Prologue: A rose by another name
In the kingdom of Derse, where all races, classes, and castes of people worked and played, they all at one point or another looked to the violet spires of the royal castle and wished they could be Dirk Strider. The lower classes surely loved to fantasize about what happened behind those dark walls in the distance that decided their fates. Often, they knew exactly what was happening without even being there. The King's three younger siblings would be running and playing in the palace gardens, or studying with their private tutors. The youngest would perhaps be lost in a book from her private library. The third might be learning the art of the sword from one of his many tutors. The second could be drowning her sorrows in fanciful parties. But the most certain of all was what the eldest child, the King, was doing, as he did every day of every month of every year: lying in a bathtub, feeding himself grapes. What could they say? The King sure loved his royal ablutions.
The loyal subjects of Derse could only dream about indulging themselves the way King Dirk was so well known. However, the King himself thought his life to be very difficult. So many papers to sign, declarations to make, taxes to raise. And after nothing but the same, life starts to look rather grim, even at the very top. The grapes twisted sour in his mouth, the water no longer brought relaxation. He was beginning to lose all joy in his life. But it was the little things that Dirk truly enjoyed, or perhaps the things that weren't so little at all. For example, every year when the grass froze and December was born anew, the Derse Gala rang through every street in the country.
The first son, Dirk, was born on the third of December, and a grand gala was held so the highest duchess to the lowest peasant would know of the heir to the throne. The second child, Roxy, was born exactly a year and a day after the first. Instead of postponing Dirk's first birthday gala so the queen could have child, the festival merely continued into the next day to celebrate Derse's prince and princess. Precisely a year minus one day afterwards, prince Dave was born, and a year and one day after that, the fourth child, princess Rose, was born. The entire month of December was pronounced a celebratory occasion, where everyone was to parade the streets in gratitude for their gracious rulers and feast like royals themselves. The richest of the rich, however, joined the royal family at the palace ballroom, with dancing and finery fit for the nobles they were.
Prince Dirk was never fond of all the stuffy adults prying into his personal life. Royalty from far away lands would often introduce him to princesses of his age, trying to convince or often bribe him into marrying their daughters (something he had no interest in).
When he was crowned King Dirk, however, he learned to adore the gala. When the King and Queen passed away, the title and all responsibilities that came with it was given to him. He usually shuffled as much of the real work as he could onto his advisors and delegates, not caring much for the fate of anyone outside the palace. The gala was the only event that he planned entirely on his own. Everything from the catering to the flowers to the shoes of the busboys was decided by his own hand. Despite being well-known for his quiet and peaceful demeanor, he was downright giddy whenever November was near its' end. This year he decided to go all out, most likely an effect born from recent colossal boredom. So far, Dirk's week had been busier than any other in his life. And from the meetings of the evening, he doubted there was a change in sight.
"The roses should be exactly as you requested, your highness."
"Hmm…" The red and blue flowers were tinted darker through his sunshades. He rubbed the silky petals with delicately manicured hands. The King gave a slight sniff, and was pleasantly surprised with a natural scent.
"That'll do." He murmured, his voice deep and full-throated.
"Oh, I'm so glad! We've been preparing these bulbs since the last Gala. I hope that the rest of the flowers meet your standards, your highness?"
"They do. That will be all. Leave me."
The gardener bowed deeply. "Your majesty."
As the man disappeared from sight, Dirk adjusted his pointed sunglasses and admired the flowers. He was excited for the Gala, but the back of his mind was brimming with worry. This year, he would be expected to find a suitable bride, and the last thing he wanted was to start a lineage. On top of that, he was worried for his brother. Prince Dave had spent much more time in his room than usual, not eating or speaking. He was afraid that Dave was suffering from the same lack of fulfillment that he himself was, or perhaps Dave's ailment was something far more incurable. He was even paler than usual, his sharp crimson eyes stained with a permanent longing for something indescribable. Despite their estrangements, Dirk worried for him and his cousins constantly.
Dirk took a deep breath in and held it, like he was cherishing a wistful moment. The gala was a week from now, and yet he knew that something was just beyond the horizon, waiting for his family. He could feel it, under his nails and behind his eyes. He was waiting for something. Something indescribable.
He let his breath whistle out his mouth. It was going to be a long week.