Allies ➳ Larry

chapter one

[content warnings: violence, abuse, war, alcohol, and sexual content.]

chapter one

It was a sweltering summer— one of the hottest in Ethela's history. The sun scathed the young Prince's face as he rode his horse across the lush countryside. The black stallion exhaled tiredly through flaring nostrils, its coat hot to the touch. The Prince gripped the leather reins tightly with one hand and held his archery bow in the other. A quiver of arrows hung from his shoulder, bouncing with each gallop.

In the distance, red targets were painted sloppily on large pine trees. As his horse rode across the plateau, the Prince slid a feathered arrow in his bow and drew back the string. He narrowed at the bullseye and waited for the perfect opportunity. He noted the slight wind directed northwest, aimed his bow accordingly, and released.

The arrow split through the sky and hit the target near the second ring of red, slightly left of center. The Prince frowned and dug his heels into the horse's side, causing the stallion to come to a sudden halt. Its hooves thudded heavily against the rocky terrain.

The Prince stared at the tree with frustration. The intense humidity clung to his tanned skin, making him sweat.

"Great shot, Your Highness," called a distant, familiar voice.

The Prince looked up to see one of his royal advisers, Tarron, riding a brown mare. He was a short and stocky man with wrinkled features and gray hair. He wore navy blue riding garments, the official color of Ethela. His black boots were tucked securely in the metal stirrups.

"I missed the bullseye," the Prince deadpanned.

"At least you hit the target, Prince Louis," Tarron disputed, staring at the tall tree with his hand shielding the sunlight. He gave him a nod of approval. The prince knew it was out of pity.

A brief moment of silence passed between them. A thin sheet of perspiration clung to Louis's face and drenched his sandy brown hair.

"Your father wishes to see you," Tarron spoke softly.

Louis briefly glanced downhill, seeing the distant palace in the middle of a large field. From this vantage point, the palace appeared tiny and insignificant. He could see the vast gardens that decorated its exterior, complete with manicured lawns and perfectly-shaped hedges. Atop one of the turrets hung Ethela's blue flag, limp in the windless air.

"Very well, then," Louis murmured. "Let's not keep the man waiting."

He clicked his heels against the horse and began riding towards the palace, carefully avoiding large rocks and tree stumps. Tarron rode behind him silently, keeping a cautious eye on the horizon. As a prince, Louis had become accustomed to constant unneeded protection. Even when he thought he was alone, there was always a guard or advisor nearby, watching.

When they finally reached the palace, Louis unmounted and let a young servant take the stallion back to the stables. Tarron followed him, of course. Solitude was a rare pleasure for princes.

Louis stepped into the extravagant palace with a false look of confidence plastered on his damp, pink face. He wondered why the King wanted to speak to him at such short notice; he never let Louis take part in important diplomatic matters. He always said Louis was far too immature and hot-headed.

The Prince walked towards the conference room, listening to the ­­constant click of his boots against the marbled floors. The tiles were freshly polished, leaving them sparkly and reflective in the bright sunlight. Stained glass windows decorated the bricked walls, draped with velvet curtains.