A Reign to Ruin: The Prince Regent and the Summer King

PART I. The Greatest Gift Anyone Could Give

Trigger Warning(s): Mentions of incest, illness, death of a loved one

◆ VAMIR ◆

Azuries. Ossola, Capital City of Ilialana.

I stand in front of the mirror and look at my reflection. Slowly, I cast off the drab tunic of mourning and set it on the bedside chair. A shiver races over the exposed skin on my arms and legs, raising fine hairs in its wake. Summer is on its way to take the cold chill out of the final breaths of Spring.

I close my eyes and heave a deep sigh as I wrap my arms across my chest. It has been a full lunar cycle since the death of my father, His Majesty King Beluar Ilialana. Today is the final day of mourning. Tomorrow, a new dawn awaits: My brother, Crown Prince Isarrel, is to ascend the throne!

But here come the predicament: I will not be here for it and Isarrel is on his deathbed.

The citizens of Ilialana had not seen their crown prince since a truce had been declared between the kingdom and House Khriskhana. After the border war, the Ilialani infantry, measly to begin with, returned home short of a thousand and five brave souls. Farmers and miners, fathers and sons, all lost to a senseless war declared upon by the tyrant king, Athar Khriskhana.

But the greatest loss of all was my father's life. The death of a king spells terror and low morale for its people, even more so for an ailing kingdom that, for many years, has faced crisis upon crisis- endless wars, years-long drought, famine, and a royal family that is quickly failing to secure its bloodline.

I, Vamir vus-Ilialana, second son of Beluar and prince regent to the throne, am the last highborn Omega in what was once a long and prestigious line of Alphas and Omegas. Today, our family is a remnant of a custom that has long been obsolete: A series of line-breeding between siblings and cousins in an effort to secure the purity of the bloodline. But for the last century, House Ilialana is marred by disease and deaths-one that could only be blamed on the revolting practice of inbreeding among blood kin.

Our forefathers have put an end to this abhorrent practice, but the blood sickness still flowed in the veins of my father and siblings. Two brothers have died before me, and another after me, one that ultimately led to the death of my consort-father, Corym wys-Ilialana. Blood poisoning, they say, as the babe had long been dead in my consort-father's womb.

I thought Isarrel would be different-an exclusion from the curse. But when my brother returned home with grave injuries that refuse to heal, I knew in my heart he had not been spared. Dark, purple bruises that continue to spread like wildfire, festering wounds and infection that eat away the flesh, and a shattered soul that no one-not even his beloved consort-can put back together. As he lies in bed, burning with fever that never subsides, I witness how each day that passes steals away his hope and strength, leaving behind a frail, despondent man resigned to his ill fate.

I wish we could keep up the façade a while longer, but war waits for no one and the kingdom yearns for its king. Yet I can see Death reflected in Isarrel's eyes. He will not last much longer.

I open my eyes with a soft gasp, hugging myself even more tightly as I find myself welling up in tears. I have not grieved enough for my father as much as I am grieving my brother's imminent death. From my reflection, the trapped look in my eyes says everything: It is all up to me now. The fate of House Ilialana lies in my hands.

I step closer to the mirror, hastily wiping away the tears that are threatening to fall. I have to be strong for this family. Dignity is all we have left.

I have always had confidence in myself, not so much with the arts and swordmastery, but in my physical appearance and upbringing. At an early age, I have attached a great deal of importance to the way I speak, to my body and countenance, with an acute dislike for feebleness and illness. My consort-father had always reminded me to be graceful yet bold; to observe the humility of silence, and to know when it's time to speak.