A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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"Rasheem, I need you to keep everyone busy and under control."
"I will," he said, following Gris out of the Mess Hall.
"Give Wistaal a piece of your mind and ground him to his sleeping quarters."
"Of course. Don't want him and his big mouth causing trouble."
"I didn't see Hasana or Orlan—,"
"I noticed too," Rasheem said. "I'll send someone to find them."
"Yes, and retrieve those records from my chambers and take them personally to Lord Hercones. I don't want anyone else doing it but you. And bring me my journal."
"Right away," he replied. "Gris?"
The prince stopped and faced his friend. "Gods be good."
He nodded and went to catch up with the soldiers who came and disturbed the peace, only to run into one of his father's escorts.
"You've been summoned by the king," one of the escorts stated.
"I know," Gris hesitated and searched the area for the two soldiers.
"Are you okay?" The escort gave him a suspicious stare.
"Um... yes." He scratched his head. Where did they go?
Brushing off the goosebumps crawling up his arms, he allowed the escort to take him to the king. He thought it would be his office. Instead, they entered the royal quarters and stopped before the grand double doors of the king and queen's bedchambers. The original one.
"Why are we here?" he said stiffly to Ser Garret, who was standing guard. The Knight Escort simply shrugged and gestured for one of his soldiers to open the door.
Gris took a deep breath and entered with his head high. He knew he must shove aside his hatred for the man to stand in his presence and ask him questions of his own. A cringing ache formed at the back of his head, and bile clogged his throat. Despite his hatred for him, he hated this bedchamber more. Actually, they both hated this place, yet here they were.
What amazed him the most was how beautiful and clean it still was. Apparently, his father didn't want to change the room or destroy it. To make matters worse, nothing was moved. Everything sat where it was left, five years ago, except the bed was made and a window was open.
Gris walked inside, letting his fingers run along a pillar made of tree bark by the entrance. The familiar smell of roses and trees brought tears to his eyes.
"Come here," his father called out from somewhere in the room.
He entered the sitting area of the royal suite. Compared to the king and queen's present suite, this one was a palace within itself. Gold, silver, crystals, marble, and tree patterns structured, designed, and furnished the room. Huge pots of colorful roses were spread about with candles, despite the grand chandelier lit above them.
