A Tale of Crown and Country

Crolimus

 "Will someone tell me where my daughter is?!" King Crolimus barked at the room full of blank-faced courtiers and hesitant soldiers. No one would look him in the eye. His voice echoed through the throne room, now turned into a situations room. It felt like a war-time mid-battle regroup and yet not a single person had given him anything to work with. "How hard can it be to find a fifteen-year old princess in this city!"

When no one answered, he sat back in one of the matching gilded thrones and sighed, his head in his hand. There wasn't a single competent person in the room.

"We'll find her, Father." Crolimus's two sons, Reike and Zuryn appeared at his side.

"At least someone here has the audacity to speak up," he said, exasperated. "Duren," he said to a duke by his side, "any news?" Duren, Elidel–who was missing at the moment–and Crolimus: the three oldest and most powerful friends in Allriya. At least Duren had the courage to give him a straight answer.

"Nothing yet, your highness. But report came in a few minutes ago from a young soldier. Seems he might have seen Princess Amalea down an alley in the lower town."

Crolimus sat up. This was something to work off of. "Well what are you waiting for? Bring him in!"

Duren marched off and disappeared behind the crowd of useless courtiers. Honestly, if it weren't for them he'd have conquered all of Jayakan by now. He had to settle for marrying his daughter off to their prince.

"Everyone go," he commanded to the room. They looked at him, confused, their beady little eyes hiding incompetent brains. "Now," he said slowly and forcefully.

The shuffling of leather boots on polished tile echoed around the room. Crolimus massaged the bridge of his nose; he was getting a headache from the sheer volume of their ineptitude. If their incessant quibbling didn't stop he'd start dismissing them from their ranks.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught his two sons, spitting images of him at that age with their cropped blonde hair and deep set eyes. They were both sidling off to the side of the room.

"Zuryn," he called to the elder of the pair, "come here. I want you to see this." He needed his future successor to see a model of kingship in action. So far Zuryn had sat in on council meetings, advised on matters of state, and had accompanied him on foreign visits, but he'd never seen what it meant to enforce those rules. A king had a standard to keep up after all; if he didn't, well, there was a reason Allriya had grown to the powerhouse it was now.

Just as soon as the last of the courtiers had exited the room and Zuryn was standing stoically beside the pair of thrones, Duren came charging into the room, slamming the double doors at the end of the hall wide open. Behind him a pair of royal guards marched a worried-looking soldier between them. Duren gave a curt bow and a sly smile upon reaching the base of the thrones and stepped aside to present the soldier.

The royal guards stepped back, leaving the soldier alone before Crolimus. He looked worried, scared, guilty even–and weak. Oh boy was he going to have fun with this.

"What's your name?" he asked sweetly.

"Jerair Benson," he answered, trying not to stutter.

"Jerair," Crolimus said slowly, stretching the name out, trying it out, mulling over it, how it felt on his tongue. He stood up and began slowly pacing. "Jerair, rumour has it you saw the Princess Amalea, and you did not bring her here, to me."

Jerair tried to speak, tried to excuse himself, but Crolimus held up a finger for him to be silent.

"Jerair, rumour has it you saw the Princess Amalea and did nothing about it. That you did not report it until much later than what is expected of you. Jerair, why is that?" He lifted his eyebrows, now ready for a response.