Vengeful Creations || ONC 2021

Chapter Six

Hamlet led the way through the sprawling courtyard of Elsinore. Peter and I received strange, lingering stares from servants and courtiers alike, but a quick glance from their Prince deterred any questions or judgment.

The stone monstrosity loomed over us. I'd done extensive research on Medieval architecture, but never had I envisioned Hamlet's castle to be so massive. Beauty aside, it appeared as a beached kraken, poised to devour us.

There were whispered rumors in our wake of the crowned Prince's "foreign friends," and while I cringed at the memories we were likely creating, Peter appeared to be blissfully unaware.

A pair of guards pointed shamelessly at Peter's red hoodie. "Pray you, what means 'N-I-K-E'?" one said to the other.

"A southern clan, perhaps?" the second guard guessed. "Neeeck?"

Hamlet ushered us through a side door and into a long hallway. I was struck by the enormity of the place. The corridor was at least twenty feet in width and boasted a two-story arched ceiling. Statues and paintings lined the walls, and our footsteps created conspicuous echoes.

Trumpets sounded, the clamor raucous and regal.

Peter jumped and spun around. "What was that?" he cried.

"From the throne room they rang," Hamlet said. "My uncle father and aunt mother are to have audience with a guest. Come."

He motioned for us to follow. His pace increased, and I almost had to jog to keep up with his long stride. We reached the end of the corridor, ascended a narrow staircase, and emerged into something that resembled a private opera box.

Hamlet drew the plum-colored curtain with a steady, cautious hand. He and I peeked through the opening in the fabric.

We were in the throne room, high above the pristine white floor, shielded in part by the dark wood and curtain of our private balcony. The low marble platform supporting the thrones was situated opposite us, a beautiful mural of former monarchs painted on the wall behind. The golden ceilings were vaulted and impossibly high, and the polished woodwork that ornamented the walls showcased the intricate detail of countless master craftsmen. A dozen or so other elevated balcony boxes were embedded in the walls high above the floor, lest the royal family have an audience that exceeded the throne room's capacity.

King Claudius and Queen Gertrude sat upon their respective thrones, dressed in resplendent style and colors. A handful of courtiers flanked the platform on each side.

From behind me, Peter poked his head out and propped his chin on my shoulder. "Who are they?" he asked.

"The King and Queen," I whispered. "Hamlet's uncle and mother."

"Uncle and mother?" Peter repeated. "Like, that King dude married his dead brother's widow?"

"A little more than kin, and less than kind," Hamlet muttered.

"That is some freaky shit," Peter declared. "Mr. King has balls of steel. Also, he looks like a weasel."

"He hath murdered my father and defiles nightly my mother," Hamlet declared in hushed tones. "Ne'er was there a tale of more woe."

The trumpets sounded again, and two gentlemen approached the King and Queen from beneath our balcony box. The men, I noticed, were dressed comically similar, with matching beige pantaloons and dark green robes. There was a noticeable stagger to their gait that gave them away as having indulged in too much alcohol the night before.

"My friends of yesteryear?" Hamlet whispered. "Wherefore art thou at Elsinore?"

The pair of men bowed with dramatic flair to Claudius and Gertrude.