Behind the Royal Mask

Beneath the Weight of Crown

"In the quiet moments before the storm, even the strongest must wrestle with their doubts, for it is in the battle within that true strength is forged."

As the sun rose over the horizon, it cast its golden light over the royal palace grounds, where dozens of men were already hard at work. Some drew back bowstrings, others locked their swords, while a few engaged in hand-to-hand combat. These were the Royal Knights, the kingdom's elite warriors, training alongside their Crown Prince.

Prince Alaric, sword drawn, faced off against Sir Cedric, the seasoned head of the knights. They circled each other slowly, eyes locked, each looking for an opening to strike. Alaric stood tall, his broad shoulders accentuated by the leather armor he wore for the training. His dark hair were tousled from exertion and had been swept back by his hands.

As he came to face the sun, beams of light made his amber eyes appear to be glowing. Though he usually bore a serious expression, there was always traces of gentleness lingering in the curves of his lips, as if indicating the presence of a smile that was reserved for few. 

Assuming that the sun was going to momentarily obstruct Alaric's vision, Sir Cedric lunged at him, aiming at his shoulder, but Alaric parried the blow easily, his eyes following the movement of Cedric's sword. The impact reverberated through each sword, reminding the owners of the strength each possessed.

Alaric pushed against Cedric's sword, disengaging the swords, and slashed. Cedric felt the sword graze through his armor's side, aware that it could have been his skin if he had moved just an inch. He retaliated it with another blow, making Alaric pivot in response. The sounds of clashes started to intensify, each of them searching for signs of weakness.

Cedric was surprised by how aggressive Alaric was getting. While their training usually involved pushing each other to one's strength, today Alaric seemed to be troubled by something. It felt as if he was pushing himself to do better.

Having known the prince since their childhood, Cedric knew that it was more about than winning the duel. He was aware about the responsibilities that weighed Alaric down, burdening him everyday. He knew about the concerns he had regarding the kingdom and how frustrated he felt due to his inability to do anything. It fight was not a mere training session; it was a manifestation of Alaric's struggle against the constraints placed by the kingdom's politics over him.

With renewed vigor, Alaric pressed forward, executing a series of thrusts, each one more precise than the last. The sun glinted off the blade. Cedric responded with his own flurry of defensive maneuvers, but it was clear that Alaric was getting the upper hand. The other knights watched, their usual banter replaced by an intense focus, aware that they were witnessing something more than a simple spar.

The air crackled with tension as the steels of the blades danced. It was when Cedric decided to test Alaric. Feigning a blow to the side, he sweeped his blade at his feet. Alaric jumped over the blade just in time, frustration evident on his face.

"Is that all you've got, Cedric?" Alaric asked, slightly out of breath. Cedric's lips twitched, the corner curling upwards at his friend's fire.

"Just warming up, Your Highness," Cedric answered. 

Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw someone approach. It was Sir Gareth who had joined their training now, an hour late. Alaric and Cedric stopped with their duel on Cedric's motion, who walked to Gareth, ready to reprimand him.

"Sir Gareth, it is disappointing to see you join us so late," Cedric said in a disapproving tone, "You are aware of the disciplinary action for that, right?"