A thirteen-year-old boy ran across a huge garden lawn at great speed, disregarding the only thing isolating the building behind him from where he just ran out.
"Father, father!"
The boy hurriedly called, his voice shaking with excitement and nervousness.
"Father!"
The boy yelled again, stepping into the main building. His footsteps were hurried as he barged into the receiving halls, not caring about the snide or angry remarks he got from the maids he had pushed aside due to his haste.
"Father!" The boy's voice rang, alerting everyone to his presence.
The joy in his voice, detected by the light in his eyes, caused scowls on two deadly women.
"Insolent!" One of the women jabbed, angrily yanking the boy by his collar. "What is a brat like you doing here? Are you here to steal or pollute this place with your foul smell?"
"Speak up!" The woman fussed, "On whose permission are you here? Who let this beast into the main house?" The woman questioned him angrily, her grip on his collar getting stronger and stronger by the minute; it seemed like he was being choked in broad daylight!
"Let go!"
The boy struggled, his hand flying to the collar, trying to loosen the grip of her fingers, but it proved to have made it worse!
"Bastard!" The voice chided him, hitting him in the face.
Smack!
"Have you no shame? Answer the damn question! On whose authority are you here?!"
A brightly colored handprint stained the fair face of the boy, his eyes turning slightly red as tears threatened to spill.
"Let go; I have to see my father." He begged, still struggling to escape her death-like grip.
The woman sneered, "And have you stolen something?"
"I didn't steal anything!" He refuted, "That was Fredrick."
Smack!
Another handprint stained his face. "Is this how your mother trained you? Spilling lies when necessary?"
"You leave my mother out of this!" The boy argued unwaveringly with a glare, his hands turning into claws, swiping at the fists at his collar.
"Ah!"
The voice screamed in pain and rage, forcefully letting go of her grasp as red lines appeared on her skin along with claw marks.
"You pig!" The woman cried, "This is what I get for trying to correct you! Truly, you deserve to be labeled as a beast not fit to be a prince!"
"You can't blame him," the second woman said for the first time, her voice a high taunt. "After all, he was birthed by a lying royal pig himself! And do pigs have manners or show appreciation for raising them?" She asked with her chin raised in the air, disgust settling as she glowered at him.
The boy's eyes shone a light gold as he growled at her, ready to attack.
"What?" The second woman teased, "Don't like what I said?"
"Growl," he hissed like a rabid dog, "get out of my way; I have no business with you."
"My, my. What a bold statement from someone like you! It's so chilling that I almost want to obey, but you see, I feel repulsed seeing you." She provoked. "What are you going to do now? Hit me?"
"If I could, I would." He snarled.
"Marcos!"
An outraged voice called, his eyes shining bright red in rage.
"How dare you talk to my concubine that way?" He barked, his legs disappearing, leaving afterimages with every step he took.
In a flash, he stood in front of Marcos, his hand raised high.
Clamp!
The faint red marks on his face intensified!
He was so fast that even thirteen-year-old Marcos couldn't see anything but an afterimage!
With a thud, Marcos fell to his knees, open claw-like scratches filling his face like decorations.
Tears brimmed his eyes as he stared at the man he called his father, standing in front of him with a glare on his face.
"Kneel!" He commanded, but all he got was an even harder glare from the boy. "I said kneel!"
His father thundered, digging his claws into Marcos' shoulders.
With a grunt, he fell to his knees. "Father," he called, aggrieved.
"Don't call me that!" He spoke mercilessly. "Apologize!"
"Please forgive my insolence, concubine Joyce." Little Marcos spoke solemnly, his red, bloodshot eyes fixed solely on his father's face.
"That won't do at all, boy. Start looking for ways to convince me, but first, why are you here? And you better give me a good reason or else you will thoroughly regret it."
Hearing his father's voice without even a hint of mercy, a cold feeling crawled up his spine.
He knew his father despised him, but he never knew it was to this extent!
Every shroud of feelings he had for any of these people standing in front of him just left, and very cold water had been poured over him!
Reality was cruel!
All in all, this man was still his father, but it hurts so much!
"Are you deaf?" His father's voice sounded, followed by a quick kick from him. "Speak; I am running thin on patience."
With clenched fists, Marcos' pursed lips moved: "My mother, the queen, has gone into labor."
His reply shocked everyone in the hall, not even those maids whose strained ears had gotten wind of his words.
The first to react was his father, who looked like he had been slapped awake, his face falling blank. "And so?" He gritted his teeth and said, "That doesn't give you enough merit for you to stand here in front of me!"
"What??" Marcos' high-pitched voice ran out, his forced self-restraint fading like a puff of smoke.
He was only thirteen, after all!
"Dare you question me?"
"N—no, but you can't do this! None of the maids from my mother's courtyard wanted to come here! I had no choice! My mother needs her mate during this time, or else it's going to be difficult for her!"
"Have you no shred of respect for me? Who are you to yell at me and try to tell me what to do?"
"I am your son!" Marcos yelled, "She is going to die if you don't go! Even if you hate her so much, at least give her face this once!"
With a faint hint of coldness, he said, "If I had a choice back then, you wouldn't have been here. Never dare call yourself my son to my face; it disgusts me to know I had things to do with a person as your mother!" He said this, turning his gaze elsewhere. "Guards!"
With a pang in his heart, Marcos felt his shoulders slump in defeat and heartbreak.
Like they were stationed in a play, ready for their cue, eleven highly trained guards rushed into the receiving halls.
"Your majesty!"
They saluted, one hand on their chest, the other at their backs, and fell to their knees with their heads bowed.
"Take him to the correction chambers, see to it that fifty lashes are given without mercy, and have him confined there for a month. That's what he deserves when he shows no respect for the crown."
"Your majesty!" Marcos whispered, shocked.
"At once, your highness!" They answered, not paying attention to him.
Immediately, Marcos felt grabs, manhandling him, even going as far as restraining him with blows! The worst thing was that he never struggled!
So why?!
Why are they going as far as hitting him? He was still a prince, but that felt like it was only in name!
He caught a glimpse of the faces of those women, and the smirks on their faces told him all he needed to know.
Not even being dragged three meters, a maid ran into the room covered in sweat.
"Your majesty!"
She called in panic, going to her knees. "Bad news! The Queen!"
Marcos felt panic in his heart just hearing his mother's name with the way the maid sounded.
"Speak!"
His father's voice drowned out his.
She nervously turned to him, Marcos taking a deep gulp with that look of hers.
With a whisper, "The queen has passed." It was loud enough for everyone to hear.
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So sorry for the delay i had problems with my phone... I still do but I pray to fix it, it's so fustrating.
Question of the day, why aren't you following me? Remeber to comment and vote.