King Roland II of Enchancia sat in his office chair, hand speedily scribbling on papers, his face and desk barely lit by the expensive lamp set upon the sleek mahogany surface. It was late—far later than the man normally stayed up—and the Queen had gone to sleep with just herself that night, curled on their king-sized mattress by her lonesome. This only further bothered Roland, whose mind was a mess of village statistics and battle theories. His hand slipped, feather pen effectively ripping the thin sheet, and he threw it to the waste bin with a growl, retrieving another blank page.
A knock at the door caused the shaky King to jump, hands tearing the fresh paper, and Roland unsteadily turned to massage his swelling temples, teeth clenched. Upon allowing the other entrance, Baileywick, their elderly steward, entered the room. The grey-haired man's shoulders slumped when his eyes fell on Roland's face.
"Your majesty," Baileywick approached the King slowly, "are you aware of how late it is? Perhaps you should retire for the night; sleep on your thoughts."
"How could I sleep at a time like this?" Roland looked up to the other with weary eyes. The rather dashing blonde King was still as handsome as he had been a decade ago, the day he'd married Miranda. There were a few wrinkles wrought here and there, a few gray hairs, but his strong jaw and flawless form remained untouched through the years. Recent stress had begun to take its toll however. Baileywick's frown deepened.
"You can't expect to run a kingdom pulling as many all-nighters as you have of late, my King." Baileywick took a step closer, hands folded neatly behind his back. "I'm sure things will be sound just for one night, your majesty. Allow your body some rest."
Roland sat in silence, before he slowly rose from his chair, turning to look out the large glass windows in the walls. He could see far out, beyond the lush grass and elegant stone steps of the castle he called home, all the way out to the faint light of the village he'd sworn to protect. "I can't let them down, Baileywick."
"I know, I know." The steward sighed.
"Our guards have spotted several groups of intruders on the outskirts of Enchancia. The Izuvell kingdom has already established problems with us, and if I am to guess, I would say these strangers to be soldiers. I cannot let a war break out, but I have to protect my people!" Roland wanted to slam his fists upon the thick glass, but refrained from doing so.
"I suppose the only option would be to tighten our defenses, your majesty."
"But how, Baileywick? We may have more soldiers, but they have some of the world's most well-known sorcerers—hell, we could tighten watch and defense %200 and it still wouldn't make a difference."
"Well, er… we have a sorcerer too, your majesty…"
Roland scoffed.
"Come on, Baileywick. You and I both know the royal sorcerer is about as useful as a pet rock." The King threw his arms up in exasperation. "I mean really, I'd have better luck taking a patient straight out of psychiatric care and handing them a wand—'here, now go save the kingdom'!"
"It's always worth a shot, your highness." Baileywick offered weakly, turning to look out the glass windows as well, towards the endless night sky. "I suppose there isn't much else we can do, is there? Besides, Princess Sofia rather likes Cedric. She sees something in him. There must be something there, don't you think?"
Sofia's face popped into Roland's head. She was his daughter, and though not of his own flesh and blood, the years since she had moved to the castle with her peasant-turned-Queen of a mother had transformed her into more than the King could've ever hoped of his own children. Sofia was, in some aspects, even more fit to inherit the crown than her older royal twin step-siblings.
Still.
"Sofia is only a child."
"She's seventeen now, my King. In many neighboring kingdoms she would already be considered an adult—perhaps even wed, with children."
"Yes, well—even then… even Sofia can make mistakes. She's been trying to coax that dolt of a sorcerer into greatness since she stepped foot into this castle. We don't have time for any more gentle persuasions, Baileywick. We need strength, and we need it now." Roland bit the nail of his thumb, mind racing.
"Well you must admit he's made quite a bit of progress since Princess Sofia entered the picture…" Baileywick cringed. He knew full well that Cedric was incapable of the amount of greatness the King was requiring, but the steward couldn't find optimism elsewhere. The only sliver of light he could find in the vast darkness of their plight was the hope of a strong sorcerer.
"No, no… I can't put that much responsibility on Cedric's shoulders. No way."
They stood in silence for a while. Baileywick bit his lip. Roland's thoughts were elsewhere, back to theories and battle techniques. At the very least they needed to make it seem like they had sorcerers of equal talent to those of Izuvell's, but there was no room for a slip-up on the sorcerer's part. If Roland trusted Cedric with the task of creating such an illusion, he knew that the man would most likely make a mistake… and not even Cedric could recover from a blunder at that point.
If a mistake was made, battle may ensue. And, if so, Enchancia was as good as gone. They had men, yes—they had a fleet of guards ready for war. However, they lacked magic. They lacked healing properties. A whole army was useless against a few sorcerers of such talent.
"Well there must be something we can do, sire…" Baileywick sighed. "But… for tonight, you really do need sleep. We can ask the Lord Commander of the best defense mechanisms first thing in the morning."
Roland remained quiet, thinking.
They had no other sorcerers… did they?
The current royal sorcerer's father, previously titled "Goodwin the Great" from his methods of success and speedy thinking, was still alive. Cedric was not an ounce like his father—Cedric was not strong-willed or particularly heroic, in any sense of the word. Goodwin had fought dragons and evil wards, whereas Cedric only battled his own various mistakes. It was a contrast that was most unfortunate for Roland, and Enchancia.
Goodwin had once stood proudly (and rightly) by Roland II's father, Roland I. The two were a good team, although the former king had been more of a goofball than his son, getting himself in trouble quite often. Goodwin, being the responsible and dependable one, equaled out the King's madness, always saving the man and getting him out of sticky situations. It was quite different, Cedric and King Roland's relationship. They were not so bonded, nor so close.
Roland II had been wed immediately following his eighteenth birthday—the princess was a beautiful, fair skinned and well-known beauty. She had the biggest brown eyes, curliest blonde hair, and softest voice in all of the kingdoms. Roland was considered lucky to have such a fine queen to rule beside him, and though he was not so satisfied because he hardly knew the young woman, he followed through with it because it was his duty.
Roland II's father passed soon after the young prince's coronation, his mother following suit. Goodwin retired as a sorcerer, and Cedric took his father's former place as royal sorcerer. Roland had grown up with Cedric in the castle, though the gangly younger male was always very awkward and anti-social. While Roland had been strapping and strong-willed, a popular among ladies, Cedric was his polar opposite.
Roland couldn't help but feel a tad bit sorry for his younger acquaintance—that was, however, often replaced with frustration and resentment. Cedric tended to mess up too much, and in ways that seemed almost impossibly bad. If you asked for an everlasting rose, you got a thunderstorm. If you wanted a few raining flower petals, you were greeted with a swarm of locusts.
Goodwin was a rather harsh and calculating father, that was true. The greatly known sorcerer was exceedingly judgmental, always leaning over his only son's shoulder, waiting to see him do something wrong, first to point out a mistake. Cedric had a resulting nervousness of higher ranking individuals and superiors because of this.
Nonetheless, it did not forgive Cedric's… wickedness. The man was known to say rather strange things aloud to his pet raven, voice his displeasure with every magic show he had to put on or party he had to enchant. He complained constantly, but never improved. He wanted to fight, he wanted to be a hero better than his father, but he was incapable. Everyone knew it, not just Roland.
"Sire…?" Baileywick snapped Roland out of his thoughts.
"Ah, yes—uh, I've already spoken to the Lord Commander. I'm not normally one to use magic for battle, but… it looks like I haven't a choice anymore." Roland stared scrutinizingly at his own reflection in the window, hands stiffly held behind his back. "Call Sir Goodwin and Cedric for a meeting first thing in the morning. We must discuss important matters regarding the safety of Enchancia, and whether or not Cedric is competent enough to be our royal sorcerer any longer."
