pater regis {hiatus}

step iii. to block or not to block

Hours passed as Reba sat in the Great Hall. He'd instructed the guards not to bother himself or Tosha. He was now starting to regret his decision. It was quiet, too quiet. It left him with his thoughts.

He suddenly remembered a lullaby his mother used to sing to him, as she'd soothe him to sleep at night. 'Stars at night might fall, my darling boy, stars at night might fall. I'll catch you once you call, my darling boy, I'll catch you once you call,' he mumbled. He felt as though someone had thrown cold water on him.

Reba hadn't felt this numb since that awful night, fourteen years ago. He'd lived through ten years when he became the monarch of a country.

He used to find that prospect inspiring- imagine! A monarch, in charge of so many people! The young prince thought of nothing else. He'd have his courtiers at his side, his father's blessing and his mother looking down at him from the sky. He'd stupidly felt as though he could conquer the world.

But life got in the way, as life is wont to do. His father joined the stars, and Reba stayed in Kada, his feet sinking into the ground. After his father left, the newly crowned king did not win himself many friends in the court.

After all, who could forgive him for the night of his father's death?

Reba could never forget that night. He hadn't slept, at all. After the last few guards dragged themselves away and took up their stance outside his door, he pulled the covers over his head and bit his lip, desperate to stop any tears that might fall down his cheeks. Reba knew the repercussions for his actions. He'd known he'd just lost the care and love of his staff. He knew how quickly rumours spread, and he was aware that he'd failed.

He was hurting, so badly. He remembered how his chest had ached, like someone had dug their hand into his chest and had a tight grip on his heart. Reba tried so hard not to let his emotions throw him off. Survey, do not attach. That was what his father said all the time- used to say, all the time. Reba inhaled sharply. His father hadn't told him how hard it'd be to do that without someone by his side.

He hated himself.

'I hate you! Fuck you!' a little Reba screamed, throwing the book in his hands at the monarch. He watched as the older man sidestepped with ease, hearing the soft thud of the object hitting the carpet moments later.

The king turned to look at the prince and sighed. 'My son. I know you don't want to do this, but you need to stay focused. What does the book say about using blocks?'

Reba glared at him, his tiny face open in its frustration. 'Go to hell.'

The king didn't react. Rather, he picked up the book and walked over to the small boy, holding it out to him. Reba snatched the book from his hands, opening it back up to the page he'd been on previously.

EMOTIONAL BLOCKADES: IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

The small boy flicked through the pages, taking note of the words that jumped out at him: hypersensitive, untrained, quick to the draw. Logically, Reba knew these applied to him- but he certainly didn't appeciate seeing them in such a critical light.

'This is stupid!' he exclaimed, looking back up at his father. 'A ruler needs passion. He needs to defend it with his bravery and his love, not- detatchment? What the hell?'

The king's face was weary. He bent down to meet his son's own countenance. 'A naÏve ruler thinks that way, boy. A true ruler knows that courage is not always present in hot-headed behaviour. You're too angry for your own good, Reba, and too angry for the good of the people. Let me help you,' he said, his voice soft, his tone patient. Reba blinked, unused to this side of his father. A small part of him wanted to resist this foreign, kind man.