The Puppet Prince

From Flame to Throne

Time beat on Prince Gwynne, and it was growing increasingly difficult to stay present. Half past noon rolled around and he began to regret skipping the chef's famous omelet that morning. Gwynne had been deeply tempted by the familiar and comforting smell, but today's work schedule disagreed. Hours of sitting at his desk caused him to grow antsy and fidgety. He pulled at a curl of dark brown hair that rested on his forehead and watched it bounce back into its ringlet. Gwynne shifted in his seat to find comfort and the velvety cushion wrapped around his slender frame. This new position combined with tea and endless piles of extremely boring documents caused his honey brown eyes to flutter shut as he dozed.

The fire crowded the room and the world began to spin. Oxygen was growing thin and the three royals wouldn't last much longer. Huddled in the farthest corner of the once joy-filled cabin's kitchen, Gwynne began to cry silently. All he wanted was to reach his parents, who were on the other side of the dinner table, but the wall of flames was too thick. He could barely make out their huddled silhouettes. The smoke spread darkening the room and the only thing bridging the gap were the shaking voices of his parents trying to reach out to him. 

"We.... we will find a way... out of this!" His father croaked out between wheezes. 

All Gwynne wanted was to shout back, but fear clamped his lips tight. Fear that the next words to leave his mouth held much more importance than he wanted. The finality of this thought sent a sharp chill down his spine. He reached desperately for the words he wanted to express, but similar to that of Tantalus from the greek myth, he would never quite grasp them. 

Gwynne wiped his tears, squinted his eyes, and cleared his throat, "Mom, Dad I---" 

Just like that, it was over. The rafters fell from lack of support and his parents were gone. They'll never know what he desperately needed them to hear and Gwynne would have to continue living, alone, with the truth of his cowardice. All that was left was him, his disbelief, and the cruel crackle of flames enveloping another chair, laughing at his misery. Life began to seep away from his body life the smoke from the flames, and just before everything faded to dark, a firm grip wrapped around the prince.

That same grip braced Gwynne's shoulders and startled him out of his trance. "Are... are you ok?" interrogated a tall polished man. 

He was a good few inches taller than Gwynne and several years older with piercing blue eyes that contrasted his dark skin. This familiar face was the prince's advisor and mentor. Since the day Gwynne's parents had died, both grew close and confided in each other. 

"Not another one those dreams was it?" he asked now turning his attention to a messy pile of papers on the cherry wood desk. 

Gwynne ran his hands through his wavy hair and sighed, "Yes, John, it was." 

John tutted and unloaded a new pile of papers that needed to be signed. 

Practically leaping from his seat, Gwynne announced, "Im going to go for a ride before handling all of that," he motioned to the monstrous pile. 

Before John could argue, Gwynne was out the door and down the halls.