ArkonosBoard

She Who Governs

400-Word Post

Seungjing, Provincial Palace, Royal Lounge

A scroll flew over Gyeji’s head as she lay against the hard wooden couch. Then another. Each impact unfurled and even tore a bit at the precious papers.

“Pantheon, can’t you cut it out?” she snapped.

“So-rry,” her brother Gyenam called lazily from the other side of the room, rummaging through a shelf of provincial logs. “You’re gonna have to know all this stuff anyway since you’re the new governess now. Wouldn’t it be better if I helped you?”

“You flea!” Gyeji groaned. She sat up at once, standing with such force she knocked the entire couch over. She lunged at Gyenam, yanking him by the ear and pulling him up from his sitting position.

“Hey, hey, what’s the problem—watch it, I did my hair this morning—” Gyenam winced.

“I know what’s going on in that microscopic head of yours,” Gyeji hissed. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? Of my power? My title?”

“Okay, you got me!” Gyenam spat. He shook himself loose from Gyeji’s vice, rubbing his ear like a wounded animal laps its wounds. “It’s not fair, alright? Why was I even gonna be born if a woman was gonna take—”

Gyeji seized Gyenam’s ear once again, twisting it slowly. He winced melodramatically, although the tears streaming down his face, which was all the more funny to Gyeji, were very real. “Choose your next words very carefully,” she crooned eerily into his contorted ear, “as you speak to the Governess of Seungjing now.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Gyenam strained. “I apologize for my impropriety, Governess.” Gyeji threw him down to the floor as she released her grip. Gyenam found himself once more coddling his ear.

“I’m not blind, you know,” Gyeji scoffed, gliding over with her elaborate, trailing hanbok to pick up the scrolls Gyenam had thrown. “I’ve seen how you’ve read the lawbooks and histories of nations throughout Sokos. The human ones.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Gyenam numbly asked.

“I’ve also known you since you were born,” she continued, ignoring Gyenam’s interjection. “Always hungry. Always longing. It was power. Is power, isn’t it? Behind that stupid frown lies a vampire, hungry for what more it can take.”

Gyenam dropped his facade, his face hardening in steely resolve. “So? What does it concern you about what I want to do with my life? How I want to marry into other families to seize the title for myself?”

Gyeji pressed her lower lip in consideration. “Do it well, you fool,” she said at last. “And don’t be such an idiot. You’ll never get married like that,” she tsked, walking out of the room towards the palace’s court, to manage her duties their father had given unto her.

Another Day in the Court
3k Expansion Post

The walls have ears, no the walls are ears, I concluded, as I marched through the former Imperial estates of Maeng Jun, courtiers dropping to their knees as I passed, mumbles of praise filling the otherwise silent halls. I ignored them, however hard that was, since arriving in Okkjeon things had changed. I saw my men less, and saw these trimmed face scholars more, with their whispers of grandeur, and slight plays of courtly politics, endlessly trying to get the better of one another, even me. I despised them, I concluded. As I continued on my way, the thought that Maeng Jun dealt with these men daily gave me a moment of pity for my old dead father, where I’d thought none for the man before. Was this ruling, I pondered, or was this years and years of strife at it’s finest, generations of weak willed fools, who can barely hold a geom ruling in the shadows of the men who could, had Maeng Jun ever actually controlled his state. The thought disturbed me, the thought I knew so little of his administration, I’d been so young while at court, I knew nothing of the ends and outs of this level of beutratic back and forth, yes I could pass law, demand this, do that, but I knew the slightest on how to ensure my rule. I pushed the thoughts down, this was no time to ponder the new order I hoped to forge, if I had that intention at all.

“This would be it, my Gukwang.” Said the short Pan Young, the newly appointed Buyoon of Okkjeon. He was an oddity for many in court, and many questioned my decision initially to appoint him to such a prestigious position, but Pan Young was my maternal cousin's son, one of my few familial relatives still surviving after we’d been purged by my late father. He didn’t get the position out of a sense of familial bond however, he’d served with me with distinction the last two years, his loyalty becoming unquestioned in that time, but his greatest merit was his absolute control and mastery of administrative duties, being the sole reason we’d survived two winters in the ice caps of the eastern Eternals. For this, I felt I owed him my life, and that of my mens, as such I gave him Okkjeon itself.

I nodded, as I had a retainer lead the way into the old room of Maeng Jun, a room untouched for well over a year, if not more. Dust laden everything, every note, every commentary he wrote, I thought, as I examined what he’d left out, the uncompleted works he’d never finished struck me with unknown sadness, as I gripped the papers, and began to read.

“Stand outside,” Pan Young ordered to my retainer, the retainer nodding stiffly, and leaving to await us outside, Pan Young quickly beginning his search for anything useful, “Do you believe he’d had another will, truly?” He asked quietly, the question had haunted me for nights now, as I placed the unfinished commentaries of his life back onto the mat, an uneasy feeling sitting in my gut, as I slowly edged around the room of my former kidnapper, the thought that he’d not finished any of the things he’d set out to do. I feared our fates would be shared like that of our names, and more so feared for how I’d be looked upon when I etched my name in the stone of time, but death, and time were a distant thought, compared to the desperate need to know truths.

“I can’t allow another copy to exist, you know this. If he’d written another will, before that of his death, that questions or contradicts what he’d written prior to his death, to my asce-.” I stopped myself from going forward in what I said, Pan Young knew my worries well. The night before I’d spoken to him about it, along with Mok Kang-Dae, both understandably knew of the plight it would throw upon us if such a thing existed, it was crucial there was only one will. Even if a will lay here within his room, incomplete it could still threaten me, threaten everything I’d sacrificed, it would make the things I’d done, the actions I took, it’d make me look like a usurper. Perhaps I’d already become that however the moment I took Dae Gi heads, I thought, as I bent down to open a small box, the contents seemingly unimportant, till the seal of Maeng Jun sat sealed upon a small letter. I thought for a moment on whether to open the contents, or burn it all together, but my wickedness, my sense of knowing overwhelmed me, as I ripped the wax off, and examined it’s contents.

My breaths grew short, as I read along, my fur on my back growing stiff and cold, I placed it down, as I handed it to Pan Young, taking a seat upon my old father’s mat, my heart hurting, as Pan Young slowly clinched the paper, before folding it, and placing it into his robes, as he ordered the retainer outside to have everyone clear the halls, none could hear what would be said, I didn’t want to hear what was about to be said, the pain clinched my throat, as Pan Young sat before me, his face an uneasy pale, as he looked me over.

“This cannot get out, Cha.” He stated bluntly, the informalness of it striking, as he reached for me, as he grabbed my hand to snap me into reality. I was already in this sick reality, I thought, as I knew what he’d have me do, what they’d all advice me do, they’d have me become the monster, become the butcher of a babe in the arms of a mother. “The girl cannot live, Cha, she’s a threat to all we’ve worked for, what you’ve worked fo-”

“Silence!” I barked, as threw his hand aside, as my breaths drew heavy, as I searched for a solution, yet my mind rang with emptiness, as her name burnt into my psyche, “I won’t take a child from their mother, I won’t do, I will not snatch babe in the night, and leave the woman with nothing, I won’t destroy her life like he destroyed mine.” The words rolled out of me, and I instantly regretted it, as I snapped from my fit. I could never openly discredit Maeng Jun, could never harm what he’d been to the people, even in front of Pan Young, “Maeng Jun’s daughter.” I mumbled, as I wondered what he’d thought when he wrote the letter. Perhaps he’d intended to have her formerly enrolled into the family upon the end of the war, perhaps he’d wanted nothing of her, worrying for her safety in his viper of a court, maybe he just didn’t care, maybe there were others. That thought disturbed me the most, how many lovers could he have had, his wife had been barren for many years now, he may’ve been searching for an heir to his legacy, a child to take his name. I presumed I must’ve been his last fallback, if he’d had a son he’d have legitimized the moment of its birth, perhaps I’d meant truly nothing to him, merely a last desperate hope to depend on if he thought all was lost.

Pan Young could see my distraught, no doubt, as he quickly began to come to a solution, “The girl, Okk O Yun, she mustn’t fall into the hands of the court, this we can agree on, yes?” He asked, his tone unrespectful, but I relented, and nodded stiffly. He sat silent for a moment, his eyes unreadable, as he thought of a solution, “She’d be two years old, now.” He stated, as he stroked his mustache, his blue eyes like bright stars, as he pondered deeper, “I will adopt her, and take the mother as a wife.” He stated, the thought breaking all my constatration, as I looked into his soft, yet firm eyes.

“You?” I asked, dumbfounded by how weak of a response to such a request was, but my mind raced with uncertainty. No, Pan Young was loyal, but with such a piece on the board, he’d become another threat to my rule, yet, she’d be in my pocket, securely under my supervision. The prospect of a legitimate child could prove useful, I’d be both the elder and male son of Maeng Jun, and she’d be too young to prove a threat for now. The thoughts of her being another legitimate pawn in my game were seductive, but Pan Young, he was loyal, yet not a So, nor even an Okk, just a son of a minor retainer, and a woman who had the right name.

“If you were to adopt the child,” I began, as the thought of a legitimate child grew upon me, the idea I could emerge with a legitimate force overwhelming. Perhaps it overbored my sense of judgement, yet now the idea rolled down my mind, like a ball rolling down a hill, it’s destination unknown, yet it was now in motion. “You’d need to be made a So,” I mumbled, as I pondered the situation, the prospect of merging the lines, redeeming my family’s name. I couldn’t help but smile, Okk Maeng Jun may have taken my name, my honor, and my family, but I could take that of his.

Pan Young seemed to grasp what I played at, nodding slowly as he pondered the idea in our shared silence, “The papers can be circumnavigated,” He stated, as he nodded in agreement to himself, “No remaining So lives, yet that doesn’t mean I can’t have become one. Your brother’s, perhaps in the last days of desperation having written in their will I be adopted as a son.” He said. The idea was an easy one to ensure, I had their wills, I’d read them myself, but no one else had seen it, yet it made me pause. The So estates would fall into solely Pan Young’s hands, till now being direct property of the state, still not distributed, it would all go directly to my elder cousin, who’d have the power of a pawn to boot.

In that moment I remembered another player on my board, as the pieces aligned, as I nodded to myself, “You will have that of a son as well, my cousin.”

The proceedings hadn’t been troublesome, in fact they’d been the smoothest matters of state I’d been able to pass. Perhaps in fear of retribution, or general lack of power, even fear, none even slightly questioned my word, when I opened my late brother’s will, and informed the people of Okkjeon, a So yet lived, that of So Pan Young, newly adopted into the So dynasty, that of which I reinstated all prior honors and lands. In the next few days I watched as Pan Young followed my direct orders, and adopted Mok Kang-Dae, now So Mok Kang-Young, named for his father, as a son, and heir apparent to the So lands. Neither liked one another, perhaps both even hated the former, yet neither dared raise the issue, both understood their place, to check one another. Pan Young would rule in Okkjeon, and my trusted Mok Kang-Young would rule in the western So lands while his father remained absent, in the capital.

The people praised the return of the popular So family, even if none truly were that of my former family, but the plan had gone without issue, yet the last pawn remained unmoved, and my move unfinished.

The carriage finally came to a stop. A barrage of ladies followed behind, with banners of crimson red, and blackish blues draping off the backs of armored retainers, hand picked to receive our guests, as I awaited them at the top of my palace steps. The carriage opened, and So Pan Young emerged, shortly occupied by his newly wed wife, the charming Kar Hyun, formerly nothing but a servant, now a lady of my court, and lastly the small So O Yun, dressed in silks of purple and flaming red. All present dropped to their knees, then bowed down to the stone floors of the palace road. I looked down upon hundreds, all of them powerful men and women, all of them bowing to me. I allowed the praise to go on for a moment, but remembering to not impose strict posture among family, so allowed my brother’s son to rise, with that of his newly found family. “Come,” I stated, as silence filled the open air, even the city seemingly in the distance hushed at the sound of my voice, as I gestured for them to accompany me inside to the garden. I allowed myself to smile, ignoring the traumas of the prior years, as I walked, I deserved a moment to enjoy my victories, before my final storm north.

Pan Young walked beside me, as we discussed the journey’s uneventful stops, while his wife, and newly adopted daughter walked ahead of us, the little girl chuckling at her mother’s whims, all while observing the beauty of the garden. She was such a small thing, I thought, as she pranced up and down, her mother desperately trying to keep her calm, no doubt she feared what I’d do to both of them if I found them wanting. Yet, she brought me the only joy I’d felt in such a long time, her smile something longly needed within these sad decrepit walls. I despised myself for having possibly thought of ending such a child’s life, even if brief. I concluded I’d need to evaluate myself in time, a meditation on my actions was in desperate order, for I may lose myself to the sins of mortal man. Perhaps I would be the one found wanting.

“Pan Young,” I began, cutting him off as he was discussing the logistics of our coming campaign north, “Please excuse yourself, and your lovely wife. I’d have time with my grand niece.” His face went blank for a short moment, but he obliged instantly as he snapped into reality, quickly gathering his wife, before both departing in short order, as I took the young girl to the bench I knew all too well. We sat for a long moment in silence, the little girl seemingly frightened of me, perhaps her mother had struck fear into her heart before arrival, or perhaps I frightened children now too. I turned to her, and she to me, in her eyes that of a man who’d once looked at me on a snowy day, on a bloody day, where a little boy’s life was forever changed.

“Would you like to hear a story?” I asked softly, her face clearly confused by the sudden gentle question, before she nodded softly. I smiled, as I began. First minutes passed, then an hour, as I told her the tale of her fathers rise to power, his eventful life, his friends and companions, the great many victories they’d won, the people they saved. I’d go on about how evil men ruled with shadows, and used foul hearted men to destroy what was good, and how her father set out to make these foul men pay. I told her of the trials he faced, and those he lost, and how he always fought for the good of the people, that he was a righteous man, who set out to make the land strong. I told her lies, and more lies, the story of half truths, before finally reaching the conclusion of his saving of a young boy, who he made his own.

“Who was the boy?” She asked, her head slouched onto my shoulder, as I sat in a moment of silence, her words so pure, so gentle. I smiled, burying the pains of my past, as I wrapped my arm around her, “He was an orphan, abandoned by foolish men, in a time where he’d needed them most.”

“An orphan?” She asked, confused, perhaps she’d not known the word, I pondered.

“One without a family, sweet child.” I answered as sweetly as one could when discussing those who had the bad luck of not having a father or mother.

“Where’s your family?” She asked at the invitation of the word family, the little child unknowingly causing me silent distress, as I pondered the question. I had no one left, I concluded for a moment, but I looked to her sweet eyes, and her soft smile, no longer did she view me with fear. I lifted her off her feet, her giggling filling the normally depressing air of the gardens, before I gently placed her down, a wide grin across her royal face.

I smiled, as I bent down, gently holding her shoulder, “Your part of my family, O Yun, you and your mother.” I stated, the little girl possibly knowing what I meant, possibly not, but her smile brought me before now unknown vigor I needed to move on from my past. “Come dear,” I stated, as I grabbed ahold of her hand, “Let us find your mother and father, no doubt they miss you.” I stated.

She held tightly, and as we walked playfully down the garden steps asked, “Can you be my father?” The words struck me, as I paused, before looking at her little face, her smile never changing.

“You have a father my dear,” She pouted, clearly she didn’t find Pan Young a suitable father. I laughed, the first laugh in a long time, as we stood in the same garden I’d once laughed in with Maeng Jun. Now I stood in a position he did, with a child he had lost it all, yet now stood as an important piece of a game they had no idea was being played, “I might not be your father, but I will always be your Uncle.” I stated plainly. Her face was puzzled for a moment, perhaps she didn’t know what an uncle was, but it meant little, she grasped it enough, and nodded.

“Then let’s go find my mother, uncle.” She giggled, as she started running away, her little feet running down the stairs, as she laughed, as I quickly followed, a short moment of true happiness once again filling my life.

Living For the Dead

500-Word Post

Byeolsan, Inner District, Ro Residence

Munsang slid open the door to the living room, casting in the morning light in the dimness of the hanok. He shook his head in disgust.

There was his father, as he would always be when not in the palace, sitting listlessly in the corner.

“Father,” Munsang called. No response. Munsang undid his boots and slid them off as he took wary, disappointed steps as he shut the door behind him, confining the sunlight to a soft glow rather than harsh beams.

“Father,” he said again. Munhan looked up, his face appearing more aged by the day.

“Oh, son, you’ve arrived,” Munhan responded with weak, forced salutations. “How go the campaigns to the north? It is good for Ryeongse to strengthen its hold—”

“When have you last slept, Father,” Munsang sternly asked, kneeling in front of his father, in the darkness alongside him.

“It is good for Ryeongse to strengthen its hold on the Astrals and Perennials for the sake of our security,” Munhan continued, ignoring the question entirely.

“Father,” Munsang gently began again, an irate edge beginning to present itself, “This isn’t like you. Get some rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Munhan responded feebly, like the childish groans of an old man. Munsang clenched his fists.

“Get a hold of yourself, Father,” Munsang spat. Munhan fell silent. “You’ve been acting like some pitiful geezer ever since Munyu died. Where did the king’s best friend go, huh? Where did my father go?”

Munhan said nothing still.

“Sitting around all day moping or whatnot isn’t gonna bring Munyu back,” Munsang continued, his anger mixing in with pain and grief. “Munyu may have been your son, but he was my brother, too. Don’t you think about what I feel every single day? And don’t you think about how Munyu would feel if he saw you right now? He’d be more disappointed than I am in you right now.” Munsang panted in the silence of the aftermath of his explosion.

“I’m sorry,” Munhan whispered, at last, a tear streaming down his wrinkled face. “Please forgive me.”

Munsang put his arms around Munhan, lifting him up and walking him to his bedroom. “I’m sorry for how I said things,” he said gruffly, “but not for what I said. You can apologize by living how we both would want you to live. Now, get some rest, Father. When you wake up, get ready and get to the palace to work. The king entrusted running the kingdom to you, after all.”

“Yes, yes, I’m going,” Munhan replied as the two entered Munhan’s bedroom. “I don’t suppose I can get you to tuck me in and sing me a lullaby, can I?”

Munsang chuckled. “Nope.” He slid the door to his father’s room gently shut, then made his way out of the house and towards the palace once more.

It was the start of something. A process. Never mind that it could take the both of them the rest of their lives to live not without Munyu but live as Munyu would have wanted them to live. Still, it was good seeing Munhan smile that one time, that one jest. That old man went away just a little, a glimpse of Munsang’s father underneath having grown just that bit larger.

A Day at Hwangsorui Fortress

600-Word Post

Hwangsorui Fortress, Training Grounds

Kangdae’s lungs felt like they were going to explode. Or implode. Whichever one was more painful.

The biting air of the morning mountain valley rattled within his chest like spikes as he panted and wheezed what he could running along the outer wall’s paths, along with the rest of his battalion. Each battalion stationed at Hwangsorui would run each morning in rotations, in different parts of the fortress to maximize the amount of exercise (the pain) each soldier would have. Although it was the sunnier of the winter days as of late, it still was stupid cold. It was a wonder Kangdae was still standing, not to mention running. A lesser man would have bundled into a ball coughing their last. What was worse was that Kangdae, as a heavy infantryman, was to complete his run with his full suit of lamellar armor, with winter padding underneath, however much that was worth. If the cold could be tolerated by some, fewer still would be able to underneath armor that weighed a quarter they did.

“In one’s mind and soul,” the captain of the battalion cried from the rear, taking a break from screaming in the faces of the battalion’s laggards. Kangdae would have to pick up his pace; he was only a dozen men ahead.

“Harmony reigns supreme!” Kangdae and the rest of the battalion yelled in response. Kangdae suppressed a cough from the saying, attacked immediately by the frigid air in his throat. It was all the better. Captains would frequently issue call-and-response Gyunhyeongji proverbs while drilling their troops. It was suicide to hold back in your response. Then again, so was running your lungs out horsepaces above sea level in the dead of winter.

Kangdae could not wait until the day was over.

========

Hwangsorui Fortress, Training Grounds, Sparring Fields

Through a bamboo helmet, Kangdae eyed his opponent, some hotshot gentry boy from Insuwon. The two wore thick cotton padding, with plates of bamboo atop the shoulders, forearms, chest, skirt, and shin of each warrior. It was rather uncomfortable, despite all of the cotton. Apparently the logic went that training in such awkward clothes would make one proficient in the less awkward but still unwieldy suit of heavy infantry armor. Kangdae was not sure how that logic worked, if at all, but now was not the time. Now was the time to show this kid what Yesanchom men were made of.

The two slammed the butts of their bamboo staffs against the fine gravel ground of one of many designated sparring rings throughout the field. Holding their other arm, carrying a padded bamboo shield, stiffly to their side, both bowed curtly at the waist to each other, two horsepaces apart. A sergeant overseeing the match threw down his raised fist. It was showtime.

And then the show ended almost as quickly as it had begun, this time with the hotshot gentry boy guffawing with his friends as Kangdae fixated his skewed helmet upon his head with a thoroughly defeated pair of buttocks on the ground. Through the helmet’s bars, he was able to see the sergeant shake his head in disapproval as he walked away to supervise another match.

At least the afternoon was almost over.

========

Hwangsorui Fortress, West Lecture Hall

“There are several ways through which the balance of the universe exhibits itself,” continued the dsen professor in the west lecture hall. Although sleep was nagging at Kangdae’s spirit, for the sun had retired before he did, he was nowhere near tired enough, or stupid enough, to even attempt to sleep during the lectures, as some did. Those who were unlucky enough to be caught were expelled from the fortress, if not from their position from the military entirely. A decree from the king, ensuring that each soldier’s mind was as strong as his body. A decree made all the more easy with Ryeongse’s new coffee wares, thank the gods. Still, it was hard to pay attention, and the notes Kangdae had jotted down looked more like an ancient Empyrial treasure map than observations about physics and mathematics.

“Characters on a page and sage wisdom from eras past do still hold value,” the lecturer continued, etching large numerals on the wall of slate behind him with thin lightning racing from his fingertips, “but numbers hold the key to comprehending, to conveying that balance. Two and two will always be four, never five and never three. I assume you would know this, considering you were to read the assigned trigonometry scrolls last night.”

Kangdae’s stomach sank. So that was what he was forgetting. Hopefully the lecture would end before the lecturer would—

“Please come to the front of the hall in an orderly fashion and deposit the notes you took of those scrolls,” the lecturer announced.

========

Hwangsorui Fortress, Barracks

A tinge of purple was visible in the black-blue sky from Kangdae’s window. Unfortunately, it was not west but east his window was facing. Assuming Kangdae would fall asleep right away, he would have about three hours of sleep.

But he would, despite how inconsistently and how often he would spend his nights sleepless. It was a long day today, after all, and as Kangdae drifted off into whatever sleep he could take before him, he was glad that another day was behind him.

Still, another lay three hours ahead.

A Place to Die

Spring had finally come. After weeks of cold, bitter days and gray skies in Syrduria, the first days of Highsun had finally arrived, and Karlus reveled in it. Although he despised how sweltering the summers could get, he also had no affection for the dreaded winters, where he would have to spend his days cooped up in the castles of his family. For this he preferred more mild, moderate temperatures and so he favoured most Autumn and Spring. Normally he would greet these new pleasant days with that youthful cheerfulness that he frequently possessed but this time he did no such thing. While winter had finally ended, his stay in Wyvern’s Rest had not, and Karlus hated the city. The only amicable part was St. Arnyld’s Castle and the neighbouring noble quarter, where the noble houses were gathered around the castle in a failed attempt to emulate it. If Karlus went any further he found himself in a foul, cramped, rancid place, the houses so packed together and so poorly built that he felt that they would collapse any second. He made sure to not even go near the slums, which he had only heard bad things about, and if he had to, for example in order to make it to the home of some acquaintance of his, he made sure to bring an armed entourage. He could never be too careful after all, and he was sure that the inhabitants of the slums were nothing but scoundrels, untouchables or people—if he could call them that—of lesser races. It was an area that was best avoided.

The Kristoberg Prince longed to return to his family castle. Thinking of it invoked those memories of his hikes through the surrounding rolling hills and of him hunting with his companions in the thick forests around the castle. These memories seemed so distant to him now, even if he had only been in Wyvern’s Rest for a while now. He had already spoken with his father about returning soon, but the Duke was reluctant. Karlus wasn’t sure why, maybe his father wanted him to be there for Steffan’s return to Wyvern’s Rest, he did not know. Nevertheless, he continued to pester his father about it. Eventually, exasperated by his father’s stubbornness, he began to make preparations to leave by himself with some of his companions.

“So it shall be! So it shall...” Karlus muttered quietly. He was in one of the dining chambers close to his room in St. Arnyld’s Castle, eating a small meal by himself. The words he was speaking were the lyrics to a song a friend of his had sung to him. He remembered the tune but only some of the words and had grown quite fond of it, making a mental note to ask his friend for the rest of the lyrics. “So it shall be! So it shall... He continued, humming the tune of the rest of the song. This ‘recital’ was soon interrupted though, as Karlus then heard the sound of stepping nearing the dining hall. As it grew louder, he recognised the restrained, measured pace of the noise, a noise that he had grown too accustomed to. He guessed that it was his father Martyn and this suspicion was soon confirmed when the elderly Duke walked into the room, a faint smile appearing on his face as his eyes turned to his son.

“Ah, there you are!” He said, his smile growing wider. To Karlus, however, the expression his father carried seemed almost unnatural or fake and he looked at him in suspicion, squinting his eyes.

“Yes?”

Seeing that his son did not reciprocate the smile, Martyn’s expression soon changed, turning even more peculiar, as he gave a look that made him seem like he was lost in thought.

“I’ve been looking for you. Why do you not eat at the main hall?”

“This one is closer to my room. Besides, sometimes I need a bit of solace, and few people pass by here.”

“Oh. Alright then...um...how have you been these past days?” Martyn asked awkwardly. Karlus only glared at him in further suspicion—this was most unlike him, to be so indecisive in his words. Normally he was full of conviction and got to the point quickly but here he mumbled and muttered, unsure of what he was saying, as if he was trying to avoid a certain topic. Despite this, Karlus continued to entertain the conversation.

“Not so well. I’ve told you several times I want to go back home, I don’t know why you continue to insist that I stay here for ‘just a bit longer’.” He said scowling, making a poor imitation of his father when he quoted his words.

“It’s just that...well...with Steffan’s return and-” Martyn explained, but Karlus, who was growing impatient, then interrupted him.

“Oh get to the point please. I can tell you want to say something important.”

The duke was taken aback by his son’s sudden animosity, but Karlus’ words served as a reminder to Martyn of his task. He was not here to just talk of random matters with his son, but inform him of the new developments surrounding Steffan’s return to the throne and the fact that Karlus would have to assume the crown after his cousin’s abdication. To be entirely honest, he was not sure how the young prince would take it, but he hoped that Karlus would not put up too much of a fuss. He had to submit, whether he wanted to or not, he had to.

“If you insist. I’ve come to inform you on a few matters. Regarding Steffan II and the throne.” He said nervously.

“Go on.”

“A few days ago I spoke with Count Jan of Frybeck, I’m sure you know who he is.” Began Martyn. He paused for a second, hoping to confirm this assumption and when his son gave a short nod, he continued. “He and a large group of nobles, an alliance you could call it, have come to an agreement. They are tired of Steffan and have demanded his removal.” Karlus’ face turned to worry as he feared the worst.

“Greatest protect us, are they trying to start another war?”

“No! No, this is different. We’ve…I’ve come to an accord with them.” Replied Martyn. Karlus’ eyes widened in confusion and curiosity. He waited for his father to continue. “We can no longer keep their support if we insist on Steffan remaining on the throne. He, unfortunately, has to go if our family is to retain its position within this kingdom. He will have to abdicate.” Continued Martyn. Karlus’ only became more concerned.

“I don’t understand. With Steffan gone, who becomes the next king? Are we to let them elect one that is not of our blood? I don’t-” Karlus stopped. He gave another strange look at his father and then shook his head, a frown appearing on his face. It was clear to Martyn that his son had reached a conclusion of his own, but whether it was the right one, he was not sure. “Father! I would’ve not expected this from you! Such treachery, such ambition! And don’t tell me that it is for the good of the realm, I know the truth of it! Deposing Steffan, taking the throne for yourself, that’s cold and vile, even for you!”

“Not me.” He said firmly, hoping that Karlus could reach the conclusion from there. He was correct, and soon his son’s look of disappointment turned to complete bewilderment.

“You don’t- You’re not- Me?” He said, stuttering. Martyn only gave a nod. “But I don’t- Why me? Why not you?”

“Because I don’t have much time left here Karlus, and when I’m gone, do you really believe you can secure the crown for yourself? I’m doing you a favour.”

Karlus looked at him and began thinking. He was not sure what to do, what to say. His father’s announcement had stunned him, leaving him without words and paralysed by indecision. Him, on the throne, as King of Syrduria? He thought it strange that he had not entertained the prospect. After all, Steffan had no sons, only daughters and his wife was already too old to have more. The idea of another Queen of Syrduria seemed unlikely, almost alien to Karlus and he assumed that the other nobles of the land would think the same. In his eyes, women did nothing but harm when ruling. That left only he and his father as the closest male relatives still of the Kristoberg house. Karlus had no brothers, and his father was already too old and infirm to have more, nevermind the fact that he was no longer married and did not wish to take another wife. Which meant that after Martyn was dead, he would be the only one left.

It all seemed so terrifying to him, though. As King of Syrduria would he not be the one that would have to defend the kingdom from invaders, would he not be the one that would have to lead its armies? He thought about having to fight the Namarians. Now that was scary. He shuddered at the thought of ending up like Augustyn, his face caved in by a halberd. But then other matters calmed his mind and he began to think of the benefits, the luxuries that he would have as king. He thought of his name being known throughout all of Sokos, of the men from all throughout the continent who would come to his court and pay tribute to him. He thought of meeting the rulers of the famed nations of the world, of meeting Melorath and François. He thought of the prestige, the fame, the respect, the adoration and admiration he would receive, all for just possessing a title and a crown. It no longer seemed so terrifying to him now. Now it looked alluring, enticing, and although a part of him thought that he was almost walking into a trap, and was about to cross a point of no return, he gave it no more thought, he had made up his mind.

“Karlus?” Martyn said impatiently. His son looked at him with a blank expression.

“Yes?” He replied.

“Well?” Said Martyn. Karlus was silent for a moment.

“If it is demanded of me, then I will rise to the task.” He said, his voice and face full of conviction

Martyn gave a wide smile at his son, almost beaming in pride. Karlus gave a faint smile of his own, but his expression of conviction suddenly vanished and he looked lost, like he didn’t know where he was or where he was going. The old Duke exited the room quietly as for him just a simple sentence to show that Karlus consented was all he needed from his son. He had achieved his mission and left the room, leaving a confused Karlus stuck to his seat, trying to process what had just happened.

***
“They’re here Your Grace, they’re coming down the road just now, we caught sight of their banners.” Said Count Wernyr softly as he turned to his liege lord Martyn.

“Good, good. I was getting worried that they might’ve taken a different route.” Replied Martyn. The Duke was adorned in his ceremonial armour, a large suit of plate with golden flourishes. As his company of almost sixty men caught sight of Steffan’s procession, he removed his sallet, revealing his face, and he rode up the road with Wernyr and two other knights to greet his cousin. As they came to a halt in the road, Steffan’s large company was now in full view. The King himself was in a large carriage guarded by twelve mounted knights, who surrounded the coach from all sides. They were all in fine steel armour, and the one at the front carried the personal banner of Steffan. As Steffan’s company approached Martyn, the knight at the front told them to stop and rode personally towards the Duke and Wernyr. He did not remove his helmet nor raise his visor, so his face remained covered.

“Halt! Who are you? What do you want? You stand in the presence of His Highness King Steffan II. I am his trusted envoy and vicar, Ser Tomás Banyas. Choose your words carefully.” Said the knight. Martyn knew exactly who he was, and he knew his father well too, the esteemed Lord Matyas of Vrilek, who, unbeknownst to his son Tomás, was one of the principal supporters of the conspiracy to depose Steffan II. The fact that Tomás was leading Steffan’s procession was no mere coincidence either, nor was the fact that Steffan’s company only amounted to twelve knights, a measly number compared to Martyn’s sixty. For Martyn, he simply could not make a mistake here, when the balance of the kingdom lay in his hands. Everything had to go perfectly, Steffan could not be allowed to get away.

“You needn’t be so apprehensive. I am Duke Martyn, His Highness’ cousin. I thought you would recognise me by my banner. I see I was mistaken.”

“Oh. Well, uh, what- what is it you want?” Said the knight timidly, still trying to act confident, albeit failing miserably.

“I wish to speak to him. Or am I not allowed to greet my dear cousin?”

“Let me discuss this with His Highness.”

The knight rode away back to the carriage and leaned towards the window. Martyn could tell that he was saying something and he even caught a glimpse of Steffan himself, his brown hair and bushy beard marking him out. A minute later he returned to Martyn. Raising his hand, he made a short gesture and gave a nod, giving the signal to show that the Duke could go. Martyn rode up to the procession by himself and approached the carriage. There he found Steffan sitting calmly, his light green eyes turning to look at his cousin. The two had not seen each other in nearly four years and this sudden reunion, however brisk it would last, was not what the King had been expecting. He looked at his cousin in concern, perhaps surprised at his unannounced visit. Why had he not waited for them at Wyvern’s Rest? Why meet them here, in the middle of a quiet road and why bring sixty knights with him? It all seemed a bit strange.

“Cousin! It is good to see you at last. I trust things have been well at Wyvern’s Rest. I cannot express my gratitude for your deeds in the war against Augustyn. Truly, you’re a hero of the kingdom. I’ll have you remembered for this!” Said Steffan, smiling but it was clear to both that he did not mean what he was saying. It was simply friendliness in hopes of placating his cousin.

“Your Highness. I hope your trip has been going well. I’ve come to escort you for the rest of the trip.” Replied Martyn.

“Oh no, thank you cousin but that won’t be necessary. I have a fine company as is.”

“Well actually Steffan-” Martyn paused for a moment. “Well actually Your Highness, I was hoping-”

“It is not necessary, cousin.”

“Steffan I must insist-”

“Martyn, Martyn, Martyn. When will you change?” Interrupted Steffan. “You should know better than to try and order your King around. Remember your place here.” Martyn looked at his cousin with contempt. Steffan smirked, believing that he had put Martyn in his place and gave a small gesture to tell him to leave. Martyn gave a long bow and rode back to Wernyr and the two other knights.

“I tried Wernyr. The man’s stubborn.” Said the Duke.

Wernyr sighed and looked down, as he and the others realised what they would now have to do. Returning to their company of sixty knights, Martyn gestured for them to follow and they slowly approached the carriage. By now, Tomás and the rest of the knights had turned from confused to worried. Again the young knight in the front rode up to Martyn.

“What is going on? What are you doing?” He said loudly. His men were quickly growing anxious, a few were already clenching the pommels of their swords tightly, waiting to unsheath them at any moment. Martyn remained calm though, and said a few words to Wernyr, who then seconds later took from a pouch a small letter, which he handed to the Duke.

“This…” Martyn began, waving the letter at Tomás. “This is a letter from your father Matyas. He’s been longing to see you, you know. Read it please.” Said Martyn and handed the letter over to Tomás. The young knight raised his visor and read through it carefully. Once he had finished, his expression of concern and worry had turned to one of simple acceptance. Turning his gaze to the ground, he signalled for his men to stand down. Yet at that moment Steffan burst out of the carriage, his face carrying an expression of anger and he began shouting to his guard.

“What in The Greatest’s name are you doing men?! What’s going on?! Tomás!? Do something, damn it!” He cried out, but no response was heard from his guards. Either they still didn’t quite understand what was happening and were waiting around to see what Martyn would do, or had decided to follow Tomás’ orders completely. Two of Martyn’s knights then rode towards the carriage, along with the Duke himself.

“We are here to escort the King to Keinstein Castle.” Said the Duke to Steffan’s guards. “You have served your kingdom well and I thank you for your service. You may depart, or join us on the road if you wish.” He said, before turning to the driver of the carriage. “We’re going to Keinstein Castle now, goodman, I trust you will keep this carriage on the right path.” He said. At that moment Steffan tried to leave the carriage, opening the door, only for it to be closed shut by one of the knights. He was trapped. A few seconds later, Martyn gave another signal and with a loud “Hyah!” from the driver the carriage was on the move again.

***
The trip to Keinstein Castle was not particularly long. Despite some protests from the knights, they rode through the land day and night, making only sporadic stops to rest. Within two days they had arrived. The castle itself was not very admirable, and Martyn himself had once described it as a rotting stone structure. He didn’t remember when his family had come to acquire it, he assumed it was a couple decades ago. Built atop a small hill near the east bank of the Argae, it was small, cramped and sometimes damp, if the rains became too frequent and too harsh. As Steffan caught sight of it, he grimaced, still unsure of what was going on and unaware that that small castle was where Martyn had planned he would spend the rest of his life.

As the carriage came to a stop and the knights stabled their horses, Steffan was unwillingly brought to one of the chambers with Martyn. On a small table by the side of the window was a blank piece of parchment, the great seal of the realm and a quill and ink. The King, still baffled, asked his cousin what was going on. At that moment Martyn explained to him what had truly transpired, of how he was to abdicate the throne, of how he was to spend the rest of his life imprisoned in this castle and how he was going to write his abdication and seal it now. He had no other choice. Steffan initially refused, taken aback by the news. He would not give up his crown, he would not, for he was the rightful King of Syrduria, elected by the Kiralstag and anointed by the Grand Patriarch of Wyvern’s Rest. How could he abdicate? He would not let his pride and prestige suffer such a humiliation.

Martyn was insistent. Back and forth the two cousins talked, resentment building up between the two and soon they were in a full argument. By then Martyn’s patience had run out. He called for one of his knights who entered into the room, his hand firmly on his sword. That made the message clear enough. Although he tried to steel his heart and to show courage, cowardice won over, and the King relented. He sat down, and began writing, copying word for word what Martyn dictated. A few minutes later he was done, and the Duke grasped the parchment, rolling it up, and sealing it with a red wax and the royal seal. Putting the parchment in his pocket, he got ready to leave but not before Steffan let in some last words.

“Is this how you treat your family, cousin? Will you leave me here, to spend the rest of my days here until I die? It’s cruel, and you know it.”

Martyn looked at Steffan, a firm expression on his face.

“You should be grateful you’re dying here, if I had my way I’d have you die in the dungeons!” He spat, before leaving and slamming the door shut, leaving a stunned Steffan nearly on the verge of tears.