A story about a prince and his pretty consort presumptive.
Crown Prince Raffe, as the only son of High King Alizade and sole heir to the High Throne of the Ruemri Empire, is bound to fulfill one important duty for the crown. Even if that duty involv...
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Prince Damien and Prince Talmic; both17 years of age
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JUST AS he said, Soren arrived at Nal Amel within two days.
Contrary to the usual protocol, the first thing he did after arriving there was not to greet the royal family but to disguise himself as a traveling faie merchant and roam around the capital. He read the reports about Nal Amel while traveling, but never did he imagine it would be worse than what he read in those papers.
There were signs of distress everywhere he went.
The streets were filled with panhandlers, the markets were stocked with cheap, low-quality goods, and miscreants roamed the streets, taking advantage of the chaos. Discarded remnants of protest signs and broken glass from shattered windows crunch underfoot as Soren navigated his way through the narrow passage. Walls that once displayed murals celebrating the unity and culture of Nal Amel are now covered in splashes of black paint, with aggressive painted words representing a faction or ideology in the brewing storm, stark reflections of the deep divisions tearing through the community. The atmosphere is too tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
This street, Soren thought, once a hub of life and community, has become a battleground of ideologies, a microcosm of the wider conflict tearing at the heart of the city.
"This great divide that you created between the people is slowly eroding the social fabric of your kingdom, Your Highnesses," Soren said quietly when the two princes of Nal Amel received him in their palace. "Must you really need to fight to the death to prove your worth?"
"It is not about who is worthy, Your Majesty," Prince Damien said. He was a tall, rough-looking man with a strong jaw, dirty blonde hair, and distinct blue eyes. "It's about who is rightful to claim the throne."
"But what of the people?" Soren gently asked. "No matter how you sugarcoat it, they'll be caught in the crossfire."
"The people will understand," Prince Talmic said. He looked exactly the same as his brother except his eyes were an emerald green, and he had a gentler face and a more compassionate expression.
"Those same people that you're talking about came to Ruemreon and begged the High King to put a stop to your nonsense."
"Nonsense?" Prince Damien blurted out; his voice dangerously cold.
Soren saw how his brother gripped his hand, probably to stop him from saying anymore. And then he saw how one look from his older brother calmed him down, his shoulders relaxed, he turned away, and sighed.
Soren stopped short for a second after seeing how they communicated by just their eyes. That was not the look of brothers in conflict. He had fought with his own siblings more times than he could count and that was definitely not the kind of stare he would give them when they argued, be it over simple things.
