Chapter One: Second best
I was born a year after Gregory, so I was placed in the second best cradle. It made out of fine, finished oak—much more luxurious than anything a wee commoner in Glenn would be able to manage—but it was smaller than Gregory's.
Being thirteen months older than I, Gregory was in line for the throne and I—I was destined to become the duke of inhabited lands, forgotten in the pages of dull history.
The difference between Gregory and me startled even our parents. My brother inherited my father's impressing stature and my mother's good looks. He was six foot five with golden hair and large blue eyes. All my mother's ladies in waiting were constantly ogling him. As for me, the unimpressive, scrawny little git I was, my muscles were non-existent; I barely reached five foot seven. My dark hair and gray eyes did nothing to better my pale, sallow complexion. I didn't even look like a prince, and Gregory wouldn't let me forget it. It wasn't exactly a surprise that my mother played favorites with us. My father's sympathy for me was obvious to many. The great King Nicholas ruled our kingdom of Glenn as best as he could, even with my mother hissing instructions into his ears half the time. She knew my father had a soft spot for me, and it would worry her greatly.
My mother's name was Clarisse Marie, and her reputation was not a pleasant one. Rumor-ridden whispers floated about in the court that I was not a legitimate son of the king, and this only made her despise me even more. Father would not even entertain the notion. "William is my son, it's plain if you just look at him," he would say. I never believed him. My mother used this excuse to keep me indoors as often as she could. She banned me from social occasions, saying a king's second son was not to be seen or heard. She died when I was sixteen, freeing me from my horrible days during the game of "Let's pick on Will".
Not that any of this mattered to me. Who cared if I was a bastard child or not? I found grand balls stifling and the members of my father's court unbearable. I'd seen enough of the ladies of the court simpering after Gregory to know that I would never chase after one of them. Out of sight, I was fine. I could wander as I pleased when I got older. The wood behind our castle was an excellent place to amble through and disappear for hours at a time, much to Gregory's chagrin. I, however, was enchanted by the creatures of the woods.
Wood sprites, devilish creatures they are, and they had no qualms about Gregory. With the wood sprites and their mischief, I was not the second-class son of the good king. No, I was another foolish human intruding upon their domain. But I wasn't stupid. I knew how to set traps, talk to the wood sprites, and trick them into rebelling against their king. My first encounter with the wood sprites occurred when I stumbled upon their tree dwelling a few weeks into my venturing into the woods. The sun was hiding behind the clouds that day, and father had warned me not to stray too far. He and Gregory were fencing in the weapons arena, and I'd gotten tired of watching. With a bow over my shoulder, and arrows at my waist, I'd set out to take part in my latest adventure. In the midst of the wood, the cooing of birds and the squeaking of the squirrels came to a halt. I was faced with a sound I'd never heard in the woods before. Complete silence. I could hear my footsteps walking along. I stopped to survey what had happen. Suddenly, before I even realized what was happening several tiny darts zoomed past my head. One of them plunged into my shoulder.
"CURSE KING LEOPOLD!" I swore, crouching down, clutching my shoulder. I peered up to see my attacker, but somehow he remained inconspicuous behind the masses of trees. Plucking out the dart from my shoulder, I sensed danger and reached for my bow.
"I wouldn' do that if I were yeh," said a tinny voice. Immediately, it was apparent that my attacker wasn't at all human. There was a certain ring to the voice, as if every decibel was echoing against a wall.
"Show yourself!" I bellowed, channeling Gregory's roughness. I heard tinkling laughter.
"I like this one, Ceannaire," another voice said. It was much more high pitched than the first, "It's puffin' out its chest like it's brave an' all!" I deflated at the comment and heard more tinkling laughter. Thinking the voices were coming from above me, I looked up.
I saw them; small little sprites, with green skin and pointed ears sitting on the highest branches of the tallest trees. Some of them were sticking their heads out of holes in the trunks of the trees. Then, I saw the two sprites that had been talking. They were the closest to the ground, but quite out of reach. They were floating in the direction the darts had come from.
"Y-you're sprites!" I said. One of the sprites, with a ridiculous acorn hat laughed and I recognized it as the one that was mocking me.
"Bright one, isn' he?" it chuckled.
"Be quiet, Lotnaidí," growled the other sprite. It had a more authoritative look about him, but that didn't mean there wasn't a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You've trespassed into sprite territory, human."
"Oh, I don't think it knows that," said Lotnaidí, waving the other sprite off, "Who knows if it can even understand our language?"
"I can understand you just fine!" I said, feeling a little outrage. Then, it seemed that the sprites really looked at me.
"It can understand us, Ceannaire!" Lotnaidí hissed. I was extremely puzzled at their behavior. The one called Ceannaire floated over to me and said:
"You understand the sacred language of the Spiorad Crann. You must possess dark magic for no human has ever been a kin to the Spiorad Crann. We do not like the dark magic, no we do not."
This time I was truly offended. "I possess no such thing!" I said, "Do you know who I am? If you did, I doubt you would be speaking to me that way. My father owns the very lands which you dwell on."
"Oh really?" said Lotnaidí, "Then how come he don' know we're here?"
"You the king's boy?" Ceannaire said quietly.
"Yes," I said, finally feeling an inkling of relief. Perhaps, they wouldn't hurt me now that they knew I was royalty. Finally the annoying occurrence of being related to them would pay off.
"If we held him ransom, we could get a good amount from the king," said Lotnaidí.
Or not.
"Don't be ridiculous, Lotnaidí, he isn't the important one. I'd seen the other one. He's mighty impressive," said Ceannaire. My hopes fell. Here I was in the realm of woodland creatures, overshadowed by my brother once again.
"If by impressive you mean a strong resemblance to a blue-eyed ox," said Lotnaidí, "Rat's kidney, Ceannaire, look at the thing. It's got some amount of brains on it. I reckon, human," he turned to me, "We could do a bit o' business."
"What kind of business?" I inquired, somewhat interested in what he had to say. I noticed most of the others had retreated to their tree homes because not another one was in sight.
"Why don' we take yeh to our king, merry good lad," said Lotnaidí with an inkling of bitterness in his voice, "He'd be interested to know that you speak our tongue." In some ways, what Lotnaidí was offering was obviously a trap. I didn't have one ounce of trust in him. Then again, what did it matter? They weren't going take me for ransom. They knew where I stood in importance with the family. There would be no squandering the family fortune to help Will out of trouble. Let him rot, they'd say. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I went with Lotnaidí and Ceannaire. They led me to the base of the oldest oak tree I'd ever seen. There, under the roots was a hole that looked like I could fit through it. The two sprites flew into the hole.
"C'mon, human!" said Lotnaidí, "Don't be takin' yer sweet time." So, reluctantly, I slid into the hole and disappeared into the darkness.
The sprite underground was not what I expected. Instead of a dusty mine, I fell onto the floor of white marble. Scrambling up, I found myself in a palace. Around me were columns of white statues sculpted with fine detail. At one end of the enormous hall was a throne of pure silver. The other end of the hall had a solid black throne that did not look inviting at all. On the silver throne sat a fat little sprite with an enormous mustache the color of dead rotting leaves. On his head was a crown made of twigs and sapphires.
"We found it wandering 'round these parts," said Ceannaire, "It can speak our tongue." The fat sprite, assumed to be the king of sprites, did not look impressed.
"Why did you bring it here?" it asked, a step away from yawning.
"I thought you might find it interes—"
"Ugh, the human is ugly," the sprite king said, waving his hand in a bored manner, "Imprison it. Rith. I want it dead by tomorrow morning."
"Now, wait just a minute!" I interrupted, "If you don't want me here, I'll gladly leave. There's no need to kill me."
A nasty smiled twisted into the face of the sprite king. "But what's the fun in letting you go?" With that he snapped his fingers, and vines sprouted from the white marble floors and bound my limbs. "Imprison the thing, and then get rid of it. Turn it into a tree or something. I don't care how you do it." Ceannaire and Lotnaidí looked pained. They obviously hadn't intended to get me killed. With their woodland magic, the managed to float me off the ground. It was humiliating, being escorted by two tiny sprites the size of a kitten. They led me out of the throne room and through a dark, grimy hall.
"Sorry 'bout this, human," said Lotnaidí, "Guess the king's not up fer an audience today."
"So you're really going to kill me?" I said, trying not to sound as terrified as I felt. Ceannaire grimaced for a while. He and Lotnaidí exchanged a look.
"Well, orders are orders, human. You've grown on us though."
"Why is your king such a fop?" I ventured. Hey, if I was a dead man, I was having a jab at the thing that condemned me. Lotnaidí grinned savagely.
"If we got a choice in who was king, then Adhmaid wouldn't be on that throne at all, would he, Ceannaire?" whispered Lotnaidí. Another sprite joined our march to wherever they were taking me. It wasn't so much a march since we were floating, but I likened it to a march of death.
"Wha's this? Talkin' bad 'bout the king?" it said gleefully, "I wanna join."
"This is Geansaí," said Ceannaire, "Geansaí, this is the human Adhmaid's told us to kill." Geansaí tsked for a bit, sizing me up. I decided that I liked him because he had a kind sort of look in his eyes, like he wasn't plotting to gut me like a fish.
"Shame to waste a life, even a human," Geansaí said, "Adhmaid, that obnoxious loaf, is a fool for doing this. Abusin' his rights."
"Ain't that the truth! Killin' humans without even letting us watch? Taxing us for our acorns? Who knows what other preposterous things he'll impose on our lot?" roared another sprite that came from nowhere. Before I knew what was happening, a mass of sprites had gathered around me talking down the King Adhmaid.
"Lazy, selfish—"
"Banned squirrel killing for pleasure so he can hoard them all—"
"Forcin' my daughter to marry his brother—"
"Imprisonin' my brother for killin' his son—"
Finally, I realized the ticket to my freedom.
"If he's such a fool, then why don't you de-throne him?" I asked boldly. Ceannaire gave me a reprimanding look, as if I was so naïve.
"The only way to overthrow a sprite king is to get him to sit on the black throne."
"Yes, yes, it's used when the king is forced to hand over his power. He must sit on the black throne and his all-yielding power will be transferred to the sprite sitting on the silver throne. It's called the thabhairtcumhachta: transfer of power."
"If you'd unbind me," I said, "I could help you."
"How do we know yer not just sayin' that? What do yeh know about de-thronin' kings, eh? " demanded Ceannaire.
"You have the prince's word, gentlem—sprites. I am the son of a king. I know a thing or two about a backstabbing parliament," I said smiling. Reluctantly, the sprites weighed their losses and wins and decided to let me go. Apparently they hated Adhmaid more than they distrusted me. I also overheard them agreeing to slit my throat if I toed the line. Very comforting.
"Greetings, King Adhmaid!" I said from the entryway of the throne room. I entered it, smiling like a maniac. This was it. Win or die. Adhmaid glared at me with his beady eyes and tried to shift his fat body toward my direction.
"YOU!" he bellowed.
"Me," I said lamely.
"You should be in prison! CEANNAIRE! LOTNAIDI!" His green little face was turning blue from the screaming he was doing. My presence seemed to upset him.
"Adhmaid, you are a sorry excuse for a king," I said, inspecting my fingernails.
"The amount of power I have could blow you up, human! I COULD MAKE YOU DISINTEGRATE ON THE SPOT."
"Granted, talk is cheap, but do you know what I can do?" I said. I sauntered over to the black throne. Adhmaid's eyes widened in surprise. I threatened to sit on the throne. I hoped it didn't come to that because it was about half the size of my backside.
"I, great king, can sit on this throne, while you cannot."
"Oh, and why does that make you so great?" sneered Adhmaid. I noticed him struggling to get off his throne. There was a manic glint in his eyes. He was losing control of the situation. Out of the corner, I saw Ceannaire inching towards the back of the throne. I had to keep Adhmaid talking if we were to succeed.
"Because it shows that I am not afraid of losing my powers, whereas you are."
"Power? The human bluffs, you possess no power."
"Ah, but there is dark magic coursing through my blood, Adhmaid. Understanding your dialect is a mere part of it." I was lying through my teeth, and praying that he bought my outright bluff.
"Maybe, but you are mistaken. I cannot lose my powers unless another sprite is sitting on my silver throne."
"But we are in the midst of no one. It is you and I. And you know very well that I cannot be the new sprite king. So if you do not prove it, then I shall know you are what I presume you are."
"And what's that?" asked the sprite king nervously.
"A coward." The sprite king's eyes flared red, and I knew I had done it.
"OUT OF THE WAY!" Adhmaid exclaimed, running towards the black throne. I stepped aside for him and the minute his rear touched the seat I screamed:
"CEANNAIRE, NOW!"
From behind the silver throne, Ceannaire jumped into view and sat himself on the throne. Adhmaid roared angrily but he couldn't get up. The room began to light up tremendously. Red plasmic light engulfed Adhmaid's body, while Ceannaire was bathed in pale blue. A moment later, the transformation was complete. Adhmaid lay shriveled on the black throne while Ceannaire beamed from his silver one. Something had changed about him. He looked taller, prouder, happier.
Lotnaidí and the other sprites ran into the throne room with joyous expression.
"CEANNAIRE THE RIGHTFUL KING!" Lotnaidí screamed happily. The other sprites were only happy to comply. They made a great deal of noise in their celebration. Adhmaid miserably fell to the floor and groaned. Finally, after much ruckus, Ceannaire came to me.
"Human, what is your true name?" he asked.
"Will," I replied.
"Will," Ceannaire said seriously, "I owe you my thanks. My father was once the king of sprites. Adhmaid challenged him when he fell ill, and took over. After my father died, I was the true king of the sprites."
"I know," I said, surprising myself. I startled Ceannaire as well because he looked puzzled.
"How do you know, human?" he asked me. Lotnaidí beamed happily, and looked at Ceannaire. He had realized it.
"Somehow, sprite—I don't know how—I can understand your language. So I know that Ceannaire… is your word for leader."
When I ventured back to castle, I was content with the satisfaction of uprooting an evil king, and helping an entire race. Ceannaire had assured me that I was a friend to the Spiorad Crann. He told me I was free to visit anytime I wanted. Lotnaidí assured me that I would not be spared the extreme hi-jinks that were going to ensue. All in all, I considered the morning to be well spent. I reached the castle by five, and was greeted at the entrance by Gregory.
"Will! There you are," he said, smiling good-naturedly, "Where have you been all day? Wasting your time smelling the flowers?"
"Actually, I was in the woods and I came across—"
"Tsk, Will, squandering the morning playing with forest creatures is no way for a prince to act. What are we going to do with you?" he said, smirking. Before I could say anything, he looped an arm around my elbow and pulled me into the castle. "Be quiet, I have to show you something." He looked gleeful. I found myself in the kitchens where the servants were scattering around, preparing supper.
"Gregory, why are we here?" I asked, brushing his arm off me. He leaned in and whispered:
"See that girl over there, scrubbing the pots? Her name is Elodie. Isn't she something to look at?" I had to agree with him. The young servant girl had a creamy complexion and ebony curls that could rival my brother's golden locks. "I saw her clearing my chambers the other day. Cornered her. The poor thing was terrified of me." He was smiling rather nastily. I tried not to groan.
"Oh, no," I hissed, "Did you do anything to her?" Gregory smirked.
"Not the kitchen maid, no, I don't stoop so low. Have you forgotten who I am?" He puffed out his chest and tried to look impressive. He may have gotten it down to a pat but he wasn't fooling me. There was more to this story.
"But you tried," I accused, "and she refused you." The look on his face was all I needed to see to verify what I had said. Dark hatred curdled Gregory's fine features. The poor Elodie was trying walk by him, holding a vast amount pots that towered high above her head, trying not to look at us. Gregory jerked his hand forward his hand and the enormous tower of pots came tumbling down. Shattering of glass echoed through the kitchens. All the kitchen staff stopped working and gawked at Elodie.
"Incompetent girl," Gregory said icily, seizing her right arm. He grabbed a breadknife from the nearby counter, "If you cannot control your fumbling hands then you have no use for them at all." As he inched the knife closer to her wrists, I saw what he was going to do. Elodie cried out in surprise.
"GREGORY," I shouted, shoving him hard, "DO NOT!" I caused him imbalance for a moment. It enraged him greatly. Gregory let Elodie go and turned the knife to point at me. His face was red, his eyes were swimming, and his hair was mussed like a mad man.
"It would do you good to remember your place, brother," he said shakily. The knife clattered to the floor, and Gregory shoved past me and out of the kitchens. As soon as he was gone, Elodie tackled me in embrace and began sobbing.
I awkwardly patted her on the head before a cook ushered her away. My shirt was ruffled and there were tears and long black stray hairs all over my collar. When I exited the kitchens and headed for the bedchambers, Gregory spotted my disheveled clothing and gave me a look of disgust.
"Same Will, always after my sloppy seconds," he snarled quietly. I ignored him and locked myself in my chambers.
It wasn't long before Gregory went back to pretending everything was normal again. The days wore on and December came to eclipse our kingdom. Winter brought drought to Glenn because it did not rain. This became an intense problem mainly because of the war between Glenn and Hyatt. Men went off to war, leaving their wives, daughters, and sisters to take care of their villages themselves. Personally, I found the cause of the war to be ridiculous. Then again, the royal customs of our kingdom weren't exactly ideal for me either.
It started decades ago when the Dowager Princess Vitoria of Hyatt came to visit the Glenn. She brought along her son, Prince Jeremiah in hopes that she would wed him to Princess Elaine, the youngest daughter of King Leopold of Glenn. This way, Hyatt and Glenn could form an alliance when Jeremiah was crowned king. However, it didn't quite work out that way. Jeremiah got one good look at Elaine—who had an unfortunate set of long molars— and went running for the hills. Outraged at the insult, King Leopold threw Vitoria and Jeremiah out of the castle and declared war on Hyatt.
My father had always thought that it was a foolhardy decision, and has tried many peace-keeping missions to end the war, though all of them have been futile. Gregory, however, disagreed. He says we must keep fighting the war to uphold Glenn's honor and pride. Personally, I believe he just enjoys the killing. What is war, after all, but an excuse for those with a thirst for blood to carry out their deeds in justified means?
One afternoon I was sitting with Father and his council as they were trying to redraw political borders to ensure peace with Hyatt. We sat in my father's study—an enormous hall with an elongated rectangular table. The longer sides sat sixteen while the short sides sat one. My father was on one end, and Gregory was on the other. My seat was next to my father's. It was a ridiculous sight to be honest. Thirty-two arrogant stooges sat in the hall with equally outlandish outfits. They were dressed in the finest silks and velvets in the kingdom, squabbling over who would get to speak next. A few of them, my father trusted, while the others were handpicked by my mother. Nearly none of them had the slightest sense to handle any sort of situation. Each had identical little beards and a white wig worn during most parliamentary-style meetings. My father did no such thing however. He found the white wig-wearing tradition a tad overbearing for himself. He was a king so no one could object. During the meeting, he was hunched over his seat with a furrowed brow. One of his advisors, Cadmus Finn was arguing with him.
"Don't forget about the trolls that run around the Leathering Woods. Who knows who they owe their allegiance to? It could be harmful to us," he said bossily, pushing up his crooked spectacles. Lord Finn always reminded me of an extremely well-dressed pig. His purple velvet tunic was bulging with his gargantuan belly, and his watery blue eyes accentuated an uncertain manner about him. He wasn't exactly someone you felt confident about taking orders from.
Another council member, Lord McNeal snorted at his statement.
"Oh yes," he sneered, "Because a bunch of glorified cows blindly swinging clubs at us poses as a huge threats against our trained-in-combat soldiers."
Essentially, the border between Hyatt and Glenn disputes over the fact that the north of the river was claimed by Glenn, whereas the south was claimed by Hyatt. Now north and south from exactly where was a bit of a discrepancy. Now my father and I have been pushing for the point to be where the Leathering woods meet the river on Hyatt's side. There are old war garrisons on our side of the river so it would be an ideal place for guard to set up. Hyatt—who favor sneaky endeavors over direct swordplay—would be happy with stationing their soldiers in the woods.
"This is ridiculous!" Gregory cried, his voice echoing off the stone walls, "Why give them any leverage at all? Since we're making the decision, I say we find some plain, flat land, build some forts and call it a day! Since when do we care about compromising to Hyatt's comforts?"
"Since there is talk about peace negotiations," Father said stonily. Gregory let out a mirthless laugh.
"They are our enemies," he insisted. He glared at me, beckoning me to support. I declined. Gregory's approach at peacekeeping was a foolhardy one: attack undetected.
"We need both sides comfortable with the compromise, Gregory, otherwise it would not be a compromise," I told him. His blue eyes flashed momentarily out of anger.
"Trying to play father's favorites again, Will?" he growled.
"Don't need to, you're making an arse out of yourself already," I retorted.
"Well, well, little brother joined the game of dirty politics, hasn't he?"
"ENOUGH!" Father bellowed, "THIS IS A COUNCIL MEETING. IF YOU TWO WISH TO BRAWL LIKE CHILDREN, THEN I SUGGEST YOU LEAVE."
This shut us up immediately. Father's face turned red with frustration. His wrinkled features aggravated to the nth degree. Suddenly his tense eyes went lax and he slumped against his chair.
"Father!" I cried, jumping out of my seat. The horde of useless council members fumbled around trying to come at my father's side. I got him out of the chair and lay him on the floor. He wasn't breathing. I felt his hands and to my horror they were cold and clammy.
"Step away from him," Gregory instructed the others as he knelt down beside me. He was frowning, his hands shaking, and he tried to hold my father's head in his arms. I shook my head. There was nothing we could do.
"He's gone," I said.
"Don't you think I know that?" snapped Gregory, "Finn, go get someone—anyone—to take care of him. Who do we call? The nurses? The doctors?"
"Should I bring the priest?" Lord Finn countered.
"He's dead, you dolt," Gregory retorted, "It's no use to bless him now." Before Finn could argue, I stood up and ushered him and the rest of the council members away. One of father's trusted friends—Sir Hetherington—stopped me on his way.
"Will," he said, his face pale as milk, "There's something you should know."
"Not now," I said kindly, leading him toward the door. He looked at me with a pained expression and left. I closed the door behind the last of the lot and went back to Gregory and Father.
I had never seen my brother so broken as he looked on that floor. His white tunic was disarrayed as he sat with his legs sprawled on the floor. Father's head rested in his lap. Gregory's face was red and tears streamed down from his pale blue eyes. I felt a pang of… something. Grief? Regret? I couldn't put my finger on it, but I couldn't help thinking that there were no tears rushing to my eyes. It made me feel ashamed. I was close to my father, yet I was not crying at his passing. Gregory—who had very often made fun of me for being soft—was showing the normal signs of grief. I was stone cold with no emotion. After minutes of silence, Gregory looked up at with his red eyes.
"This is it then," he whispered, "We're on our own."
Father's lawyer was one of his trusted friends from before he came upon the throne. His name was Roald Dulcimer, and he was a stout, lovable old fellow. He was extremely short, as he only came up to my mid-chest. His rosy-red cheeks were always lit with a happy child-like smile. It's quite a wonder why he chose such a dull profession as a lawyer. The morning after my father's passing, Gregory had a meeting with Dulcimer. I caught him coming out of his chambers, and closing the door behind him. He was in his normal uniform: a white tunic with a blue overcoat, and brown trousers. His blonde hair was tied back to keep from his face. A determined sort of expression penetrated his features as he made way towards my father's study—where the meeting with Dulcimer was to take place.
"Gregory," I said, catching up to him.
"What is it?" he said brusquely.
"I want to go with you," I said to him, "I want to attend the meeting with Mister Dulcimer." Gregory slowed his pace and turned to look at me.
"This hardly concerns you," he said tonelessly. His dead eyes were void of emotion as he sized me up. Maybe he was right. I wasn't entitled to as much as Gregory, but I still felt I needed to be a part of it.
"What do you mean? I was his son too. The will might mention me as well," I replied. Gregory employed a new steely tone.
"It seems to me that day by day, you are losing sight of where you stand in all of this, Will," he said icily, "Now I suggest you stay out of my way or I shall have to reinstate Mother's cellar punishment."
This remark angered me. As a child, my mother used to lock me in a cellar under the study when she felt like I was too much of an inconvenience to be able to be about the castle. The fact that Gregory was treating me like a child was unacceptable. I began to forget all about treating Gregory like the heir to the throne (as my superior).
"You walk around acting like you're the only one who's worth two cents," I said fiercely, "Like it or not, Gregory, you may be the heir to the bloody throne, but I'm worth something too."
A nasty smile began to play on Gregory's face. We had reached the front of the study and I was about to demand to be let in when I stopped short.
"Oh, but you're not worth nearly enough for me to keep around," he said. The smile adamantly stayed on his lips.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"Well, in a few days time, I'm to be crowned king. And as you know, all I have to do is snap my fingers and have you locked away for treason."
"You wouldn't," I countered. The smile became wider.
"Wouldn't I? If I were you, little Will, I would… learn to play nice."
He disappeared behind the study door, leaving me stunned. The conversation began to replay in my head. All I have to do is snap my fingers and have you locked away for treason. And then the light bulb went off in my head. Gregory was more than capable of getting rid of me, and I had to face the facts. With father gone, I was no longer safe in my own home.
Weeks later, I found myself sitting alone in my chambers, pitying my miserable princely existence when a loud knocking imploded on my door.
"William," a stern voice beckoned. I rolled off my chair lazily and opened the door to my father's most trusted knight, worriedly rocking on front of me.
"Sir Hetherington," I said in surprise, letting him in, "What's going on?"
"William, you know that I was very loyal to your father and his decisions," he said, visibly shaken. I gestured him into a chair.
"Yes," I replied, "You were one his most trusted friends." He gave me a kindly smile before his expression returned to a troubled one again.
"I've always had his best interest in heart, and I want you to know that he has passed on this loyalty to you. I feel a great deal of your father is apparent in you."
"Sir Hetherington," I said, sensing a repercussion, "What's wrong?"
He ran his hand through his graying beard and thought a moment before he spoke. The worry in his eyes amplified as he told me, "I was with your father when he wrote his will. Though it is customary for the oldest boy to inherit the throne, King Nicholas did not wish for Gregory to have a hold on the kingdom. He saw Gregory as unfit to be king."
I was completely dumbfounded. Perfect, precious Gregory, our mother's favorite son as deemed unfit to be a king?
"What are you saying?" I said.
"Last week, the King's lawyer, Dulcimer I believe his name to be…."
"Yes?"
"He had an audience with your brother, to discuss the terms of his will. I'm afraid the outcome of this meeting did not make your brother very happy."
I tried to configure what I was being. Obviously, Gregory wasn't exactly peachy keen to be told that our late father did not wish him to inherit his title. But there was very little Gregory could do with our father's dislike. He was, after all, dead.
"I can't imagine he was," I said, "but what does this have to do with me?" Sir Hetherington grasped my arm, his eyes wild with apprehension.
"Gregory has been trained since birth to take your father's place as the next King of Glenn. Imagine his rage when he discovered that your father… has named you to take his throne."
Then and there, I realized the impact of the words I was being told. I, William, the second prince, the forgotten prince, was being handed the throne. The enormity of it was a little too much for me to understand. Was I happy? Was I upset? I couldn't even tell if it was a good thing or not. I was definitely not ready to be king; I was just a lanky young man barely recognizable as a prince.
"Well, I suppose Gregory will want me to renounce this inheritance," I said numbly. What could I do? I wasn't even sure if I wanted it. I picked up a glass of water by my bedside as I awaited his confirmation.
"Oh no, William," Sir Hetherington said, his voice wavering, "Prince Gregory intends to have you killed."
CLANG. The glass as well slipped out of my hand and clattered to the floor. Water splashed everywhere but I did not notice because I was trying to digest the news.
"Have me killed? For what, exactly?"
"Gregory believes that you will not give up your right to rule. He believes you challenge his claim."
"That's ridiculous!" I cried, "The people love Gregory. Why on earth would I want to be king?"
"Do not be so sure," Sir Hetherington replied, "Gregory is a cold man. The people may have noticed this as he was growing up. Nonetheless, the reason I am here, Will, is to warn you. I overheard Gregory telling his advisors that he plots to murder you in your bed tomorrow at dawn."
"Surely you are mistaken," I said, "Have me killed in my own bed? This is an underhanded trick. No one would believe this an accident."
"You forget that with Gregory to be king, he will not care if anyone thinks it is an accident or not. If he wants, he can leave your death uninvestigated and that is exactly what he will do. You need to run, William, escape. Leave the castle, and leave Glenn."
"Leave my home? Leave my kingdom? Where should I go?" I demanded. This seemed like an outrageous situation. I hardly could grasp the reality. Sir Hetherington stood from his chair and grasped my shoulders with a tight grip. He looked at me, grim and serious, and spoke very gravely.
"He intends to kill you, William. As your father's most trusted knight, I cannot allow that to happen. You must leave this place, and when the time is right, take back your kingdom."
He helped me pack a very few necessities into an old canvas bag. Plain clothes, I was advised, to help blend in. I had to run away, and live out my life as a peasant, if not an outlaw. Nothing in my life had helped me prepare for this fate.
Finally I was ready, so I stepped out of my chamber. Sir Hetherington led me towards the back entrance of the castle. It was dark, and the torches in this corridor had been blown out. I felt an odd sense of nostalgia as I said goodbye to the moss-worn walls, and cold stone floors. I hated the castle as a child, preferring to spend my days in the woods. How ironic, it seemed, that I was regretting having to leave it.
We mounted our horses, mine a mere collie stolen away from the stables. We thought it was better to take one that won't be missed. Out of the castle, we slipped stealthily in the dead of the night. Carefully, we crossed the village downhill from Glenn Castle, and to the border of our kingdom we arrived. Sir Hetherington stopped his horse, and looked at me sadly.
"I cannot go any further. A knight crossing another border without orders is not lawful of our customs," he said.
"I understand," I replied, "Thank you for helping me."
"William," Sir Hetherington said, almost in a whisper, "You are going to come back. You must come back and take your rightful place as king."
I tightened the bag around my shoulders. A newfound sense of loyalty sprang up in my chest. This time I knew the answer. "Nothing could keep me from coming back."
With my words as reassurance, Sir Hetherington turned his horse around and rode back towards the castle. He had to get back before dawn or he would face suspicion. Surely, if Gregory knew about his assistance to me, he would have him killed as well.
I watched his silhouette disappear, as the sun began to sneak up a distant hill. The outline of the castle stood prominent against the backdrop. I turned around and looked beyond the gorge, where I had to continue if I wished to stay away from Gregory's men. I took one last look at my old home, feeling a sense of sadness. When my father died, he left his legacy with me, and I wasn't going to let him down. Gregory wasn't getting his way; not this time.