Prince of Fire

Chapter 17

Laurent stood before the oak doors of the ball room, waiting for his father.

Like each year, servants took care of him, combing his hair into a neat but at the nape of his neck, smearing a line of kohl beneath his eyes, clothing him in a deep blue doublet, and placing a matching mask over his eyes. A facade for the nation to see.

The guards at either side of the door bowed. When Laurent turned, he saw his father approach. He wore a doublet similar to Laurent's: such a deep blue it could have been black, intricate details adorning its breast and chest in the colour of burning fire. Atop his neatly styled hair sat the crown of flames. Real flames danced between the peaks and valleys. And on his shoulders hung the royal cape, the end writhing in fire. He did not even spare a glance at the bowing guards.

Without a word, he stood beside his son, regal as any king, and when the door opened, they stepped through them together.

The music stopped, the chatter faded away, even the sound of the night flowing through the open doors ceased for one moment. The lords and ladies of Valhara turned to face their royals and bowed at the waist as one, the only motion the rise and fall of their chest.

The King and Crown Prince of Valhara descended the steps, and sauntered to their thrones among the bowed crowd.

It felt wrong to Laurent; the empty space beside his father. King Albert of Lariz should have been there, in stride with his Queen, followed by their two daughters. But the Croilon family were gone, their presence an empty, heavy sorrow in Laurent's heart.

Once seated on their thrones of flames, the King's voice thundered through the room. "Rise, my fellow subjects." As one, the crowd rose and the musicians resumed their harmony.

Laurent watched as the guards took their places at the foot of the dais, among them Caiden. He stood with one hand on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip, the other dutifully holding a lance. Every guard stood like that, like they have been automated to one mind. But Caiden's eyes darted over the crowd. Laurent looked as well, but saw neither the lady nor the maid he expected to see.

Conversations resumed with each second that passed, words hushed by the rise and fall of the music. People began to dance, skirts twirling with the harmony of the piano, faces blurring with one another as the pace increased. Instinctively, Laurent glanced to the right, leaning forward ever so slightly to see past the line of royals-

Only to find the line end with his father, sat motionless as a statue beside him. There was no Victoria to mirror his movement and whisk him away to dance. He slumped back in his throne.

"Sit up, Laurent," his father warned, keeping his fiery gaze on the dancing crowd. "You are the Crown Prince of this nation. Act like it."

Act. That is all he has ever done. Act for the people he one day will rule over.

Servants moved amongst the crowd, small and discrete like ants among predators, carrying trays of sparkling glasses. Laurent's eyes moved from one to the next, but he did not see the black hair of Lilith. Nor did he see the auburn curls of Catherine among the flock of young ladies waiting to be asked to dance.

A servant approached the throne. She was beautiful, Laurent could ot deny it, with her long blonde hair neatly tied up, her soft cream dress hugging her slender figure. Her luminous eyes, bright as the cloudless blue sky, remained on him as she bowed low, then ascended the steps to offer a drink to both royals. After the King took one, she offered the try to Laurent, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips set in a sultry smile. Laurent took one.

The King stood, raising his glass, and the crowd went silent once more. "Today marks a turning point for our kingdom," he announced, his rough voice echoing off the walls. "Your Crown Prince is now a man, and will soon be your king." He turned to Laurent, a wicked smile on his face. "I wish you a prosperous future, son."