In Search of a Queen

Chapter 2

Since the kingdom's birth five hundred years prior, the queen had always been chosen in the manner dictated by the high priests in the wretched manuscript which was once more clutched between the prince's sword-worn hands. His callouses made soft swishing sounds as they caressed the edges of the thin paper, and Charles was forced to use the entirety of his will to prevent himself from ripping the cursed thing in half.

In the several days he had now been at the festival, he had not once left his room. The weather had taken a sudden downward plunge, and it seemed as though winter was finally beginning to set in after the abnormally long summer. The only person he had interacted with was his servant, the young man named Sawyer he had met on that first day. Though he was still uneasy with the prospect of chatting with the crown prince, he had recently begun using Charles' name without stuttering over it. This gave the prince hope that, eventually, he would have someone to talk to, as he was currently growing rather lonely. In the long hours between Sawyer's visits, Charles read and reread his books. He had not been able to bring many because his father had insisted they were not necessary, and, with nothing else to do, he had finished them rapidly. He could almost recite some of them word for word at this point, and had taken to amusing himself by seeing how much of the book he knew by heart before he had to check for the next word. He started the ritual once more, hoping to make it to at least half way, when he was cut off by a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"I have a message for you," came Sawyer's voice from the other side of the door, "from your father, sir"

"Please, Sawyer, come in." Charles stood and stretched, a sense of dread descending upon him as Sawyer entered the room. If his father had decided to pay a visit to the festival, Charles would have to secure a dinner date for each night the king attended, meaning he would have to venture outside of his bachelorette-free castle into the ravenous pool of blood-thirsty girls. "Thank you, you may sit if you wish." He said with a smile, gesturing with his hand towards the long gold chaise against the opposite side of his room as he took the envelope from Sawyer's hands with the other.

"Thank you very much, Charles." Sawyer gave a gracious bow and sat, rubbing the fine material of the chair with his thumb, a look of wonderment on his face. It occurred to Charles that, being a commoner, Sawyer had most likely never before touched silk. He would try and have silk pillowcases or sheets sent to all of the servants, since he himself had no use for them. Most of his nights had been spent in his arm chair, where he would often fall asleep while reading.

Just as Charles had dreaded, the king would be coming to visit for the final two weeks. He was making the long journey for the purpose of delivering a care package prepared by Charles' mother, and, more importantly, to meet the prince's "favorites". Unfortunately for Charles, this meant he would actually have to find a favorite, or at the very least a girl he could stand long enough to sit next to during dinner. Knowing his father, the poor woman would be battered with questions throughout the entirety of the evening, so Charles would hopefully be left to eat his meal in peace.

Determined to take his mind off of this new, highly undesirable development, Charles turned to Sawyer, who was still stroking the golden fabric, his eyes now closed. However, his eyes shot open and he stood when Charles said his name.

"Yes, Charles?" He answered, ready for orders to take the prince's reply to the messenger still waiting in the foyer.

"Do you enjoy reading?"

"Excuse me, sir?" Sawyer had not expected to be asked a question about himself. He had worked for several wealthy families in the past few years, and never had he been asked a personal question. To now be asked something so simple, conversational, and friendly by the prince was shocking.