3
22nd May
The photo spread across two full pages of the Aboria Weekly. A distant image, but unmistakable, my father in front of the open castle window his beast form visible to the entire world. The headline, "What Monsters These Royals Be" emblazoned in a bold font right under the familiar masthead. My family's secret shame now front-page news.
I tossed the paper, picture down, on the table and slid my half-eaten eggs away from me. My appetite faded fast as my stomach churned and acid built in my throat. "Any word on my father this morning, Griswold?"
“No, sir. The west wing has been strangely quiet since yesterday and the queen has not been seen since dusk. Would you like me to fetch her for you?"
"Thank you, Griswold, but that won't be necessary." I swallowed my last gulp of tea, made of the best aromatics from Floris, but even they couldn’t comfort me this morning. "If my mother asks for me, I'll be out for the afternoon."
I doubted she would ask as she probably wouldn’t resurface from my father's side until a cure had been found. But me, I needed to get as far away from both of them as I could. Clear my head, or better yet, hide until all of this nightmare ended. This whole thing would probably kill my reputation.
Outside the front gate, nosy newspaper journalists swarmed like locusts before the end of the world. One even bore the royal crest from far off Arcadia on his sleeve. Great. We weren't just local news anymore; this scandal had gone national. I held my breath and kept my head down as the guards pulled the gates back to let me through. The horde pushed forward, but the guards quickly drew their swords and they retreated.
"Excuse me, Prince Fallon, could you answer a few questions?" a voice called from within the crowd.
I dipped my head lower and charged forward, no one brave enough to touch me with guards standing within a safe distance.
"What's going on in the castle, Prince?"
"No one has seen the King in days. Is something wrong?"
"Is it true that Aboria is being invaded by mountain monsters?"
The voices intensified as people edged closer, but I marched on, my balled fists plunged deep in my pockets. No response would be just as awful as a bad one once it hit the morning papers. As much as a picture of my right hook landing in the face of one of these vulture reporters might look amazing, the negative publicity wouldn't do my father or the kingdom any good. Especially not in his current condition.
The greedy flock of reporter sheep followed on my heels until I reached the golden bridge connecting the castle grounds to the city of Mosa. One by one, they finally dispersed as they realized that I wasn’t turning back and they'd gain no more information from me. Besides, they couldn’t risk being scooped by someone else sitting at attention back at the castle gate.
I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and down over my eyes, then crossed the bridge and meandered through the quiet morning streets toward the market. Few people bothered to look at me, likely caught in their own thoughts about the potential threat they saw in this morning's news, or gazing up at the gathering of dark clouds swirling above our heads.
The fragrance of cinnamon and chai wafted from the center of town. My mouth salivated knowing those smells would soon be overtaken by the sweet earthy scent of roasting pecans. I closed my eyes. The thought of their warmth already eased some of the tension building in my shoulders. My feet darted left toward the market stalls, instinct, desire, or maybe hunger from skimping on breakfast plotting my course, but I forced myself to stay to the right. I didn’t feel like taking the risk to be recognized today, even though it might just be worth it.
Instead, I headed for the black and white checkered paint spread across the center of the square. The oversized chessboard had been a gift to the city from my father, but everyone knew it was really for his queen. The citizens used to crowd around, filling the rows of seats surrounding the board to watch them play for hours, challenging each other. I’d sit on the ground next to the board watching my mother’s gown swish from square to square as she maneuvered the sizable silver and gold filigree chess pieces into position. My father’s curious crooked smile would follow her every move, his brow furrowed as his brain twisted to find a way to outsmart her. Occasionally, he’d managed to win a match, but even as a kid I knew she probably let him win.
My parents hadn’t played here in years and the delicate craftsmanship on the pieces had tarnished to a greenish hue that gave the lion-shaped knights more menacing glares. I stood back, hands deep in my pockets and watched my friends as they navigated their way around the board. Late nights out always followed with late morning chess games in the square. For the elite, ritual kept the days from dragging until we had to assume our parent’s responsibilities. Some dreading that day more than others.
Harding watched the game, his body stretched out from a front-row seat and holding his head. Without even looking, I pictured his bloodshot eyes after another long night his body couldn’t handle. His shoulders sagged low to support my theory.
In contrast, Kalmin stood stick straight, his hand on his chin as he studied the game with the shrewdness of a judge. Except, unless he could perform a miracle, Sophia would take his king in about three moves. Maybe he’d finally found a worthy opponent, or maybe something had him distracted this morning.
“I’d suggest moving that bishop Kal before you’re outdone by this lovely lady.”
I joined the group and
