The Prince's Angel

Chapter Three - A New Friend

One year later, 2002, Old Age

Stefan had just been yelled at again.

He wiped the wetness from his nose and tried to quell his tears. All he and Torin wanted was to play with Father. They'd been running around Da's study, lobbing dust cloths at each other and mimicking war, complete with hand-to-hand combat, when Stefan had accidentally hit a porcelain lamp with his sword. It had crashed to the floor and splintered into pieces, which made Da explode out of his chair.

"What did I tell you boys about playing in here?" he thundered. "Clean this up! And go outside!"

Stefan hurried to get the broom, and then ran to his room and shut himself in the closet. Amid his muffled sobs, he could hear Mem calling for him, but he didn't come out.

If Mother was here, Da never would have snapped at us like that, Stefan thought sadly, followed by an equally depressing notion... "If Mum was here, Da would have been playing with us," he whispered to the stale darkness.

He sat for awhile, letting the tears dry, before succumbing to sleep. When he woke up, his muscles felt cramped, and his backside ached from sitting so long. He made his way back to Da's study, the last place he wanted to go.

"Father?"

"What, Stefan?" The voice didn't sound like Da's, but it was. Since Mum's death two years ago, he had changed. He was cold and unreachable, hardly the father Stefan remembered. Now there was no more laughing, no playful growls as Da chased he and Torin around the room, no pats on the shoulder as he taught them how to launch rocks in a sling. There were only grunts of annoyance when they asked him questions, a raised voice when they got too rowdy. Often, he wouldn't even come to tell them goodnight, much less weave bedtime adventures for them.

"I just... wondered if I could take a walk."

"That's fine." Father sniffed and turned back to his quill pen. That was it. No "be back in time for supper" or "make sure you tell Mem where you're going." Stefan almost wished his father would tell him not to go. At least then, Da would seem like he cared.

Stefan was in no hurry. He slumped down the stairs, wandered down a few hallways, before aimlessly walking through the courtyard. When he got to the portcullis, a friendly guard named Benton asked where he was going.

"Just... anywhere," replied Stefan sullenly.

"Are you sure it's alright to go out by yourself?" Benton's bushy eyebrows disappeared under his metal helmet.

"I'm going to find my nanny." Stefan tried to sound nonchalant about it. "She went to market earlier."

"Be careful, son." Benton and the other guard cranked the spiked lever, and the portcullis groaned open.

Usually, the smell of the pungent salt air and the sea breeze was relaxing to Stefan, but he didn't notice it today. He was too distracted by the day's earlier events. Surely, there had to be another way to make his father talk to him. Even a nod of acknowledgment at the dinner table would be nice every once in awhile.

He remembered asking Mem some time ago if they could have a new mother, and she'd told him that it was up to Da to decide. Stefan thought that if his father didn't even want to be with his own sons, why would he want another wife?

The idea was so dismal that Stefan could barely hold back more tears. He couldn't bear things being like this forever.

He was so lost that he didn't see someone else's shadow in front of him, and he was abruptly bumped aside by a basket. "Sorry," he mumbled, and was about to move on, when a familiar voice broke into his musing.