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raineandsky · 5 months

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#82

“You, young sir, will be appointed to watch over my son—my rightful heir to the throne,” the king says breezily, and then he’s moving onto the knight next to him.

The knight dips his head, half in acknowledgement, half to hide his growing smile. The crown prince. He’s going to be following the king’s eldest as he makes his regal trips to the people, as he works towards his rightful place, as he accepts the crown and becomes king.

Honour isn’t a strong enough word for what the knight is feeling.

A young boy—a servant, the knight assumes—leads the knight to the chambers of the prince. The knight will introduce himself, he’ll pledge himself to the prince’s cause, and the knight will get the glory of riding with royalty at the prince’s side.

The servant pauses outside a door and knocks with three rhythmic raps. A maid opens it, not the prince, and the knight holds back a confused frown. He would’ve thought the prince would be ready to meet his personal guard by now.

The servant leaves without a word. “The king has appointed you?” the maid says vaguely.

“To protect the heir to the throne.” The knight can’t help the tiny smile at his own words. “Yes.”

The maid hums and lets him in. It’s a little dark inside, to his surprise, with candles dotted around and shrouding the room in wispy shadows. She gestures rather informally to a golden cot against one of the back walls.

“Don’t wake him,” she says shortly, her voice low. “I just got him to sleep.”

“The…” The knight looks into the cot a little apprehensively. “The baby?”

The maid throws him a glance like he’s lost his mind. “The heir to the throne.”

A year passes. The knight asks no questions about his predicament. The king’s eldest rides out with a different knight, speaking to the people of the land and working to take his place at the throne. The knight’s glorious ‘watching over’ of the prince is mostly staring into the cot as the baby stares back.

Two years. The child learns to walk. The king visits, sometimes. He showers the infant in love and praise, but he never entirely lets up his regal persona in front of the knight and the maid.

Five years. The child talks a lot now. The knight nods along to whatever nonsense he’s saying that day. He shoves things into the knight’s hands, toys and blankets and wooden swords, and the knight oohs and ahhs the appropriate amount before handing it back. The child loves it.

Six years. Tutors start visiting. Maths and law and economics and war. The child sits with poorly contained boredom and nods along to whatever his teachers are saying. The moment they’re gone he’s back to playing, usually forcing the knight’s hand into whatever game he’s concocting.

Eight years. The king visits less often, tied down with royal matters and dealing with his eldest’s growing impatience for the throne. He arrives with smiles and kindness reserved only for his blood, but he never gets one back. The child hides behind the knight’s legs more often than not, and cries bitterly when he’s forced along with the king. The knight and the maid apologise heavily when it happens. It happens a lot.

Twelve years. The child has a favourite toy—his wooden sword and shield. He constantly asks if the knight will show him how it’s really done. The knight gives him a couple of harmless tips, and the prince lights up like the sun every time he swings his sword.

“You only have a few more years until you’re ready for the throne,” the knight tells him as he swings his sword at the maid, who’s long since learnt to stop reacting. “Are you ready to be king?”

“I don’t want to be king,” the prince whines. Both the maid and the knight freeze—neither of them have heard this before.

“It’s in your blood, your highness,” the knight continues carefully. “It’ll be a privilege to rule. You’ll make your father proud.”

“He’s barely my father. I don’t want to be a king,” the prince reiterates. “I want to be a knight, like you.”

The maid throws the knight a sidelong, entirely unsubtle glance. He doesn’t appreciate the accusation.

“You’ll be in charge of all the knights,” the knight tries a little desperately. “You can lead them all to victory. That’s better than being a knight.”

The child scoffs dramatically. “I doubt that.”

Fourteen years. The king’s eldest sits at his bedside and demands the throne. The king refuses him. The king dies, and his eldest flies into a blind rage. He wants the throne, and the king has already told him exactly who is taking it from him.

Fourteen years of sitting in a golden nursery and watching over a child have led the knight to this moment. He’s meant to feel proud, honoured, to serve the prince. He’s meant to be ready to lay down his life for the child to live in his stead.

And he is. He would do anything for this fourteen year old who loves scaring his maid and demanding fighting tips from his knight and pretending to listen to his tutors.

But when the king’s eldest kicks the door down to the nursery, the knight isn’t entirely sure it’ll be just him giving up his life for the crown.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #fantasci writing #high fantasy #fantasy writing #we decorated our desks for christmas at work #tell me why everyone is so all in bro. goddamn #i had a couple of lil snow topped houses with tealights in em #why did some BUILD A CARDBOARD FIREPLACE #im stressed bro im meant to be the creative in this place. a fireplace???????????#dont get me wrong im hella impressed. but goddamn. how did you find the time

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