Gold and Silver

The Faerie Prince

As this story is written by two authors, we will each specify when we have written a chapter.

Author: ViktorNikiforovKearsley

An impregnable darkness wrapped its cold, winding arms round the kingdom of Aisimenio, the dimming light of the sun being warped by the many hills surrounding the castle. A single dark figure stood at a grand precipice, his black-clad body like a single dark tear against the pure white landscape. The man observed the rising and falling of the waves beyond the rolling hills below, finally understanding what his father had meant by 'the calm before the storm'. The country seemed at such peace; however, he knew it couldn't last.

The man knelt, scooping a handful of freshly fallen snow from the previously unmarked surface. He rolled it in his palm, momentarily wondering how war would affect the normally peaceful citizens of his country.

He threw the snowball off the cliff, asking himself if this war was really worth it.

The country of Chryso Aima lay fourteen hundred miles off the coast of Aisimenio, on an island oblique to the mainland. It was bright and cheery; always summer due to its immense share of magic. The man's father, who was the king of this realm, was desperate for this power; he believed that if he could control this enormous force, he could rule the world.

Otabek, the prince, had to wonder if maybe his father was wrong. Maybe the power to control the seasons and the weather wasn't worth the immeasurable deaths this war would cause.

"Otabek," called a deep, forlorn voice. It was Otabek's tutor, Christophe Giacometti. He'd slipped out of the castle, obviously, risking his skin to notify Otabek of his father's presence in the residence. The King detested his frequent escapades outside of the compound, deeming them unwise, therefore Otabek generally stayed close enough to catch when his father returned from his hunting trips. Unfortunately, today he'd strayed too far, and he was unable to catch the air his father produced; the same air that generally hinted that he should return home.

"Come! Quickly! Your father is asking for you!" Chris waved a gloved hand towards himself, turning towards the gates. Otabek stood quickly, shaking the snow off his fingertips and warming them in his pockets. He shrugged his hood on, disguising himself to slip back into the castle unnoticed.

Chris led the way, taking him the way they always went. He slipped through the kitchens, shoving a few Pirozhkis into his pockets as he passed before waving goodbye and disappearing down another passage. The cook would blame Otabek, but Chris was underfed as it was; plus, he enjoyed angering his father. It gave him an odd sense of pride, like he'd truly achieved something.

Otabek was thinking this as he slipped through the corridor into his room, not bothering to check the space first. He saw the figure mere inches before himself and attempted to stop, but it was too late. He placed his hands out before him, bouncing off the royal garments that encircled his father's large body.

Otabek gasped, stepping backwards in surprise before collapsing to the stone floor. He stared at his father in horror, the flickering light about the small space adding a frightening air to an already horrifying situation.

"And where do you think you're going?" He glared down at Otabek, his thin wispy beard trembling in anger. The slight crown nestled upon his brow shimmered, showing how much the King was shaking.

"Umm..." Otabek began, clasping his hands together in worry.

"Enough." The King turned, motioning to the two guards that had taken their place beside him.

"Grab him." The men wasted no time, wrapping their long fingers around Otabek's arms and dragging him after the King. Otabek struggled, swearing profusely. He kicked and yelled like a ten year old boy, although he was far from that; he was nearly fifteen. Otabek and the two men followed the King, who strolled down the stairs to the dungeon at a leisurely pace.