You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Crown - 5

Cuan
The day is a blur of activity. The knights, my father and brother, get to wear their normal things, but we have to dress up, which involves my father's sister who is in town. She's rich and travels, he explains. She's very nice, hugs Lonan for about a minute then fusses over me before going to bicker with her brother. We don't tell her about the king my father not being dead, we agree to tell as few people as possible. He disguises himself and sulks in corners avoiding me so that's all good. Kara glares at him generally. I don't know why.
Kara and I have to dress up nicely. My father the king makes a weird noise when he sees my tattoo. It sounds like, but I can't be sure, "Oh of course you attack everything that fucking moves."
Anyway, I wind up in a very stiff suit coat and feeling quite suffocated. My father's sister is very nice to me and Kara though, and after about two seconds of explanation is down with the scheme.
"Right, so, cousins who are from abroad? Where are they actually from?" She asks.
"Here originally, but lately they're like pirates," my father, kind of tired.
"All right then, sounds like fun," she says, cheerfully, before going back to lean on her brother who wraps his arm around her.
Lonan has to go ahead as he was actually supposed to be at the palace, but the rest of us can arrive together. My father is escorting his sister in anyway and by default the two of us.
"And who is this?" She asks, pointing at my father the king.
"My idiot slave. He's mute," my father without missing a beat.
"Wow," my father the king, completely audibly, "I don't know what I expected."
"I also don't know what you expected," my father says.
"Mute slave got it—," his sister, immediately, not even wondering why this is happening. I really like her.
We arrive at the palace with a flurry of other guests. Save the odd brawl with the admiralty, I haven't seen this many people in I don't know how long. Thankfully, Kara tightens her grip on my arm. We exchange a quick glance. I doubt she's seen this many people either.
"I'll go chat with your mother a bit," my father says, patting my shoulder, "If you need us, Lonan and I will be around."
"We're fine," I say, wanting to believe it. I want to find my mother and go.  But we can't. How can I imagine living here and being king if I'm scared of the crowds in one evening? They look like so many exotic birds, the ladies in their pretty dresses, men in their fine silks.
I keep my hand on Kara's arm and together we shift inside.
"Sir Gallagher, Lady Gallagher, and cousins, and my slave, who is mute," my father says, with a straight face.
"He's so petty and I love him," Kara breaths.
"Me too," I say.
"Fuck all of you," my father the king mutters. He's dressed in simple clothes like a servant, but of course to us he's completely recognizable.
I realize he said that the glamor didn't work on lovers which I guess makes sense, but I wonder if it works on parents? His mother is here and like, wouldn't your parent see through it as well as a lover?
There's a blood curdling scream from across the room and he starts laughing uncontrollably.
"You cunt," my father says, so tiredly, as my father the king has to lean against the wall he's laughing so hard tears are streaming down his face.
"I'm going to go take care of that," Lonan materializes to say.
"I'm confused?" Kara says.
"I don't think the glamor, worked on his actual mother," I say, as we just walk away from them.
"No, it would not," she says, nodding, "Mine wouldn't anyway. You can't use a lot of concealment against parents or lovers, people who know you."
"Makes sense," I say, as we walk try to kind of shift away from people, "Do you think you see the current king? I mean I feel bad, I feel like I don't know how to be king that asshole was right, and if the current king is doing a good job I can be a knight or something—,"
"Hound."
"What?"
She nods.
There's a boy, my age, he's sitting in a chair. He's half naked in just a leather jacket and tight pants. His entire bare chest and neck and face are peppered with tiny cuts of varying age, like he rolled in broken glass or something. His eyes are dilated and red, and his hair sweaty and sticking to his face. he's barefoot and his feet are dirty. He's wearing a coronet.
"That's Matuac?" I ask, quietly.
"It would seem so," Kara says.
"My god he looks awful," I wince, "He was my cousin—friend. I think we would play together when our mothers let us. I was always noisy and loud and he was always quiet like but he was nice I don't—has he lost his mind?"
"He looks—not great," Kara says.
"That must be Morgana next to him. She's fine," I say, frowning, looking at the girl standing at Matuac's arm. She looks fine if strained, not taking her eyes off her brother.
"Let's just find your mother," she says, patting my arm.