Red To Black

Chapter Two

"Checkmate!" Thomas yelled, slamming his Rook down next to Blake's King. Blake frowned, before standing up and gathering the light ivory pieces.

"And you wonder why I always refuse to play you," Blake told him.

Thomas shook his head, joining him on his feet. "Yet you still keep coming back for more. I'm starting to get the idea you like being crushed."

Blake scoffed, putting his pieces carefully back into the ornate, wood-and-velvet box sitting nearby. Thomas placed his hand on Blake's shoulder, face growing serious.

"So, it's your twenty first birthday tomorrow. Are you sure you're ready? I mean, most princes ascend with their-"

"For the last time, I'm alright. Just because I haven't taken a bride yet, doesn't mean I'm not ready." He scowled at the tall man, wishing he'd drop the subject already. Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky.

"Blake, you haven't even glanced at a girl in years! The longer you wait to find a queen, the more your people are going to question why you haven't found one yet." When he ignored him, Thomas pressed further. "What, or who, are waiting for? You've had hundreds of women vying for your hand for years, you've seen every type there is to see!"

"That's just it!" Blake exploded. "I don't want women to throw themselves at me! All they see is my title and decide I'm the one for them! None of them even know the real me." He turned away from his lifelong friend and strolled over to the pair of large wooden doors standing on the other side of the room. Flinging them open, he stormed across the hall and into his favorite room: the music room.

He immediately sat down in the corner, reaching for his beloved lute, more precious to him than any family jewels or crowns or titles. His lute expected nothing from him, just pure passion and sound.

He gently placed his left hand on the neck of the instrument, and, already knowing it was in tune, began to play. He closed his eyes as the lilting melody filled the air, notes humming and skipping as his fingers danced over the strings. He didn't care about Thomas walking in. He didn't care about his strict mother. He didn't care about his soon-to-be throne and the expectations that came with it. All that mattered was his lute and his music.

He finished the song with a flourish of his hands, and, just for a moment, he was weightless. And then he was back in the music room again, sitting on a wooden stool as he hid from his friend and his responsibilities. Sighing, he placed it back down and left the room.

Considerably calmer, he wandered down the hallway. He knew exactly where his second-in-command and best friend would be now. Opening the doors to the kitchen, Blake watched as Thomas chatted to a young, hazel-haired kitchen maid. The poor girl had caught Thomas' eye from the beginning, and he was charming her to no end.

Blake rolled his eyes as he caught the end of his line, something about sweeping her off her feet. How original, Thomas. "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm going to have to take Mr. Glass away for a few minutes." He began to pull Thomas away from the young girl, who stuttered a "Have a good day, sire," before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Thomas glared at him for a few seconds before relaxing and asking, "So what's so important? You usually sulk for longer before coming crawling back."

Blake looked him in the eye. "Tomorrow, at the celebratory ball, we both know what's going to happen. My mother is going to push as many eligible girls as possible at me, which means I'll be doing a lot of dancing and 'talking' to shallow and boring women. It's your job to help me avoid some of them."

Thomas nodded, knowing the drill. After all, it had happened at every ball or festival since Blake's eighteenth birthday. He stuck out his hand, wanting to shake on it, but a boy burst into the room before they could.

"Message for His Royal Highness! Message, message!" The young lad called out. Bowing to the both of them, he spoke. "Your Highness, we just received word from the border guards that two more parties of refugees have came across our Northern border. They are currently being transported to a local village and will be questioned shortly." He remained bowed, awaiting a reply or dismissal.

An idea suddenly struck Blake. He would arrange a meeting with the head of the nearby nation, and travel there immediately. If he stayed there for a few days, he could postpone his coronation, and, more importantly, the ball. Most of the noblewomen were leaving in two days to head to Bratio for the yearly Moon Festival, so the number of fragile, dull girls he would be forced to dance with would be greatly diminished.

Clearing his throat, Blake addressed the young messenger. "Tell the Head of Guard to prepare a carriage as quickly as possible, and send his fastest rider with a message to the Mayor of Vantis requesting a meeting. I must sort this out before I take my place on the throne. Quickly, now. Go!"

The boy turned and bolted out the door, running at full speed. Blake turned to face his confused friend, who immediately shouted. "What the hell! You can't just leave the day before your birthday! You don't even have the authority to make such a decision yet."

Blake shook his head. "We both know it's the only way I'll escape my mother's plan. She wants to find me a bride as soon as possible, and if I so much as smile at a girl tomorrow night, she might pressure me to marry her. Not to mention the 'accidental' run-ins that keep happening with that ditz Katrina."

Thomas raked a hand through his hair. "You're just postponing the inevitable. It's not like you'll find your dream girl during your stay. That country is full of street urchins, theives, and rogues."

"But you know no matter what you say, I'm going anyway, right?"

"Of course. Technically I'm supposed to stop you from doing so, but I'll turn a blind eye for few minutes. Make sure you're gone by then."

Blake grasped his dear friend's arm. "Thanks, Thomas. I'll be back in a few days. Take care of my horses for me." He turned around and followed after the messenger.

***

Blake groaned as the carriage once again went over a large rock. Can't this idiotic Mayor keep one road in good condition? Blake had opted for a lighter, swifter coach, but was starting to regret it as his head bumped the hard wood once again. You're almost there. He consoled himself. Just look out at the town and forget about your pain.

The stone and wood buildings rushed past him, and he noticed several people turn to watch his carriage go by. But they wouldn't try to rob him, that was certain. He had one guard posted next to his driver, as well as some of his royal guard in a coach behind him. Plus, he could easily handle himself in a fight. He wasn't some pampered little heirling leaving the castle for the first time. He was a king. Well, tomorrow he would be.

The patchwork buildings slowly became grander and grander, as well as the people wandering down the streets. Other than a couple beggars, the roadside was lined with nicely dressed women and several soldiers. But as they kept going, the walkers thinned out, and by the time they had came upon the castle, the roads were empty.

Blake watched as they went through the gates, overly staffed with fierce - looking soldiers. Who are they trying to impress? The commonfolk? Or, he thought darkly, who are they trying to keep out? The carriage finally stopped deep inside the fortress, and he straightened his back in anticipation, slipping into his cold, professional demeanor.

The door was swiftly opened, and Blake stepped out into the sunlight.