The Lady's Shadow

Chapter 8

20 Years Earlier

"Boy, where are you?!"

The child's breath was ragged as he tore through the corridors of Drimor Castle, looking for a place to hide. The gloomy halls seemed to squeeze in on him, narrowing to a point. It was so dark here and so bare. The mad old king kept a skeleton crew of servants, forcing his guards to work the exterior and live in the village. No one ever came in here and no one hardly went out.

"Stop running, boy, and face me!"

The child panicked, diving into the nearest room. It looked to be storage, piled to the door with random furniture and decor, all in disrepair and covered in dust. It provided multiple opportunities for the seven-year-old to hide.

He ducked behind a large, torn painting of his great-grandfather. The loud, thudding footsteps ringing down the hall drew nearer. They paused outside the room he had chosen, and he held his breath as the door creaked open slowly.

"Come out, boy. A king faces his fears. He does not hide."

The boy waited, crouching, as the old man shuffled into the room. Though he was in his mid-sixties, Sargon I was hunched and grey. He used his royal scepter as a walking stick to support himself. One of his eyes didn't point the same way as the other, and his jagged, yellow teeth were few in number now.

"Come out, my boy. I grow weary of this chase. These old bones don't have the patience anymore."

The king rapped his scepter on top of a crooked chest. The loud noise made the boy jump.

"Come out, Sargon... I know you're in here."

Miffed, the boy screeched, "That's not my name!"

With a victorious laugh, the king pulled the painting away. "There you are, bloody whelp!"

With a grunt, the child kicked out, catching the old man in the knee. The king yowled and began to go down. Before the kid could escape, though, one gnarled hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder.

"No!"

"Do you think I have all day to chase your lot up and down these halls? I have a damn kingdom to run!"

"You don't do anything! You just sit on your throne and complain!" spat the younger Sargon.

"How dare you. If you would sit still for five bloody minutes, you might just learn something. How do you expect to take my place when I'm gone?!"

"I don't wanna!" Sargon yelled, kicking at the man holding him. "I don't wanna be king!"

The fingers on his shoulder dug into his flesh and he yelped. "What? You'd rather go back to starving in the slums with your whore mother again? Is that you want?"

"At least they like me there! I have friends there! People are nice to me."

Sargon Sr. growled. "Soon you'll learn, boy, that 'friends' are a liability. It's just another way people take advantage of you or it gives your enemies an easy target. A true sovereign knows that at the end of the day, the only 'friend' he can rely on is himself."