Grandeur Defector

LXII

Truffles sat up, memories flooding his mind like an angry tide before a storm's landfall. Vision blurry, he pushed himself upwards from where he sat, grunting in pain as he did. Fliqpy's usual grumpy expression shifted into one of concern and confusion, lips parted as if wanting to protest against Truffles' efforts.
The royal ignored the worried look, even if he wanted to talk a little longer.
I don't have time for that now. This pain is the price I must pay to atone, and my work is far from over.

"Where the hell are ya goin'?"

Truffles turned back to see Fliqpy glancing nervously at him. He put in a brave face and smiled against the pain, not wanting either Flippy nor Fliqpy to see how much agony he was in.
"I'll be right back."

Fliqpy paused, then nodded.
The royal gazed at his surroundings, stumbling a little as he walked forward, one hand clutching his bandaged wound. The area beneath felt tight from attempted healing— or maybe even stitches, he wasn't sure— but far too soon to put any upright weight on it.
There across the clearing, still separated from the Animalia troops, Aspen and his loyal men sat around a makeshift fire as they ate and spoke words too out of earshot for him to hear.
Chicken, it smells like. They're adaptive to their surroundings, as every tiger soldier is; we desperately need that for Corbetti City.

His steps were shaky and his tail dragged behind him in pain, but he stood as tall as possible with eyes reflecting off the campfire as he neared, mustering strength he didn't have for a conversation he wanted to avoid. It was a tiger who sat next to Aspen whom spotted him first, immediately standing and bowing his head in customary greeting. The other soldiers did the same one at a time, all standing on silent command and eyes curious.
Aspen turned, bewildered; he rose to his feet sharply the second his eyes landed on the royal, taking glances at his stomach wound as Truffles approached.
"Bạn đã thực tỉnh!"
'You've awakened!'

He didn't wait for permission to sit.
I need to sit down... it hurts.
Truffles sat down where Aspen was once sitting, exhausted and aching for walking so soon. He felt out of breath, stomach squeezing in discomfort to vomit but nothing arose in this throat. Only words came out of his mouth with huffs in between.
"Vâng, tôi ổn."
'Yes, I'm ok.'

He patted the space next to him, silently ushering all of the standing men to sit with him as they were before; one by one, the two dozen tigers sat back in their positions, including Aspen, and stared at him with curious eyes. He spoke again before any of them could, a question lingering on his mind.
"Chuyện gì đã xảy ra với người dân ông đã bắn?"
'What happened to the man who shot?'

Aspen narrowed his eyes.
"Chúng ta đã giết kẻ phản bội."
'We killed the traitor.'

At his words, a few other tigers mumbled in agreement, exchanging looks of appalled disgust. Truffles sighed.
I expected that response.

"Tôi không thể đổ lỗi cho anh ấy."
'I can't blame him.'

Such a response earned looks of confusion and amazement, Aspen especially concerned with the wording.
"Chúa tể của tôi?"
'My liege?'

Do I even deserve being called that?
Truffles shook his head, not knowing how to feel. On one hand, it was a strange, newfound respect for a lineage constantly ignored by others, so much so that a man was dead for attempted murder. On the other hand, could he even call himself a royal, or blame the man hardened by the royal line's own violent teachings? It was attempted regicide with no question, but he couldn't help but somehow feel it was his fault. How would that be so?
How was that logical?
It wasn't him who made the man shoot. It wasn't him who created this system. It was his family, it was the man himself, it was the society he had no control over. That control was now in his bloodstained hands, mercy as a choice if he wanted, and the power of possible great evil.
Do I even trust myself with this power? Do any of these men-? They hardly know me-!