Outside the palace, the fog of morning steadily cleared, the new day beginning. Ralya’s fingers twirled and twined the Princess Osberra’s hair as she absent-mindedly gazed out of the window. Merchants scurried about outside, hauling their wares to the guildhall, great in number. Children scampered around the streets, watched by loving parents, as men and women of great import rode horses in and out of the city.

  And here she was, braiding a young girl’s hair for a day of doing absolutely nothing.

  ‘Mother tells me our kingdom is to expand,’ Osberra mentioned after a few minutes of silence, her voice dripping with petulant wealth.

  And how many litres of blood will be shed to achieve that? Ralya thought, but instead of voicing her complaints, she simply said, ‘How so?’

  ‘We will be taking the Far Isles, beginning with one by the name of Quelorse. Have you heard of it?’

  Of course I’ve heard of fucking Quelorse. ‘I have not.’

  ‘Well, from what I hear, we shall have Quelorse under our kingdom in a matter of months, weeks perhaps, and after it falls, the rest of the Isles should follow suit. I don’t know why they’d bother, I’ve heard those islands get awfully cold, and the locals are far from polite. I hear they don’t even have currency, and simply trade cattle and wives. A truly barbaric people.’

  ‘Your guess as to why they’d want it is as good as mine.’

  ‘Father doesn’t tell us anything. I doubt it was his decision. If it was, he’d choose to invade somewhere warm and beautiful, like southern Jorat, or somewhere further afield like Shosha or Brankhel.’

  ‘Who could have influenced him, do you think?’ Other than his own hunger for lost lives, of course.

  ‘Undoubtedly that rotten Marshal of his; I do hate his ridiculous beard. Or perhaps one of his advisors, Master Storuss seems the kind to admire the cold.’

  At this point, Ralya finished braiding, and Princess Osberra was ready for the day. A day of doing, need I repeat, nothing.

  The girl stood up in her elegant, tailored gown without thanking Ralya, and floated out of her grand bedchamber and down the stairs. Ralya looked around to ensure there was nothing that needed cleaning in the room before leaving the room herself.

  She moved through the palace’s enormous halls, dusting the paintings and the tapestries and the tabletops as she walked. Her fellow servants would nod or smile or wave or engage in short, polite conversation as they passed, and the royalty themselves simply ignored her. Fluttering about with no goal in particular, she prepared for a long day like any other, when the castle’s Chief Manservant Owlor Rangerric approached, serious expression upon his sunken face.

  ‘Miss Wolmera,’ he began, addressing Ralya as though every word he spoke was profane and he was only repeating it for demonstrative purposes, ‘what is the current status of the preparations for the coming event?’

  Thank you, Owlor, for always being so vague as to make whoever you speak to seem a fool in comparison. I know your tricks. ‘The Merchants’ Guild meeting?’ she asked.

  ‘No, that event is not of royal concern. I am referring to the prince’s birthday and naming ceremony three days from now.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ She paused. ‘The preparations are coming along swimmingly. You may name any aspect of the preparations, and I will have completed it.’

  Owlor gripped the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘I expect far better from you, Ralya. It is unbecoming of Chief Maidservant to lie so fervently. Besides, there is little expected from you. Notice has been sent to the nobility and the relevant gentry, the commonfolk are aware, the blessed water has been secured, and most of the more menial preparations will be set up on the day. All you need to do, unless our majesties have other orders, is to ensure that the day is to the prince’s taste.’

  ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘Ask him what his preferences would be, and do all you can to make it a reality,’ Owlor answered and, before Ralya could ask anymore, walked away down the hall, back straight and expression stern.

  I hope he trips down those stairs and cracks his skull open. Ralya walked until she reached the prince’s bedchambers, himself still undoubtedly inside. She rapped at the door with polite knuckles.

  ‘Your Highness,’ she called, ‘it is Miss Wolmera.’

  ‘You may enter,’ called his high-pitched voice from inside. Ralya turned the knob, opened the grand mahogany door, and stepped through. Immediately, she was greeted by a childish ‘Ha!’ and the sight of a sword, pointed right at her throat.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  If this little rat pointing a sword at me is what kills me, wouldn’t that be a poetic end to a horrendous life?

  The prince, who had not yet been given a name but was often referred to as Diamond by his mother, stood wearing his royal garb, long hair dangling around his face, grinning from ear to ear as he held Ralya at swordpoint.

  ‘Foul beast!’ he cried. ‘You dare enter my domain without permission?’

  You gave me verbal permission seconds ago. ‘I apologise, Your Highness.’

  He drew the sword away. ‘Apologise not, dear maidservant, I was simply preparing for when my kingdom is invaded in the coming days.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Of course. It is not a matter of if,’ he paced about the room, swinging the blade by his side as though it were a toy. ‘In our family, the naming ceremonies of the firstborn son have been invaded or interrupted by assassins, soldiers, bandits, and even magical beings countless times throughout history. As I am set to be the greatest king Brellach has ever seen, evidenced by my victories in fencing tournaments, I will certainly be a target for one or more of these groups. As such, it is of the utmost importance that I am prepared to take down whatever comes our way.’

  ‘The ceremony will be guarded, your Highness.’

  ‘Why?’ the prince cried, pointing the sword towards Ralya once more. ‘Why does father not trust me to defend myself?’

  Perhaps it’s because you are thirteen years old and there isn’t a single maid in this castle who could not defeat you in hand-to-hand combat. ‘You would have to ask him.’

  ‘I’d be lucky if he were to so much as respond to one of my notes,’ the prince remarked, bringing the sword back and sheathing it on his belt. ‘Will he be present on the day?’

  ‘Yes, assuming all goes to plan.’

  ‘Well, he better. He hasn’t had the time for me for my entire life’ There was a hint of childish anger in the boy’s voice, almost enough for Ralya to empathise with him. Almost. ‘Regardless, what was it you sought from me?’

  ‘I came to ask if you had any preferences for your naming ceremony. It is your event, after all.’

  ‘Well, as I said, I wish to have a sword on me at all times and for it to be completely unguarded. I also demand there be no commonfolk present, and only the finest Cansferric confectionery be served.’

  ‘I will ask your mother and-’

  ‘I also demand a woman of high stock’s hand in marriage. The daughter of the emperor of Jorat, perhaps. I am not picky. All I request is that she not be too old or her hair too dark, and she may not be taller than me.’

  ‘I will do all I can, but making promises I cannot.’

  The prince seemed to pout at this notion, and as Ralya closed the door she heard him add, ‘And, should her eyes be blue, they mustn’t be too light, lest they frighten me.’

  Once the doors were shut, Ralya leant against the wall and sighed. Something bad needs to happen to that child, it’s perhaps the only way to make him less insufferable.

  She made her way down the grand stairs, where portraits of the king and queen stood taller than houses on the walls, and the ceiling-high sealed doors before the king’s private chamber dwarfed all who stood before it. As was typical, she found herself drawn to them, imagining what lay beyond them. Hopefully the rotting corpse of the king.

  A fellow maidservant approached and placed a plate of food on a high ledge leading into the room, which was then taken and the flap shut again, before anyone could see the king. As the maidservant walked away, Ralya continued to stand. What could compel a man to hide away for his whole life? Guilt, perhaps, guilt for what he did to me? No, it couldn’t be, not when he was still sending troops to massacre the people of the Far Isles. A man as despicable as he does not experience guilt.

  ‘Ralya,’ a voice to her right called, and she turned around to see that it was the polite, smiling face of the Queen Elawin, ‘I see my husband’s doors draw your eye as much as mine.’

  ‘I apologise for staring, I have matters to tend to.’

  ‘Worry not, we are all allowed time to think and reminisce. Thirteen years now, he’s been hidden away. How long have you been with us?’

  ‘Twenty,’ Ralya replied.

  ‘So you remember a time when he hadn’t secluded himself. As do I.’ She chuckled. ‘Of course I would, I’m his wife.’

  ‘He was never a public man to begin with,’ Ralya mentioned, ‘at least not in those seven years.’

  ‘No, but this was unprecedented. He has made sparse few public appearances since then; Diamond’s naming ceremony will be the first in years. He did not attend Osberra’s last year, though he seemed adamant to attend this one. At least his notes suggested so.’

  ‘It was Prince Diamond I actually wished to speak about.’

  Queen Elawin smiled. ‘I suspect this is for his ceremony.’

  ‘Yes, he has a few requests. He wishes for it to be unguarded, and for him to protect it all by himself. There was also something about Cansferric confectionery and a wife being found.’

  The queen laughed. ‘A difficult boy to love, that one, hilarious in a way he does not understand. We may be able to secure the confectionery, but beyond that I doubt we can go through with his suggestions. I wonder what Vercolt would think, were he to see him now. The king, I mean.’

  ‘I know his name,’ Ralya replied with an assuring smile.

  ‘I fear it is becoming increasingly obscure knowledge.’

  As Elawin stared wistfully at the doors, Ralya made her way out of the central chamber and into the garden, where she watched as overly-adorned guards patrolled the perimeter, protecting against threats not present.

  I wonder, she thought as she watched the guards cross each other’s paths, sabres in hand, how competent these guards would be if there were a true threat to the king’s safety. A true, unpredictable threat.

  Perhaps, even, one from the inside.