He wanted to speak to his father, although lately that was no easy task. He paced back and forth, waiting for the royal advisor and the king's right-hand man to grant him permission to exchange words with His Majesty.
"Your Highness, you should be in Bleddyn," said Gregory, his voice heavy with formality.
"You said it, Gregory, my friend. I should," the young man replied ironically, his eyes flashing with defiance. "I saw Andreas leave with the royal guard. Will they continue to massacre the gypsies? Isn't it enough to reduce them to nothing?" asked the red-haired teenager, visibly upset.
A tall man with ash-blond hair entered the hall. He wore a golden crown, and his black clothing was adorned with golden ornaments. His presence imposed a tense silence in the room.
"Gregory, prepare the prince's carriage and his escort..."
"I already told you I won't go with Captain Rutden! The Duchy of Bleddyn has nothing interesting, and Dominic is a tyrant. I will not be a soldier, I will not raise my sword against any innocent person, Darius," the prince said defiantly to his father, his voice resonating with a mixture of rebellion and despair.
His son's arrogance exceeded his patience. The king sat down on the throne, his movements slow and calculated, and gestured to two guards who approached, awaiting orders.
"Hold my son and don't let him go until we reach Bleddyn. And please, let Dominic train him as he pleases; I don't want any preferential treatment because he's a prince," said the monarch, clearly tired of the boy's insolence. "I'm not asking if you want to go or not. This is an order—not from your father, but from your king. Understood, Damien?"
Damien glared at his father, fury burning in his eyes. He struggled with both guards, but the soldiers held him firmly.
"Damn you, let me go!" exclaimed the young man, his voice echoing through the hall as his red hair became even more disheveled.
Gregory returned to the king to report that everything was in order for the trip. He found the future king being hauled off like cargo by King Darius' guards. The contempt in Damien's eyes was palpable as he exchanged glances with the advisor.
"Have a good trip, Your Highness," said Gregory, waving his hand goodbye with a mocking smile.
"Go to hell, Greg!" growled the red-haired prince as he was led away by the escorts, consumed by helplessness and rage at the injustice.
The echo of the guards' boots reverberated through the hall, a sound that seemed to mark the rhythm of dread.
"Sir, if I may offer some advice, young Damien is a rude brat. Lord Dominic will set that boy on the right path. Don't worry," said the thin, monocled sycophant, his voice soft and unnerving.
"Gregory, my son is just an immature boy who shirks his responsibilities. The only thing that makes me think he will lead Alkarya on the right path is his sense of justice. Damien has no idea of the cruelty that lies beyond the walls of Aldremir," replied the king, his gaze lost on the horizon, reflecting on the uncertain future of his son and his kingdom.
The guards led Damien out of the throne room, each step sounding like a hammer blow. The young prince knew that his journey to Bleddyn would not only be a test of his strength, but also of his will and sense of justice.
⋯ ❈ ⋯
Winter had blanketed everything in white. Lluvia hoped the firewood would arrive soon—the cold was relentless.
Stepping outside, she spotted three small children arguing. Seeing them alone, a knot of worry tightened in her stomach.
Bastian was helping his sisters down from the horse when Lluvia rushed over to assist.
"Where is your father?" she asked. Her son's calm expression offered some reassurance, but she repeated, "Children, where is your father?" as she reached for the firewood in the saddlebags.
"Dad told me to bring my sisters. Melibeth was cold."
"That's right, Mother. Melody lent me her gloves," added the little girl, sliding off the horse.
"Daughter, if you forgot your gloves, of course you were going to be cold…"
Lluvia fell silent. A plume of smoke rose in the distance, followed by a loud noise. Her body tensed.
"Children, inside. Now."
She didn't need to explain. Melody obeyed, but halfway to the cabin, her siblings stopped her.
"Are you crazy, Mel?!" Bastian shouted, grabbing his impetuous sister.
"But our mother, she—"
"She'll be fine, Mel. It's probably the royal guard. You know King Darius doesn't like gypsies. He shows it whenever he can," said Melibeth, gently taking her twin's hand.
She was right. The indigo guard sometimes entered Celestia, and some only came to loot what little food the village had.
"Let go of me."
"Fine—but only if you promise to go into the cabin without making a fuss."
Bastian released her. She entered the cabin, frustrated by the injustice. The crunch of snow beneath her boots and the biting wind scraping her skin only deepened the sense of urgency and danger.