The King

“Come on,” Brian whispered to himself as he used the tip of his sword in the lock of the door. He had spent the better half of thirty minutes trying to pry his way out of his bedchambers. He had thought briefly about escaping through the window, but it was a useless idea. Brian’s window was far too high above the ground, nothing but the tops of trees there to break his fall, which would prove perilous. And so the only feasibly means of the prince’s escape was if he were able to break the lock from the inside.

The top of the sword twisted in the old iron keyhole, barely giving way. Grunting as he grit his teeth in frustration, Brian jiggled the sword in the lock a bit harder, trying to somehow loosen the inner workings of the door. Finally hearing a click Brian quickly turned the knob, the chamber door falling open easily.

Sword at the ready, the prince stepped cautiously into the hall, ready for anything to come at him. The quiet calmness that surrounded Brian made his stomach flip over, a dread filling him. It was too quiet, too settled. Something inside Brian’s conscience told him something was wrong. He needed to find his father, and fast.

Figuring the king had headed back to the ballroom Brian turned in that direction, moving quickly down the hall. Panic filled his veins, urging him into a run, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Upon reaching the grand staircase, Brian realized why everything had fallen so quiet. The siege was seemingly over. The Renegades were nowhere in sight, but that didn’t make the appearance of the grand, glittering room any easier to bear. The kingdom had suffered great tragedies, thirty or so bodies lying crumbled on the granite of the floor. Blood spattered the brilliant gold stones, shining in the light of the chandelier that seemed to be slowly swinging back and forth.

Closing his eyes Brian turned away. He wasn’t sure where everyone had gone off to, and part of him didn’t want to look for any of them in fear of what he may find. And so the prince continued his initial search for his father. The same small part of him seemed to tell him in the back of his head that what he would find would not be comforting. After all, the king would have come for him if the battle was over, would he not?

Head down as his mind raged on, Brian turned into the throne room, hoping his father would be there, something important having distracted him from freeing the prince from his confines. But when Brian lifted his gaze, his heart stopped in his chest, breath catching in his lungs.

The image of the king, his father, slumped back in the glittering, bejeweled throne was enough to make Brian sick with dread.

“Father!” he called out as he rushed to the king’s side, dropping his sword. But the king remained silent and still, eyes glazed over as he stared ahead. “Father, please wake up,” Brian pleaded, though he wasn’t quite sure to whom. As he shook his father, trying to coax him from his frozen stupor, Brian knew in his heart that his father was dead. The king had passed. But admitting it out loud would only force him to recognize the death, to realize that it had really happened.

Unashamed of what he did next, Brian knelt at the side of the throne, his father’s hand in his own, and tears slowly began to fall as the prince openly wept.

Little known to him, Bartholomew had silently watched the prince enter the throne room, quietly following him. He saw Brian’s sword lying carelessly on the marble floor, blood that was already on the floor staining the shining metal, and an evil gleam twinkled in his eyes. His plan was falling perfectly into place.

“Brian…what have you done?” he asked quietly with an audible gasp, gently picking up the prince’s tainted word. Startled, Brian picked his head up, eyes wide as he noticed the intruder. His rapidly beating heart slowly calmed itself as he recognized the face of his uncle. He could see both pain and chock in his uncle’s eyes, and when he saw his newly bloodied sword in Bartholomew’s hands, the prince quickly stood.

“I didn’t do it!” he cried, eyes already swollen and tired. “I didn’t! I found him like this. He…he…” Brian sniffled, “…tried to save me. I didn’t mean for—if only I had helped.” Brian felt slightly embarrassed to have his uncle see him in such a vulnerable state, but given the matter Brian only put on a brave front and wiped away the tears flowing down his flushed cheeks.

“Of course not,” Bartholomew said with a click of his tongue. Stepping closer to the prince, he held his arm out in a gesture of comfort. “No one ever means for these sorts of things to happen.”

Sniffling, Brian let his uncle pull him under his arm. The feeling of being close to family soothed him.

“But the king is dead,” Bartholomew chastised. “And if it weren’t for you, the castle wouldn’t have been invaded, and he would still be alive.”

Eyes growing tired from tears, Brian sniffled once more and looked up. “I don’t know what to do.”

“The king’s blood is on your hands…his blood on your very sword. If word of this spreads, the entire kingdom will think you killed him in order to steal the throne,” Bartholomew said, watching as Brian’s eyes widened in fear. He knew the prince was eating up every word he said. “There’s only one thing you can do.”

“What?”

“You must leave the kingdom. You can never return here, else you will be beheaded for treason and murder.”

“I can’t leave…” Brian cried out. “This…the castle…the kingdom is my home.”

“You must leave, and you must do it quickly, before the break of dawn,” Bartholomew urged. “I will tell no one what has happened here.”

Nodding, Brian took one last look at his father’s dead body, looking back up at his uncle, who handed him his sword and gently pushed him toward the door.

And without another look back at the life he was leaving behind, the prince slipped out into the hall, making his way out of the castle.