the day had finally arrived.
This was going to be his life-changing moment, he just knew it. Years and years of bitterness and jealousy had built up, overwhelming him and winning over his thoughts. He had been planning for ages. Every single detail was etched into his brain, tinted journal paper swamped in discarded ideas he had gone over time and time again. The unwarranted envy towards his brother would finally be resolved. He would ultimately be praised and acknowledged. He would finally be first in line to be the next king.
To Clay, getting crowned king was much more than just the power aspect. More than honor and riches. He would finally get paid attention to. Sure, he was thrilled to get anything and everything he wanted at the mere utter of a word, but he craved recognition. He wanted people to notice him, to see him sitting atop the glittering throne and adore him. He could imagine it now. The chanting of "King Clay!"
Emotions were never a thing of importance to Clay. He admitted that he essentially only felt jealousy, revulsion, and hatred, but he didn't care. He was seeking to find something new: satisfaction. When Eret would be rid of the throne and Clay would be perched upon it laughing, then he would be content. Sitting on his bedside, the morning brilliant and promising, he was feeling something that he didn't know how to describe other than excitement. It wasn't normal excitement, it was a vile, unsettling excitement. He was inspired to not only be in the eyesight of the crown but also to see the disastrous reactions of his family and the kingdom. Clay was aware that it wasn't typical to think this way, but he felt as if there wasn't anything he could do about it. He didn't want to do anything about it. He savored the sensation of unprecedented, twisted pleasure.
It was amusing to him. Right now, everything was serene and tranquil. However, at the end of the day, the kingdom would be heavy with frivolous tragedy. To them, it would be the worst thing that could have ever possibly happened. To Clay, it would be excellent.
Once more, the sinister prince studied the dagger, tracing his finger delicately over the engravings in the handle. What a shame it was to use such an artistic object to commit such an unspeakable act. He noticed his reflection in the pristine blade. His expression was that of a classic fairytale villain. It even shook him up a little, knowing that his reflection would soon be suffocated in his brother's blood to the point where he'd be anything but recognizable. Clay quickly resheathed the knife and took one last look at the amicable, sparkling kingdom. It would be no more in the coming hours.
---
When you are born into royalty, a lot is demanded of you. But you never asked for this, so why should it be your responsibility? This was something that Karl often thought about. He knew he would be so much better off being born to a typical family. One that grew crops and struggled to barely make it through the winter. It sounded so bittersweet, but he desired something other than constant praise. He was so sick of having his every need treated to him, he was never allowed to do anything by himself. His mind had romanticized the idea of running away to the point of no escape. It was all he wanted. Just a life more significant than this.
It was strange. He knew so many people would do so much to live his life. They'd trade in an instant. And so would he. They wanted to live in a prince's shoes, he wanted to live somewhere where his soul didn't feel trapped. He felt wrong. Of course, he loved his mother, his father, his newfound friends from the village, and even his brothers. But he couldn't help but wish for a life where he could live without thinking about such things. A life where he could go anywhere he pleased without having to ask for permission. A life where he could live how he wanted.
The only thing stopping him from actually running away was the immense guilt that would follow in quick pursuit. He was prone to feeling blameworthy for anything and everything; even things that weren't originally his fault at all. Things he was never even involved in. Karl was fully aware that if he packed a bag and fled the walls, he would come back the next hour sobbing. That was one of the reasons he never attended gatherings and was rarely seen out and about. If he passed an elderly man pleading for just a single coin, he would think about it all day, and the next, and the next after that. He resented it.
He didn't know where he'd go anyway. There were no places that were within walking distance that wouldn't recognize him.
So instead, he daydreamed his days away.
Walking the glossy halls while the morning shine just started to pour in through the high windows to illuminate the walls was something Karl did every day. He let his mind wander wherever it pleased as he made his way around the always-silent corridors. He found a gentle beauty lying within them. Nobody ever paid mind to the tranquility they provided. Despite the high cathedral ceilings and gilded walls, it was still all so simple to him. It was a place where he could ease his silent pain.
Karl's benign peacefulness was interrupted when his brother strode past him, issuing a faltering breeze behind him. He seemed very serious and showed to be walking at a brisk pace.
"Clay? What are you doing?"
The mentioned prince stopped dead in his tracks but didn't turn back to face Karl. He spoke slowly. "Nothing of your concern. Just something I've been meaning to do... In the library. I'm thinking about careers. Mother seems very interested in my free time hobbies, wouldn't you agree? After all she's done for us...," he paused, "I'd like to make her satisfied by selecting a proper educational career." He lied as easily as he concealed the dagger in his palm.
The formal way Clay spoke that morning made Karl uneasy. "Uh, yeah? I guess so. I think she just wants you to be comfortable."
Clay hesitated for a moment, but swiftly continued on his fast walk throughout the corridor.
After turning out of view of his brother, he let out a long breath. So far, everything was going perfectly.
---
It was standard for Eret to be up at odd hours, contemplating random obscure thoughts or stepping out on the balcony to get a breath of refreshing air, away from the stuffy, suffocating nature of the castle interior. He was repeatedly awoken by recurring nightmares. He's always had them. They were always there, taunting him in the back of his mind.
"King? Pfft."
"You're going to do an awful job."
"I don't trust you."
"You'd be better off dead. The pressure of ruling would get to you soon anyway, might as well end it before the others realize you're faking it."
Nothing that anybody had ever actually said to him, but things his mind told him. Things that he was fearful about but would never have the guts to tell anyone of. He dreaded they'd believe him to be out of his mind.
Here he was, conscious in the early hours of daylight, gaze fixated upon his wall. His eyes were half shut, but he couldn't sleep. He was afraid to fall back asleep. Maybe that's why he was always so tired. The dark, haunting nightmares would never resist ceasing.
Eret's entire body was so drowsy, but he didn't dare drift off for a moment.
Luckily, a distraction emerged.
It was the handle to his door turning recklessly. Usually, a knock would appear first, so he instantly understood it to be Clay. Clay didn't care, he never did. Privacy wasn't a thing that mattered to him. Apparently, boundaries didn't either, huh?
"Alastair. Get up."
Eret didn't answer, nor did he even turn his limp body to look his brother in the eyes. He hadn't spoken to him since dinner, he didn't want to converse with him at all. He had trusted Clay with a secret that he had been keeping for so long, fearful that if the cat was let out of the bag, he'd be six feet underground the next night. Luckily, that's not what had ended up happening, but it could have. The fact that his secret was out to his family wasn't even what he was irate about most. It was the fact that Clay had so easily used his secret as a benefit towards himself in the argument. He hadn't stopped to think about how it may affect Eret.
Eret truly didn't know why he gave his brother the chance to keep that secret.
"Look, Alastair. I wanted to... apologize." The door shut behind him, the unnoticeable sound of the lock following.
That was unexpected. He didn't buy it, though. "Hm?"
Clay stood with his hands behind his back in an effort to look apologetic and less intimidating, his real intentions held within the blade between his fingers. Eret groggily turned over, sitting up on the bed, his hair tousled and his eyes tired. "Apologize? Since when do you do that?"
He wasn't kidding when he said that. Clay never apologized; he had a superiority complex.
"I'm... sorry. It was wrong what I did. You entrusted me with something extremely important and quite frankly dangerous, but I broke the trust between us. I was angry at the moment, but after some consideration, I've realized I am completely in the wrong... I'm sorry." It was sickening. Clay knew exactly what he did wrong, but his words were anything but genuine. Others believed him to be ignorant of his actions when in reality, he was well aware of every little detail. The thing was, he didn't care an ounce.
Eret's heart ached. He stood up, the heavy blankets draped across his shoulders slipping to the bed. If Clay was apologizing... it must be true, right?
The middle prince continued to burrow his hands behind his torso, his face turned towards the ground in an effort to look conscience-stricken. Eret moved to stand in front of him. "Are you... serious? You've never apologized to me for... anything."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I mean it. I can't imagine how you felt after that. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I wanted to make it clear that I am aware that I fucked up big time."
Clay glanced up to Eret's face upturned in complexity, yet still thankful. His eyes shifted from a tired, drained boy to that of a beaming, proud one. One that was genuinely grateful. And then just like that, his brother had fallen right into the palm of his hand. He had done exactly what he knew he would do. The one action that would tear this family to complete and utter shreds. Eret hugged him.
The horrid prince instantly wrapped his arms back around his brother, providing him with a false sense of security. He wickedly grinned, reaching one arm out and thrusting it back down, the point of the knife splitting through the light fabric of his brother's shirt and right into his back.
Everything seemed to slow in a nauseating way. The blade almost too easily tore through him, digging halfway down the dagger into his frail stature. Eret didn't flinch at first, he didn't howl in pain either. He didn't even comprehend what was happening at first. All he felt was an excruciating burning sensation spreading throughout his upper back followed by the trickle of something warm flowing down. Eret's grip loosened around his brother, the drilling pain overwhelming him and only allowing him to let out a squeak of distress.
Clay withdrew the dagger from his brother's back with limitless energy and watched in amusement as he weakly fell to his knees, watching crimson blood drip and pool onto the freezing, darkened wooden floors. "Cl..ay.." His eyes widened. It had hit him right in the heart that it was all just a facade. He wasn't sorry. His own brother, the one he had known his entire life, had just stabbed him. Clay propped the edge of his boot at Eret's chest and pushed him back against the edge of his bed.
"Whoops, sorry! Slipped." Clay flipped the knife in his hand, the red that stained the blade now seeping down to the handle. He obviously knew that just stabbing him in the back, quite literally, wasn't enough to instantly kill him, but that was the point.
Eret was having difficulty forming comprehensible words. "Why... Clay..." He didn't bother screaming. Nothing but slurred whispers would come out of his mouth. His vision started to blur. He just couldn't think straight, let alone believe he was actually awake. He genuinely believed it to just be another nightmare, so he stopped speaking entirely.
Clay snickered a little. "I guess you're no longer fit for the king rank, hmm, dear brother? Can't even utter a word. Quite pathetic if you ask me."
That word triggered Eret's mind to flash back to the previous night. He wanted to cry, but the immense pain controlling his body really would not allow him to. He was in insane physical and mental pain. He didn't know why Clay was doing this to him. What did he do wrong? Clay was sounding like the voices in his head.
Eventually, Clay got tired of the unresponsiveness of Eret and decided to put him out of his misery. He believed that to be thoughtful of him. "See you later, Alastair!" Clay muttered in a fake enthusiastic tone as he plunged the knife once more into his beloved brother. "Sorry for offing you with such a lovely knife, should've gotten one.. more your style."
With that final sentence, Clay snuck carefully out of the locked room. He didn't bother removing the knife, it just looked like he was murdered. It was perfectly believable, people were always out to fulfill royal assassination slots. The dagger had the blacksmith's initials carved into the handle anyway, they'd immediately go after him. Nobody would believe a town blacksmith over a prince. Clay had planned everything, nothing was going to go haywire.
He walked the halls with his bloodstained hands hidden within his robe pockets. He felt... satisfied.
"Let the uncontrollable grief commence."
---
The first person to discover the murdered prince was none other than his own mother. What a horrifying sight to see your own son, the one you raised for twenty-one years, the one about to become king, hunched over lifelessly against his bedside in a pool of his own blood, a dagger forced deep into his ribs. She froze instantly, her entire body going ice cold. "ERET!"