The King

Nathaniel sighed quietly to himself as he gazed out the castle window from his chamber. The sky was a dark, looking gray, heavy clouds blocking out the sun and threatening rain. He’d quite easily say that the weather matched the gloom that had been covering the castle for quite some time. Ever since Bartholomew had taken the throne, it seemed everything had fallen to despair. And not just in the castle; the kingdom was suffering as well.

Ever since the Renegades had come out of hiding, there was less food and clean water to go around for everyone else. They frequently stole goods from the merchants, and did so quite openly The population was slowly beginning to drop throughout the kingdom as a famine grew closer and closer to reality.

Resting his head in his hand, Nathaniel watched as the first few drops of rain fell, thinking of how fortunate they were to top off their dwindling water supply.

“NATHANIEL!”

The voice echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls. Nathaniel felt his heart sink into his stomach at the sound, knowing he was being summoned. Standing, he hastily made his way out of his chambers and down the stone corridor. He knew if he wasted any time, he would be punished, and quite possibly severely.

Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Nathaniel made it to the king’s throne room. Perched in a rather slumped and casual manner in such a regal position as a throne was Bartholomew, twirling the king’s crown around a finger. A pair of guards flanked either side of him.

“Yes, Bartholomew?” he asked, bowing slightly as he stopped before him.

“How many times need I remind you, Nathaniel. It’s King Bartholomew,” the man hissed. Gritting his teeth Nathaniel looked up at his superior.

“Yes… Your Majesty,” he corrected, though it pained him in his heart to do so.

“Much better. I demand of you your entertainment.”

Nathaniel grumbled, though such a request had grown to become commonplace.

“Shall I make a jest for you, sire?”

“Hmm…no. I’m afraid your jests have unfortunately run dry. I’d like for you to play me something on your flute,” Bartholomew said smugly, smirking down at the man whose position had been lessened to ‘servant’.

Nathaniel nodded, pulling his pan flute from his pocket. Bringing the instrument to his lips he readied himself.

“While dancing,” Bartholomew suddenly added, and Nathaniel could hear the guards on either side of Bartholomew begin to laugh. Sighing, he nodded, knowing he had no other choice. Without a word he began to play, kicking his feet up in time with the tune. He kept it simple, not daring to waste more of his time toward looking ridiculous.

Nathaniel felt foolish, dancing around for the ‘king’ and his men like that. He didn’t particularly enjoy being laughed at. He couldn’t help but think back to the way things used to be, when he held a place of importance for the kingdom. Soon, he felt himself growing short of breath.

“I would never have to do this if Brian were still the king,’ he muttered to himself after pulling the flute from his lips to take a breath.

“What?!” Bartholomew growled, putting his hand out for Nathaniel to stop. “What was that?”

“Nothing! I… I…” Nathaniel stuttered, but he knew he had been heard.

“You know the law. Never, ever, mention that name in my presence. I am the king. Guards! Please, take this man out of my sight. I think a night in the dungeons ought to do him some good,’ Bartholomew spat, his lips curling into an ugly grin.

“No, please, I-“ Nathaniel began to frantically say, but the guards had already grabbed him by the arms, dragging him out of the throne room to his temporary fate.

At that same moment, Lyndsey appeared in the doorway a platter of food in her hands. Her eyes locked with Nathaniel’s as he was dragged away down the corridor. She could see him pleading through his eyes to do something, anything to help him. Lyndsey wished she could have helped; but there was nothing she could have done.

Silently, Lyndsey entered the throne room. Even after two years the feeling of greedy male eyes on her caused her skin to crawl. She didn’t like the way the Renegades looked her over, as if she was nothing more than the slab of meat on the platter before her.

“Your dinner, Your Highness,” she said quietly, curtseying as she held the platter out to Bartholomew, her head bowed. She felt the weight taken from her head and barely looked up to see him begin his feast.

It disgusted Lyndsey to serve such a full and gluttonous meal to Bartholomew. He always had the finest of cured meats, luscious fruits, and the most tender of vegetables. Here he was, perched upon a stolen throne, eating enough food for three people, when the rest of the kingdom was on the brink of starvation.

“Well you be requiring anything else, sire?” Lyndsey then asked, as was her duty as a servant.

“No. You may leave,” Bartholomew sneered through a mouthful of lamb. Nodding, Lyndsey turned and made her way to the door, where the two Renegade guards were standing watch. They’d cleaned up considerably since coming to power, but the sight of them still repulsed her. And how could they have not? Lyndsey wasn’t sure how else to look at them; the men who had come into her home and destroyed everything.

As she made her way through the door, she felt one of the men grab her rear, giving it a rough squeeze. The act sickened her, but once more where was nothing she could have done. She had to brush off things like that without batting an eyelash. Trying to blink back the tears she felt coming, Lyndsey quickly left making her way back down the corridor from where she had come. She headed out to the balcony over the lower courtyard, despite the fact that it had begun raining not too long ago. When she stepped out into the light, she was saddened to see the storm had been quick in both its arrival and departure. This disheartened Lyndsey – they could have really used the water.

Leaning out on the railing of the balcony and gazing at the empty and overgrown courtyard below, Lyndsey sighed, reflecting back on the previous two years and how much her life had changed. She wasn’t finding her new life of servitude to be very enjoyable, and she wondered what she’d be doing, right there in that very moment, had King Brian never been killed… had her Brian never been killed.

She missed him terribly. There wasn’t a day that had gone by where Lyndsey didn’t think of the young prince. Though she felt compelled to remind herself that Brian wouldn’t have just been a ‘young’ prince. He’d have grown, the same as she, to be the eighteen-year-old adult she always tried to imagine him as. Lyndsey tried to remember the curve of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the exact color of Brian’s eyes. But her memories of him were fading with time. It seemed ages had passed since the night she and Brian had been seated together, alone, in that very same courtyard she was perched above now. She remembered how they were just seconds from their kiss before the night changed for the worse, changing her life forever.

Lyndsey wondered if, had things been different, she and Brian would be together. They could have perhaps even been married, if their parents allowed it. She didn’t know how Brian had felt for her then, at sixteen, but Lyndsey knew deep in her heart that she loved him from the day they met. And she knew somewhere, even though he was gone, that she stilled loved him even then.

But the more she thought about it, the more Lyndsey wondered. There’d been no talk of Brian’s body when he was supposedly found dead. No mention of where he was found that night, nothing. And as much as she knew she shouldn’t, for she’d just be getting her hopes up in the end, Lyndsey sometimes toyed with the idea that maybe Brian had escaped. That he’d run away to escape the darkness that was about to fall upon the castle that night two years ago. That maybe, somewhere, Brian was trying to find his way back home, his way back to her…

“Lyndsey,” she heard a voice call from behind her. Lyndsey jumped, being startled from so deep in her thoughts. Turning she came face to face with her mother.

“Yes?”

“You mustn’t linger here long. If anyone catches you not doing your job…” her mother trailed off, not wanting to finish the statement or think of what might happen to her daughter.

“I know,” Lyndsey answered, looking back out at the kingdom from her place on the balcony, her mother resting a hand on her shoulder. “Mother?” she asked.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Sometimes, I wonder… And I entertain myself with the thought that, maybe Brian is alive. Maybe he is safe somewhere, and will one day come back to save us from this Hell,” she said, her voice hardly over a whisper. Her mother let out a heavy breath, squeezing Lyndsey’s shoulder.

“As much as I wish it were possible, we mustn’t burden our minds with such fantasies. It will only making living so much harder, and such a real disappointment.”

Nodding, Lyndsey moved away from the stone rail, letting her mother lead her back into the castle.