The Beast Within

A King's Game: Chapter Seventeen

There were no songs or speeches. No mourners or grief-stricken faces.

I never saw the king shed a single tear over the death of his son.

He announced the prince's passing at dinner before having the boy's chair removed from the table.

The court gasped, and some held their hands to their hearts—

But as quickly as it had come, their shock was gone.

The king finished by declaring that his wedding to the twins would commence in one day, and the court raised their cups in a toast before resuming their laughter and gossip.

I was appalled by the lack of care for the prince's death. Nothing more than a few words were given, and any sorrow that might have been shared was doused with celebration about the upcoming wedding.

Would there be no funeral? No mourning?

I found Roland after the meal and asked if there was to be any ceremony for the royal who died.

"He's already been buried," Roland said with a scoff.

"What about your promise that I would be free after doing what you asked?"

"You were promised freedom if you healed the prince."

"What is my purpose here then?"

He did not answer but turned and wandered off.

I realized the danger of my position. None of the court dared to look my way during dinner, and even Interra and Amatha were coldly distant. No one said it, but it was clear the blame for what happened was placed on me.

I was the beast that threw the prince from its back.

I was the one who killed him.

Not even the wolf would answer when I tried to speak to it.

I was alone, and whether the king would seek vengeance for his son's death was still uncertain.

The next morning I made my way to the courtyard to find where the prince had been buried. The charred walls were an eerie reminder of our first encounter, and now it seemed a grim premonition as well, for that had ended in an almost fatal accident.

Gardeners were scraping and washing the black dust from the walls, preparing for another crop of vines and flowers. Covering the past with new beauty.

The prince had not been a pretty flower, he hadn't even been gentle, but there was something grotesque in how everyone instantly ignored his life, as if he were as unimportant as a plant that could be burned to make room for something else.

I tried, and failed, to convince myself that the king's uncaring nature came from deep grief. Twice I spotted courtiers walking through the courtyard, and twice I attempted to stop them and express my sympathy for the passing of their future ruler. I was answered with ugly stares and turned-up noses. Perhaps it was their custom to meet death with indifference. But it didn't feel that way. It felt like a cruel sort of forgetting.

As I walked alone, I spotted a survivor in the dust. A single pink bloom had managed to escape the fire. I picked it and held it with care in my hand. When I lifted it to my nose, there was a trace of fragrance beneath smoke. I pocketed the flower, believing it would be safer with me than the gardeners.

It took nearly half a day to find the graveyard, which was tucked into a corner of the gardens, barely visible unless one was looking for it. I imagined it would be a grand sight, some beautiful marble monument or ornate tomb. It was nothing of the sort, only a handful of marked stones in a small plot of the courtyard, out of sight and memory.