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Join the ServerWith nothing to do but change the damp cloth, boredom crept in. It felt awkward to keep staring at the unconscious emperor’s face, so Fria got up and began to wander around the room.
He stopped in front of a desk cluttered with papers and picked one up, scanning it intently. Though wrapped in complicated language, it was ultimately a petition from some marquis asking for a reduction in taxes on his estate.
The rest of the documents were much the same, reports from the border guard commander, proposals for canal construction, requests from provincial nobles to expand their private armies, updates on trade ship production, drafts from guilds asking to relocate workshops south of the river, pleas for the release of imprisoned relatives, budget plans for expanding the training grounds, invoices for repairing palace fountains, lists of performers for regular banquets, and even inquiries about whether land could be granted to a newly of-age child.
Was he doing all this work alone?
Fria hadn’t realized even such trivial matters required the emperor’s approval. And to carry all this paperwork into the bedroom on top of that… No wonder he fell ill.
“You really live a dull life,” Fria muttered, clicking his tongue as he glanced back at the sleeping emperor.
A wall of books covered one side of the room, law, kingship, politics, archery, grammar, history, ethics, etiquette, genealogy, agriculture… just reading the titles was exhausting.
Some familiar volumes from his older brother’s study caught his eye. Out of curiosity, Fria pulled one out, only to recoil at the dense underlines and meticulous notes filling every page, quickly shoving it back.
Fortunately, on the lower shelves, there were a few storybooks he liked. Finding the next volume he hadn’t read yet, Fria brightened and pulled it free. As he turned to take it to the moonlit window…
Something slipped out from between the pages.
A folded piece of paper.
He was about to tuck it back where it came from, but curiosity got the better of him. Carefully unfolding it, he found a charcoal sketch, a portrait of a young boy.
The boy appeared in various expressions: smiling, deep in thought, holding a puppy, pouting… and angry.
“…Don’t tell me.”
A thought struck him. Fria walked back to the bed and held the drawing next to the emperor’s face.
“So this is what you looked like?”
Of course the emperor must have had a childhood. Whoever drew this must have been someone important, or the emperor liked the portrait enough to keep it.
Of all the expressions, Fria had only ever seen one: anger.
“What’s wrong with smiling once in a while, Your Majesty?”
He hooked a finger at the emperor’s tightly closed lips and gently pulled. The corners curved upward into a faint smile.
“See? That looks better.”
****
“Don’t move. Stay still.”
“For how long?”
The child whined, hugging the puppy in his arms. When the puppy licked his lips, he burst into giggles and wriggled out of position.
“I said stay still. Or I’ll draw you ugly.”
“You’re mean! Idiot!”
“If I’m an idiot, someone sure seems to like me anyway, huh?”
The older boy set down his charcoal and approached, pretending to smear soot on his fingers. The younger one shrieked and ran off.
“Steward! Help! Arthur’s trying to smear something on me!”
The steward, carrying a delicate porcelain piece across the courtyard, froze as the child clung to him.
“Your Highness, please, be careful, you’ll get hurt!”
He was sweating, unable to risk either the precious porcelain or the young prince. The older boy strode over and tickled the child under the arms.
“I surrender! I surrender!”
“Then will you hand over Percy to me?”
“No!”
At the mention of the foal the boy adored, he shook his head fiercely.
“Steward! Save me!”
The steward watched as the child was slung upside down over his brother’s shoulder, calling dramatically for help, and smiled fondly.
They were five and nine that year.
****
One day, chasing after the now more energetic puppy, the child wandered farther than usual. Lost in a hedge maze, he wandered until he stumbled out, not into the prince’s quarters, but somewhere unfamiliar.
With a scraped knee, he wandered the courtyard of an annex, until someone called out to him.
“Does it hurt?”
The unfamiliar voice made him look up.
A man stood there, wearing only a loose night robe despite being outdoors. The man’s lips twisted faintly at the boy’s curious gaze.
“Why are you wearing women’s clothes? Are you a guest of my grandfather?”
The boy, recalling foreign envoys who visited the palace, asked innocently.
“My father told me to. And no, I’m not your grandfather’s guest.”
“You know my father? Are you his friend?”
“Friend? Not even close.”
“Then who are you?”
The man smiled crookedly.
“Ask your father.”
The boy, undeterred, proudly began boasting about his older brother.
“My brother is really tall, and he rides horses and shoots arrows really well. He says I’ll be good too when I grow up!”
The boy stretched his arms wide to demonstrate.
The man stared at him.
A face that resembled both father and mother.
Five children conceived. Two miscarried. One stillborn.
“Good thing you were born alive.”
“…Die?”
The boy stepped back, frightened.
“But who knows? Maybe it would’ve been better.”
The man grabbed the boy’s wrist.
Then…
“Owen!”
A sharp voice cut through.
The older brother stepped in, pulling the child behind him.
“How dare you touch him with that filthy body!”
The man smirked.
“This is my residence. Your father gave it to me.”
The boy’s face flushed with fury.
“Have you no shame, walking around dressed like that?”
“Your father doesn’t let me wear anything else. He’s sleeping now… want to go greet him?”
The older boy grabbed his brother’s arm.
“Let’s go, Owen. Don’t wander off alone. There’s no need to speak with someone so vulgar.”
As they were dragged away, the younger boy turned back.
“See you again.”
The man waved.
****
Later, the boy saw him again.
“Are you alone?”
“Are you sick?”
The boy had grown, taller now, but still spoke before answering.
“I am.”
Tears welled in his eyes.
“Did you get hurt?”
“I was beaten.”
“…By your mother.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
More precisely, by her maids.
The abuse had long since gone beyond anything bearable.
“Too bad you missed it. Tea time entertainment just ended. Beating concubines is something like a tradition.”
The boy’s gaze flickered between the man’s splinted wrist and bandaged eye.
“Is it true? Does my father know?”
“He knows. Pretends he doesn’t.”
The boy trembled.
“Does my brother know?”
“Do you want him to?”
“…No.”
“Then don’t tell him.”
The boy nodded, tears falling.
“Tell him I said he shoots well. He nearly killed the horse I was riding.”
“I’m sorry…”
The man laughed quietly.
“Why are you sorry?”
“…Because it’s my family.”
“It has nothing to do with you. Your parents will pay.”
“No!”
The boy shouted.
The man’s lips curled.
“Then will you take the punishment instead?”
Silence.
“You’re a good child, so I’ll be kind. Just one finger. Which one?”
The boy froze.
“Don’t tell anyone. If you do, your whole family will suffer.”
Pain unlike anything he had ever felt.
A hand clamped over his mouth. The scent of heavy flowers filled his nose.
His tears soaked the man’s hand.
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