FEATURED BY @Retold
A fight for a kingdom that belongs to neither.
Aneira Guinevere was the fairest in the land - with her flowing dark tresses reminiscent of the midnight sky, and her delicate skin as pure as snow. Though the weight of her past l...
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It was the day of the execution.
For a day that involved darkness and bloodshed, the sun shone high above their heads as though it were mocking their sorrows with its associated joy. Though occasionally shadowed by the moving clouds, its rays made the execution altar seem to glisten. The flowers in full bloom danced as if the mockery by the sun didn't seem discerning enough.
The universe is just one great irony.
Young prince Paris clung to the white silken robes of his mothers as they walked towards the altar alongside the king, Lady Pomona, and her sons - Jason and Apolo.
It seemed like the entire town had gathered around the altar to watch the execution of the traitor - men, women, and children as well. Chantara couldn't help wondering how parents let children watch executions. But, she put away that thought as she realized most were orphaned, illegitimate, or were born boys in a society that placed false expectations on them.
Boys such as her own.
The king barely ever paid attention to his sons - unless it involved watching them practice their sword fighting or jousting. Lady Pomona's sons looked up to Tempestes like an idol rather than a father.
They wanted to be as fierce and strong as the dragon of Netherdanes. They wanted to be their father. But Paris was the youngest. Chantara knew he'd be last in line for the throne and raised him sentient instead of an expected prince.
While Jason and Apolo would shoot and kill the pigeons, young Paris would bring the injured back to his mother to help heal them. Tempestes didn't appreciate it, for a prince was to show no mercy.
But Chantara knew what she wanted of him - to raise him as a definition of a prince.
While her husband called him weak and tried to teach him to appreciate the ways of violence, Chantara read him tales written by prophets in hopes that he would grow as bright as he would be handsome.
Paris was a shy one, but he was, after all, only seven years old. The shouts and the praises the crowd raised towards killing made him only not want to take another step forward. But, he remembered his mother's words to him - You must be brave enough to face it and strong enough to accept it.
He didn't understand much of it, but all he knew was he had to watch an execution. He wasn't a stranger to death or brutal killings for he had witnessed his brothers slay mice during practice just for fun. He had witnessed blood - the day his father returned from war, with the body of his adversary dragged behind him. He had witnessed what might have as well been an execution as he watched his aunt's throat being slit by an assailant while he watched from behind a curtain.
So he had just silently nodded his head as his mother asked him to be brave.
Chantara on the other hand, was at a loss for feelings. When she heard of her sister's death, all she wanted was revenge - revenge on the man that had taken the life of her sister and her nieces.
