Nathaniel Aecroston
August 1st, 9:10 AM
Nathaniel knelt at the foot of the throne. His eyes were cast downwards, head bowed in the presence of the king. He could almost feel the chill of the eyes that glared coldly at him. "You requested to see me?" Nathan whispered this sheepishly, not daring to look up.
"Are you so lowly that you will not meet the eyes of your own father?" A booming voice answered him. Nathan winced, and his gaze instantly snapped up to meet those unforgiving blue eyes. "Much better. Now, stand up boy." There was spite in his voice, but Nathan stood nonetheless, albeit slowly. His shoulder ached from where one of the guards had grabbed him. His left hand balled up against his side.
"Sir Edwards informed me that you attempted to run away again last night." Nathan's hand flew instinctively to his injured shoulder. He dropped his gaze ever so slightly. Guilt flooded his brain. "What will it take for you to learn your place? You belong in this castle. You are a prince. Princes do not mingle in the streets among the rats and peasants. Do you hear me, Nathaniel?" There was a ferocity within his words that was hardly hidden, one that caused Nathan's face to flush red.
"I... I understand. It will not happen again. I promise... sir." Nathan stumbled over his words, avoiding the eyes of his father completely. There was a long, drawn out silence. His face was burning with embarrassment, and every movement caused his left shoulder to ache. "I... if you will excuse me, sir." He took a step back from the throne, his eyes flitting to the door.
"Go. Remember what I have said to you. Do not disobey me again. There will be... consequences." The king drawled at him, pointing a calloused hand towards the door. Nathan bowed, scurrying out of the room like a startled mouse. The door slammed shut behind him. Once he was alone in the hall, he let his face heat up, his eyes blink rapidly, and let the tears fall freely. He did not bother to wipe them. A short whimper briefly escaped his lips. He bit down on them in embarrassment.
Nothing he ever did pleased his father. No matter how smart or clever he was. It was never enough. But he could not leave. No matter how many times he tried, he failed again and again. Sir Edwards was always there to catch him, rough him up, and teach him a lesson. And most importantly, bring him back to this cursed castle. Nathan grabbed his bruised shoulder, grimacing in pain.
No, Sir Edwards would not catch him next time. He swore on it.
Leaning back against the stone wall, he finally wiped his tears away. He regained control of his breathing, raising a hand to smooth out his hair, then his tunic. Nobody could ever see him like this. Imagine what they would say. The things they said about Prince Nathaniel were bad enough now, they did not need more fuel for the fire.
He gently sniffled, pushing himself off the wall and picking up his posture. He was a prince, after all. He had to look presentable.
Wringing his hands, Nathan headed towards the north tower. It was still early morning, the sun filtered in through the stained glass windows of the palace. Gold and green, the colors of the Aecroston flag.
He was supposed to meet Collin in the courtyard at noon to work on his fencing skills. That gave him three hours of peace.
Nathaniel trudged up the stairs of the north tower, or as he called it, Nate's Tower. The only place in this castle he ever truly felt at home in. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, there was a small landing, with a rope ladder that led up to a wooden trapdoor. A small smile tugged at the prince's lips as he climbed the ladder, pushing the door up and propping it open so he could pull himself up into his room. He pulled the ladder up, closing the door so no one could interrupt him.
Nathan turned in a full circle, taking in the soothing environment he had created for himself. He did not have a bed, but instead he had a large window seat that served as his bed. It was cushioned with pillows of every color imaginable. He had several blankets as well, these were white and black. In the center of the room a fluffy black rug was laid out. On another one of the walls was a curved bookshelf. He had his books organized by the color of their spines. In front of the bookshelf was a desk, with a singular chair pulled up to it. There were several books lying open on the desk, along with some loose pieces of parchment. The final wall was empty. Nathaniel was not sure what to put there yet. Nothing had inspired him in quite the right way.
The prince took a seat at the window, gazing out over the land. From his tower he could see over the castle walls, and beyond the city walls he could catch a glimpse of the port. The water glimmered under the early morning light. Gracefully, he sunk into the pillows. Not so gracefully, he kicked off his leather shoes, and they hit the floor with a loud 'clunk'.
For awhile, Nathan was at peace.
Vincent Ataven
August 1st, 9:10 AM
Vincent knelt at the foot of the throne. He raised his eyes to meet the warm hazel eyes of his father. A smile danced across his father's face. "Vinnie, you know that you need not bow before me. We are equals. Rise, my child." His voice was soft and his words were kind.
Swiftly, Vincent stood. His armor made a quiet clinking noise as he did this. His expression was neutral, but a warm sense of pride was growing inside him. To be called the equal of his mighty father pleased him. "Yes Father. Might I ask what you called me here for?" His voice was monotone and deep, seemingly the opposite of the king's.
King Ataven stood, brandishing a longsword that had been leaning against the side of the throne. The hilt was made of a dark metal, almost black. Within the hilt there was a large sapphire, with 6 carnelian stones surrounding it. Blue and red, the Ataven colors. He would recognize this beauty anywhere.
Vincent stared at the sword, tapping his foot quietly against the floor. "Your sword?" His voice had become more gentle from the sheer shock.
"No,Vinnie. Your sword. I think it is time you took your place on the throne. I am getting old, you know. And your twenty-first birthday is quickly approaching. That will be the day of your coronation. September 26th..." He passed the sword into Vincent's hands, who took it from him with a smile of pride growing across his face.
"Thank you, Father. This is... wonderful news. I am honored greatly." Vincent removed his old sword from the sheathe, sliding the new one into place. He lay his old sword at his father's feet. "I will not disappoint you."
"I know you will not. You have always made me so proud. Yes," he said nodding "you will make a fine king." There was a moment of hesitation, as if the old king wanted to say more. "Run along now, my dear boy. There are preparations to be made."
"Thank you, Father. Bless you." The prince gave a quick bow, turning on his heels and exiting the throne room. A smug smile tugged at his lips. His revenge would be achieved much sooner than he had originally thought.
The war between his country and Aecroston had gone on long enough. 6 decades, to be exact. It was bloody, cruel, and unceasing. The true cause of the war was long forgotten. But once Vincent took the throne, he knew it would be over. He would destroy Aecroston.
At this thought, a dark grin replaced the prideful smile that had eased onto his face.
The prince whistled sharply, and after just a moment's beat, a large black dog joined him. He reached down and stroked the dog between the ears. It yipped excitedly.
"Good boy, Zyros." Vincent crooned, kneeling down to pet his beloved companion. The dog's tail wagged vigorously behind it. "Do not get too excited." He chuckled, straightening up and continuing through the castle. He made his way down to the basement of the castle, pulling his leather gloves off of his hands. He could see the dried blood underneath his fingernails.
His boots thudded against the stone floor, his chainmail armor clanking with every step. Zyros's nails clicked eagerly against the ground as he trotted alongside Vincent. He glanced at the pooch, frowning slightly. "So stupid, and so unaware," he murmured, picking at the blood under his nails. The dungeon was damp and cold, everything a stereotypical dungeon should be. The scent of mildew and rust hung in the air.
The prince stopped outside of a heavy wooden door, retrieving a key from inside of his right boot. With one swift motion, he unlocked the door and shoved it open. The hinges creaked as he stepped into the dimly lit room. There were four candles burning in the room that gave off just enough light. It was a small room, but it served its purpose.
In the center of the room was a singular wooden chair. Bound to that chair was a fair young woman. She raised her head weakly as Vincent entered. Her left eye was bruised, and her dress was torn. There was blood on the collar of her dress. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and silvery tears still stained her face.
"Lady Claire, I believe it is time you tell me everything you know about the castle of Aecroston..."
The door slammed shut behind him.
A moment later, a woman's scream tore through the air.