A World of Their Own

Chapter 1: Under a Night Sky

Royce was tired.

            The young prince sat on the windowsill, gazing longingly out the window. Outside, the dark sky was covered in gray clouds, the sun was nowhere to be seen, and the only sounds he could hear were the faint echoes of shouts and screams in the distance.

            In other words, today was just like any other day. He had stopped keeping track of the days a long time ago.

            Everything had happened so fast two months ago – or had it only been a month ago? The messengers, the black suits and dresses, the hymns, the mourning.

            And most of all, the loss and emptiness that he had felt that day was still buried within him, and it felt like it would be there forever. He had never liked his older brother much – he acted far too condescendingly towards everyone and had a prideful attitude that never seemed to go away. Now it was gone forever.

            His father was gone forever, too – killed in the dark of the night by one of his own guards. He was told by his own personal guard that his brother had died trying to stop those same guards from reaching the royal bedroom. A while later, he had overheard kitchen servants gossiping, saying that his brother had been poisoned during dinner, and that had killed him in his sleep that same night his father had died.

            Royce shook his head sadly. These were tough wartimes. No one was to be trusted, not even those closest to you.

            He might have mourned for the loss of two of his immediate family members, if not for the fact that they had treated him terribly while they were both alive.

            Worthless, useless, unfit to be a ruler. Those names never left him; they were stuck to the insides of his mind, long after they had been said.

            Royce's black hair fluttered in the breeze coming through the window, falling into his silver-blue eyes. He did not feel the cool wind on his skin; his dark purple robes had been tightly fastened earlier. He had often been told that he was a spitting image of his father, if only he would get his hair cut more often. It was quite strange that his brother, the one who had been next in line for the throne, looked more like their mother than their father, with his chocolate brown hair and silvery eyes.

            His brother was gone now. That was all that there was to it. And if his mother were to die, he would be next.

            A soft chuckle escaped his lips, then he coughed and reached for the glass of water that had been resting on his windowsill. It had been a while since he had laughed, and it had come out sounding hoarse and rough. He had forgotten what it was like to laugh over the last two months – not that he minded anymore.

            His only interaction with other people nowadays was his servants, who brought him a new outfit for him to wear every so often and full meals, three times a day. Two or three of them always came at the same times every day, each of them holding at least one tray loaded with food. Royce didn't quite have the heart to tell them to stop bringing the excessive amounts of food when they came to give it to him. Most of it was sitting in his trash can. He only ever ate a small fraction of it. 

            The clothes were starting to become a problem, too. His usual outfits had started to hang off of him, as if they had become several sizes too large in the last eight weeks. He didn't mind at the moment – the larger clothes kept him warm, and it was often cold in his room.

            The servants always treated him with respect – as was expected of people who were serving the prince – and with a constant, cold hostility that never seemed to go away. It was almost as if they were afraid of him. Royce didn't blame them. Once, he was known as a great student, one of the best young swordsmen in the kingdom, cheerful, friendly, and caring.