The Contest

Chapter 2: Prince Broderick Lumos III

I awaken to the sound of birds outside my window. A wonderful sound, a song with intricacies no human could hope to imitate. I could spend days of my life just listening to the haunting melodies over a bird-filled meadow, or the jumpy trills of a songbird as it flies over the castle. Instead, I open my eyes to see wood supporting a solid stone ceiling. Not quite the bird-filled expanse of sky I was dreaming of, but it would do for now.

I stretch, careful not to pull the scar on my back too hard. As I reach my hands up to loosen up my shoulders, I take the time to brush some hair away from my face. The shockingly white hair feels almost like silk in my fingers, thanks to a lifetime of pampering. I roll my neck, getting another glance at the ceiling. Normally such precarious weight being supported by simple wooden beams would terrify me, but I know that both the stone and the trees that provided the wood were heavily enchanted against failure. Ancient Noble Lines were very gifted in architectural magic, but we only have the basics leftover today.

I am interrupted in my thoughts by a knock at the door. I call out "Come in" before I realize that I'm not wearing a shirt. Even though I would normally think better of it, I reach for some of the dawn glow seeping in from the window and begin to weave. In the span of a second I have an illusion of a shirt wrapped around me, just in time for the door to swing open on oiled hinges. My mother, as regal as ever, strolls in with her head held high. Her silver hair is down today, flowing in rippling waves over her shoulders. She sees right through my illusion of course, and chuckles to herself.

"Oh, my son," she sighs, settling into a less queenly manner. Her rich voice echoes in the small space, filling me with a sense of childlike calm and safety. "You know the practice of Imperium outside of court or war is very unrefined." I feel the kind of shame that can only come from a mother's scolding. Instead of allowing my illusion to fade, I weave the light into a small bird. A songbird sits in the palm of my hand. I look up at my mother and she rolls her eyes before whispering into her cupped hands. With a twist of her wrist and a furrowed brow, the light bird begins to sing. My mother molds the song a beautiful pattern, the waves of sound flowing with the waving motion of her hands. Her eyes are closed, either in concentration or appreciation, but either way she looks younger than she has in years.

After a few minutes, I release the bird, letting it fly towards the light of dawn and disappear. I hear another sigh from my mother, but instead of disappointment, her face is split by a sad smile. "Such beauty in such power, but also such danger." Her eyes have a faraway look as she says, "Tread lightly, my son." I nod, not one to cross my mother even if I wanted to. That's a mistake that only my younger sister makes anymore.

Mother walks over and gently puts one hand on my now bare shoulder. Her kind eyes drill concern into me as she says, "Are you sure you want to do this, Broderick?" I nod with as much resolve ever. I speak, my tired, shaky baritone barely comparing to my mother. "It's a good idea, Mother. The people need to see their First Prince, and I need to see my kingdom." She interrupts, "But you can see the kingdom from the capitol just fine, and there are plenty of people to see you."

I shake my head, "No, Mother. I need to see the kingdom in a way that only this tour will provide. I need to meet with the people, hear their problems, let them have a voice!" Mother chuckles lightly at my fervor and nods, "Alright, Broderick, but please be careful."