The wooden training swords clashed, fighting for dominance. I was barely focusing on the match. My opponent is not even good enough for me to apply myself. The little duke could not even hold a candle to me. And by the Judge, even that was a generous comparison. Having grown tired of this farce, I decided to end it with a single blow. The young duke moved forward with bullish intent. His sword hand was tense, as if every one of his actions lacked fluidity. I watched as his chest tightened and followed his eyes to predict the blow.
A single step to the side caused him to miss and overextend his arm. While his momentum carried him forward, the tip of my wooden blade smacked against his ankle, making him fall and stumble. Before he even had a chance to get up, the dull edge of the wooden blade was already at his throat. "Do ye yield?" A range of emotions flashed across the duke's face. From confusion, to anger, and finally shame. Grabbing my hand, I helped him to his feet.
"It is still not enough. Your skill and genius continue to amaze me, mi'lord." The duke bowed before leaving the courtyard. I released a tired sigh, watching the receding back of the duke.
"Could you not have finished sooner?" My annoyed little brother, Eliah, asked. He stood in the shade at the edge of the courtyard. His auburn hair and pale skin are in stark contrast to the opulent marble with gold accents of the palace.
"I could have. But, it was not worth breaking his confidence over a few extra minutes of free time." Walking up to my sickly little brother, I caught him in a powerful embrace before ruffling his hair.
"Hey! Stop that. This is unbecoming of the crown prince!" Eliah yelled with indignation.
Finally letting him go, I stared into his eyes with a mock serious expression. "Don't I get enough of that from father and his concubines?"
"Speaking of father, he requests your presence in the throne room." Eliah watched me with worry in his eyes. Father rarely spoke to us, always too busy running the kingdom. The fact that he wanted to speak to me was strange.
With a nod to my little brother, I began making my way to the throne room. Everything in the palace was far too gaudy for my taste. If it was not gold, then it was either made of silver or platinum. I still remember walking through the former palace of Aevar the Terrible. His palace was made of stone with not a single piece of gold in sight. Even his crown had been made of stone. That utilitarianism made me jealous of my ancestor. Taking in a breath to collect myself, I opened the door to the throne room.
Rays of light all congregated on the golden throne on a raised dias. Giving it an ethereal, almost divine look. And on the golden throne sat one of the most insufferable men I had the displeasure of meeting, my father. Gourmand Alexander Orian was a fool of a man. Any one of his brothers would have been a better pick to rule. But unfortunately, what he lacked in human decency, he more than made up for it in courtly intrigue. He single-handedly caused the death of twelve of his siblings,s securing his position as king.
"Ah, if it isn't my favourite son." His raspy voice was already working on my nerves. King Avory sat reclined on his throne while a maid fed him grapes and refilled his wine. My jaw clenched as I held my false smile.
"Hello, father." The word left a sour taste in my mouth.
His eyes were not even trained on me. Instead, his focus remained on the maids clevage. He even groped her backside before continuing to speak. In my mind, he was the definition of scum. "I spoke to the Fens. You are to marry their daughter, Yasmina."
Oh god anyone but her. I knew Yasmina all too well. She was an ugly little thing. Not in terms of looks, some might even say she was passably beautiful. No, I meant in terms of personality. She had a disturbing hobby of torturing peasants before making them kill each other. It was an open secret in court life. But considering her father was one of the strongest Arch Dukes of the kingdom, no one did anything about it. Even if I hated his decision, there was nothing I could do to resist. I just lowered my head and agreed with this farce.
"Oh yeah. Eliah is turning seventeen this summer. It seems the time has come for that cripple to do something useful. The Aclidian accords need someone to fill the gap. He will be sent to the fourth crusade. Hmmn, yes, at least his death will bring honor to the family." He said it as if thinking out loud. But this bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how much I loved my brother; he just loved angering me. Showing me just how powerless I truly was. All I could do was clench my fists until they turned white.
"Is that all, father?" My voice was strained as I controlled my anger.
"Yes, you may leave." He waved me off before grabbing the maid and putting her on his lap. I did not see the rest as I had already turned and left this cursed room. My thoughts raced as I tried to come up with a solution. The Aclidian accords were a treaty signed by the royal family and the church. The church was the highest authority within the kingdom, higher even than my father's position. The accords stated that at least one member of the royal family had to be a part of the church in every generation. An idea began forming in my head while returning to my room. It would have to wait until the dead of the night. But not even my father would dare stand against the church. They did not particularly care who in the royal family joined, just as long as one did.
But if I join the crusade, then the only ones who can affect my life would be the clergy. A far lesser evil compared to my fathers tyrany.
—-
I awoke in shock. My heart beating like a drum, and tears are streaming down my face. The memory was like a knife to my heart. As long-suppressed emotions bubbled to the surface. My arms were numb from the rope bindings keeping me hanging on the wooden log. The deep gashes on my chest had already scabbed over. Just breathing brought almost unbearable pain from the wound. But nothing hurt more than the memory I was forced to relive. I had hardly thought of those days in the eighteen years of my new life. Yet it felt like I was being confronted. The man in the mirror was not Drakkus, but a young and hopeful Aristotle. How foolish I had been back then.
My eyes trailed upward, staring at the full moon as melancholy consumed me.