Released

Lucian ran his hands through his hair as he hurried to the war room. He couldn’t imagine why they’d be at war again. They weren’t fighting anyone! Of course, he was only 15 and his father deemed that he was too young to have all the details.

He turned the corner just as his black hair was tamed and faced a shock. A girl just a few years younger than him was standing by the door. She had long, scraggly blond hair that fell in her face as she hugged herself. She didn’t look up as he walked closer but he could see a servant’s outfit on her body. She sniffled as he entered the war room.

His father was seated at the table, glaring at the head guard, Jerkin. For his part, Jerkin looked like he felt guilty. He stood with his head bowed and his hands behind his back. When Lucian made his presence known, his father snapped his fingers and pointed at the chair beside him. Lucian scurried to take his place.

“Tell me again,” his father said in a cold voice.

“Your highness,” the guard began.

“Tell me again,” he repeated with a snap.

Jerkin sighed, rolling his eyes a little. “I thought she was thieving,” he said. “So, I told her to stop. She said she wasn’t doing it. We’ve had so many servants lying! How can we protect you if those within your castle don’t tell the truth!?” he rambled. The king narrowed his eyes so he cleared his throat and continued. “I told her that, if she kept it up, I’d teach her a lesson. I don’t know what the big deal is. Her mum was dying anyway.”

“And was she stealing?”

Jerkin shuffled his feet.

“No.”

Lucian gaped at the guard. “Wait. You killed her mother?” he asked and the head guard shot him a glare that the king missed.

“Instead of consulting me,” the king said in a quiet voice, “he took matters into his own hands. Now, not only do we have terrified servants, we have a little girl to deal with.”

“Just take her on the staff,” Lucian said with a shrug. “We have many orphans.”

The king arched a brow at him. “Use your brains, Lucian,” he snapped. “In just a few years, she’ll be a young woman. A young woman whose mother was unjustly killed! She’ll want revenge. No. She’ll be going to the orphanage.”

“She’s too old,” one of their advisors said.

“How old is she?” Lucian asked.

“Thirteen.”

The king rolled his eyes. “Then it’s to the dungeons with her.”

“Wait,” Lucian said quickly. “That will just make it worse.”

“Do you have a better idea?” his father snapped.

Lucian thought for a second. “Kindness,” he said. “Set up a room for her at the inn. We can pay for the room for a month or two, help her get a job, and then let her be.”

“Set her free?” the head guard said incredulously. “Are you mad, boy!?”

“Don’t talk to my son like that,” the king snapped and the guard lowered his head again. He studied Lucian for a moment. “Very well. You will be the one in charge of it, though. I have matters to take care of today.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucian said and they all stood.

Jerkin followed his father out and Lucian frowned. He highly doubted the guard would be punished accordingly. He sighed and straightened his shirt before going out to the young girl in the hall. He smiled at her but she still didn’t look at him. Instead, she sniffled again.

“What’s your name?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Persephone,” she whispered but didn’t take his hand.

“Well, Persephone, I’m proud to be the one to tell you that you’re free.”

Her head snapped up to look at him finally. She seemed flabbergasted.

“I’m not in trouble?” she asked, her crystal blue eyes wide.

“Of course not. You did nothing wrong. Just the opposite, in fact.” He smiled some more and she blushed. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Come let’s gather your belongings.”

“I don’t have any,” she mumbled and let him lead her out. “He burned ‘em all when he thought I was still lying.”

Lucian sighed and got one of his winter cloaks. She spluttered and tried to reject it but he put it around her thin shoulders regardless. It was too cold out there; there was no way her servant’s dress would keep her warm. They walked into the cold morning, Lucian trying to get her to talk to him.

The inn was far down the street and people stopped to stare. She lowered her head even more and he rubbed her back a little. He knew what it was like to lose a mother to murder, having lost his at the hands of an assassin just five years ago. It confused him, therefore, why his father wasn’t doing more about it. He didn’t think on it too much, though, as they entered the inn.

It was warm and smelled heavily of beer and body odor. Men were laughing loudly at the tables, prostitutes leaning against the more expensively dressed ones. A few men nearby were eyeing Persephone and he pushed her onward, not wanting to give them an opportunity to even think about her in that way.

“Morning, Ongar,” he said with a smile and the innkeeper stared.

“Your majesty,” he returned. “What brings you here?”

“I need to set up a room for this young lady,” he said and Persephone looked at him in shock.

“Oh? For how long?”

“Two months,” he answered. “And maybe you can take her on your staff? It could pay for her future rent.”

Ongar turned his gaze to Persephone. “You have any skills?”

“I can cook and clean,” she said in a tiny voice. “I don’t have any clothes, though.”

Something in Ongar’s eyes softened and he nodded a little.

“I’ll take care o’ that,” Ongar said. “Oi! Milly!” A busty woman stuck her head out of the back. “Take this pretty girl up to the staff rooms. Get her comfy.”

Milly smiled at the girl. Persephone started to hand him his cloak back but he held his hand up.

“I have many like it. Good luck,” he whispered and she looked at him again before following the woman up the stairs.

After signing all the appropriate documents and paying Ongar, he left. He lifted his collar to the wind, deep in thought. When he returned to the palace, he nearly ran into one of their scribes.

“Thank goodness,” the scribe breathed and grabbed his elbow.

“What’s wrong?” Lucian asked as he was dragged up the stairs.

“Your father has taken a fall while you were out,” he said and Lucian paled. “The physician is with him now but…. Well, it’s not looking good, your highness.”

Lucian pushed the scribe’s hand off of him and ran the rest of the way to his father’s room. He gulped. His father was in his bed, his neck bent at a strange angle. He was making a weird grunting noise as the physician tried to help him.

“L-Lucian,” his father grunted and Lucian rushed to his side, ignoring the physician. “I-I am dying.”

“Don’t try to talk,” Lucian whispered sadly.

It was obvious to everyone in the room that King Bartholomew was on his deathbed. Lucian just wished he could be more comfortable.

“How did he fall?” he whispered to the physician.

“No one knows,” the physician whispered back. “He had to be at some height for his neck to be broken like this. That or he was attacked.”

The thought sent a shot of panic through Lucian and he turned to his father.

“Is that what happened?” he asked. “Were you attacked?”

“L-Lucian,” he rasped. “D-Do better.”

Lucian sighed and took his father’s hand. “I will,” he said.

“Take-Take it.”

Lucian slid the sigil ring off of his father’s finger and put it on his own. The king managed one more smile before the life left his body. Lucian shut his eyes painfully as the physician pulled the sheets over the late king’s head. People murmured their apologies and filed out. Once the room was empty and the door shut, Lucian stood and looked at his father’s covered body.

“I don’t know if you’re in Heaven or Hell,” he said, “but I hope you’ve found some peace.” He looked at his ring. “I will do better than you. I promise.”