King Richard subconsciously touched his belly and Christopher smiled in spite of himself, knowing he’d struck a chord with that one.
Richard’s cheeks flushed and his eyes glowered at him. “Look here, son. The taxes I take from the people go to programs that help out the people, do you understand this?” The tone in his voice was very serious.
Christopher knew at once that he’d lost, so he just nodded, suddenly worried that his father might slap him. His father rarely resorted to corporal punishment, but it happened.
The king pulled on his face. “If taxes are going back to the public to help the public, then the more taxes, the more help we can give. This is what makes them happy, son, you will have to believe me on this.”
Christopher sighed. “Yes, Father, I do see your point,” he replied in a deflated tone. Richard’s countenance brightened at the words. “But I just think that twenty percent is too much money. Please, won’t you consider my point, Father? I’m not saying accept or even try, just consider?”
Richard averted his gaze and inhaled deeply. “You’ll come around to my point of view when you’re older, son,” he replied. “Let me try and put this in a nice way for you. You see, you’re just a young prince right now, hopefully with years until you’ll have to sit on the throne. Right now, you’re still learning how to lead effectively, so don’t worry about things like this because, well, your opinion simply doesn’t matter. When you’re king, you’ll have all the say in the world, and you can tamper with the taxes or whatever else you like however much you want to. But, at least for now, your opinion, quite honestly, just doesn’t matter. So, try and take it easy son, and take a few pointers from how I do it. Then you’ll do fine.”
“But Father-” he protested.
“Christopher Marcus,” King Richard said in a warning tone.
The prince stopped immediately upon hearing his middle name. It only came out when he was in trouble. He knew well enough that if he wanted to avoid a severe spanking, something his father still did even though he was to turn fourteen in a few short hours, he needed to shut up and accept his father’s ruling at once. Christopher hated him for acting like this, but he had no recourse, not since his mother died.
“I’m sorry for arguing with you, Father. You are right as always, and I am wrong,” he said slowly, bowing as he did so. His father nodded in acceptance. “It won’t happen again.”
The king looked down at him for several moments without speaking. Finally, he nodded. “Good. Now son, don’t you have some homework you should be working on? Maybe some math homework for Mrs. Spindley?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, of course, Father. I’ll get right on it,” Christopher replied mechanically, his head still bowed in defeat for his father’s benefit.
“Well, if that’s the case, I guess I better leave you alone to do your studies, son.” The king turned on his heel in the direction of the door. He started walking, snapped his fingers and turned to face his son again. “Oh yes, the banquet will start at exactly six o’clock tonight. All the noble men and women will be there for you, so try really hard to be on time to this one, okay?”
“Oh, you know me, Father. I would never be one to miss a banquet,” Christopher said sort of sadly and distantly, not even having the will to be sarcastic anymore. “I will be the first one there, as usual, Father. I wouldn’t dare miss this one.”
“Very good to hear you say that, son.” The king patted him on the shoulder. “I will see you in the banquet hall at exactly six o’clock then.”
“I give you my solemn oath, my liege, that I will be there right on time,” Christopher said in the manner a subject would talk to a king, bowing deeper and backing away at the same time. His father hated it when he talked to him like a king and not a parent, something Christopher knew all too well.
His father winced and Christopher smiled a wry smile as he worked his way towards the back of room. It always felt good to see his father writhe a little after losing an argument in this manner, which, to be frank, happened quite often.
“You try to raise them right,” his father whispered under his breath, no doubt hoping Christopher wouldn’t hear it. But he did. “If only his mother were still here.”
The last comment made Christopher stop in his tracks. He missed his mother dearly and knew his father did, too. He shed a silent tear in memory of her.
Richard beckoned for his servants to leave the room, covered his eyes, and slumped down onto the throne.
Christopher looked at his father with pity in his eyes. He knew he’d hit a nerve today, so he quietly turned tail and left, closing the door to the throne room behind him to allow his father a moment of privacy.
He walked towards his room, trying in vain to conjure a happy thought to replace the one of his dead mother. After a few minutes, he decided instead to dream of what his kingship would be like, when he finally came of age and his father stepped down. He thought about how the peasants would be happier with lower taxes, about how
