During the war, countless lives were lost but only one name was spoken: Zepherin. Prince and heir to the throne Zepherin should have been hidden safely in the castle instead he was on the front lines. In his wake, a massacre of bloody and broken bodies. If the rumours were to believe he'd butchered men so severely they were unable to be identified and consequently, never returned home to their families. Terrified of the monster they had created the neighbouring country – who had started the war mind you, scrambled to make peace with the Prince.
That's where I come in. It's my job to calm the Prince down by offering him a sacrifice. I wasn't exactly asked politely either, in fact, I was arrested, thrown in a cell and now my hands and feet are bound together and that sacrifice? It's me. My country has decided to hand me over to Prince. The politics behind it are simple; they want to back Zepherin into a corner. There are other rumours about the Prince... ones that do not sit well with his people. My country wants to defame the Zepherin, strip him of his role as a hero and have his own people turn against him. What could anger an entire nation you may ask yourself if murder is not a damnable offence?
There have been whispers that Prince Zepherin, the proclaimed Prince of War is attracted to men and not women. As the country's only heir, this would end the royal bloodline and, well, people just don't like it. I'm sure other questions must be plaguing your mind like perhaps, why me? Well, I'll tell you. Before the war broke out, I was a simple servant working in the palace, I served meals and attended the finest parties to hand out the most exquisite of wines and beverages and I once spoke to Zepherin. That's it. I spoke to him once, at a royal banquet... to offer him wine... which was my job. These imbeciles think he took a liking to me since he didn't punch me in the face or something.
"On your feet, August," a brutish thug of a guard demanded as he unlocked the cage.
"I can't see how you expect me to do that," I quip, "given that my feet are bound together."
The thug grunts at me and hoists me up over his shoulder. I make as much of a nuisance of myself as I can. I won't make sacrificing me to a Prince of War and pleasant experience. Truthfully, I don't believe the Prince will take the risk of having his country turn against him and it is likely that upon my arrival and am swiftly beheaded. I take solace in the idea that this brute might be taken out with me. True, rejecting the peace offering and murdering an innocent person might make the Zepherin look bad and my country might be able to spin the narrative that the continuation of the war is his fault and that the blood is on his hands and so on, but I doubt the Prince cares too much.
We are losing this war, we know it, Zepherin knows it and his people know it. True, Zepherin will be defamed regardless of his choice; painted as a villain or as a man who loves men but ultimately, either way, this is likely to only add more fuel to the fire that burns so bright already. His bloodlust is insatiable... if the rumours are to be believed. I guess I will know for sure soon.
I sigh as I roll around in the back of a cart, trying to get comfortable but it's no use. With my hands and feet bound, I'm forced to lay on my side. All my weight rest on my shoulder, arm and hip. Pressed against the firm wood of the cart, I can feel bruised forming already. Days go by, and the only time I am unbound is for bathroom breaks. My wrists and ankles have rope burn and my stomach twinges with hunger pains. I must be half the size I was before I was arrested. My skin looks paler, and I wonder if I'll actually survive the journey.
When we finally reach the palace, that brute of a guard tosses me on the floor practically at Zepherin's feet. I lifted my head to look at him and he stared back at me in return.
"What is this?" Zepherin demands.
His voice echoes through the hall.
"A peace offering," a well-dressed man says.
