading the words until her expressionless face beamed with joy brighter than a beacon.
She squealed and leapt from her chair, “I”M GONNA BE A SORCERER!” She shouted, stomping her feet and throwing herself into the Queen’s arms.
Her mom laughed, “You read the rules, though, you have to be on your best behavior and you have to come back on the weekends, okay?”
“Okay, I promise! I’ll be so good. Better than good!” She was biting her lip and even hugged Nancy and Mike while caught in the moment. However, when she went to embrace her father, he gave her a smug stare that made her joy fizzle out. “Uh…” She stammered, “I’m going to go pack with the maids.” and she spun around and left. The doors clanked together and echoed throughout the Great Hall.
They were all silent, the King cast shadows of disapproval upon them all.
One side of Mike felt bad for his sister. It was not her fault she had been marked by the druids when she was an infant. It was not her fault her powers chose her. She was pure and beloved and full of compassion. She didn’t deserve the hatred from her father, but his malice was slightly justifiable.
Years ago, the witches and wizards had suggested that they be in charge, claiming that their powers were strong enough to protect everyone from harm and to provide safety. The humans, of course, denied this, saying that traditional ways worked better. Years and years of bloodshed after bloodshed, one war after another, the sorcerers grew tired and tried to overthrow their kings and queens. Not just one kingdom, but all of them.
Unfortunately for them, they were outnumbered, and when the humans had killed enough of them, they gave in. Sorcerers are sparse now, but gradually returning as time passes. Most kings and queens are still on edge, even though this happened centuries ago.
Most kingdoms banned magic for good. Some were kinder about it, only exiled or sentenced to jail (like Lenora) and others would kill someone on the spot at just the mere suspicion they were a druid. Hawkins, however, had an overwhelming population of sorcerers and decided to keep the peace, or at least try.
But that doesn’t mean they were civil.
“I’d like to speak to my son…” The king said, looking at his daughter and wife, “..alone.” He demanded. They stood, giving their sheepish bows before clearing the room.
Mike could hear his heartbeat. Only moments ago, his father had been boasting about the successful duel, and now there was a chill in the air that made Mike shiver. He didn’t dare speak first.
His father twirled a knife between his finger and the table, watching it spin and carve a tiny hole in the wood until he finally opened his mouth. “Your duel today…” Now he stood up, pushing his chair out from behind him, “You have proved yourself to be quite trustworthy to me.”
“What do you mean trustworthy?” Mike said, trying to sound as respectful as he could.
“You don’t really think I’m going to send my 13 year old daughter to go live with some… magical stranger, do you?” He asked, and Mike gave a sullen nod as he had been taught. He had never been in the presence of a sorcerer that truly wished to cause him harm, but he had always been told that the possibility was there, and that was all he needed. “I don’t trust them. For all I know, they could be planning something right under our noses, and a druid princess would be the perfect way to get their foot in the door.”
Mike pressed his fingers together, “Father, you don’t seriously think they’ll rebel again do you? I mean, look at their numbers compared to ours, there’s a huge diff–”
“It does not matter, Mike!” His father boomed, his voice echoed off the stone walls. “They have severed any trust. Surely, as a Royal, you can understand. This is your legacy on the line, as well as mine.”
His legacy? His legacy was to protect. Nothing else. Know your place. He remembered his father’s words and sighed, “What would I even do?”
“Keep tabs on this Will character. Stay up all night if you have to. I want to know his every move, and if you suspect anything, you report back to me, alright?” His father now paced the floor with his hands behind his back.
Mike hiccuped, “And what if I do find something…out of the ordinary?”
The King stopped his pacing, and for the first time in his life, he thought about his words. “It is our job to keep them in line… by any means necessary.”
Mike swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded just a slight amount. “Fine. I’ll do it.”