Kings in Hiding

Chapter 1

It's mid-morning. The village is bustling with noise, birds are chirping outside, and children are running about, giggling. Within the house of the Bartel family, a set of tiny feet pattering against the wooden floor had awoken the head of the house. A child, about the age of three, had just ran into his father's room, all covered in flour, from head to toe. He attempts to touch his father's freckled face, but he jumps back and giggles when he sees his father's bright morning smile.
"Morning, Dada!" The little kid says.
Kirk brushed his thick ginger hair out of his face as he sat up and pulled his child up onto the bed. "Good morning, Gregory- oh, don't smack me," he says tiredly as Greg pats his face with his white and dusty hands. "Why are you, little mister," he continues, "covered in flour?"
"I originally had him help with breakfast, but he dug into the sack and made it rain in the kitchen," a female voice states, standing in the doorway. Kirk turns to see his wife, Mal, as she comes around the bed and sits next to him. She greets him with a kiss on the cheek. Greg falls out of Kirk's lap and, giggling once again, runs out of the bedroom.
"Y'know, Kirk, he wouldn't be such a mess if you came to help," she says sweetly, laying her head on his shoulder.
He rolls his eyes. "If you had woke me up earlier, perhaps I would've come to help," he says jokingly. He then proceeds to brushes the flour off of his top with his hands.
"Uh huh, right...." she replies with sarcasm. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty, your food is getting cold. No one likes cold and rubbery eggs, right?" Mal stands up and leaves with a smile.
"Alright, alright," he says, practically jumping out of the bed and hurrying to the kitchen.

Entering the kitchen, to Kirk's surprise, he found Leo sitting at the table, waiting for his fair share of home cooking.
"Well, well, well, look who it is. Sleeping Beauty has finally graced us with her presence," Leo insults. He stands up and bows too low for comfort.
"Why does everyone call me that? I'm not a bear, I just sleep a little longer than you two. It's ridiculous," Kirk exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. Mal laughs quietly, pulling some meat from the pan and onto a plate.
"That's not true, hon. I've seen days where you don't get out of bed until the sun goes down. It's not our fault we think you've been under a sleeping curse for the past few months, haha!"
Leo chuckles at Mal's comment while Kirk shakes his head.
"You married a funny one, you know," Leo states.
"That isn't the first time someone's said that," Kirk says. "Better having a funny wife than none at all, if you know what I mean." He then cracks a smirk as Leo's face begins to glow red from embarrassment.
"Q-quiet, you!"
"That's what you get for calling me 'Sleeping Beauty'."
"Just because I haven't caught a gal for my own within these past few years doesn't mean I can't get one later. I just haven't found the right woman," Leo says, sitting back down. Mal then sets his plate, and Kirk's, both down at the table. Kirk gets in the chair next to Leo;, his usual spot, and the brothers then begin to dig into Mal's cooking. Mal joins them shortly with Greg in her lap, spoon feeding him the warm eggs she had made.
"Anyways, how are ya doing, good ol' brother of mine?" Leo asks, gently slapping Kirk's back.
"Not the right thing to ask someone who just woke up..." Kirk says through a mouthful of eggy goodness. "By the way, these are amazing as always, hon."
Mal gives me her warmest smile. As she continues to feed their kid, Kirk continues to speak. "What are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn't you be at home, getting ready for work?"
"Just checking in on the family, as always!" Leo exclaims.
"Uh huh... Then, why do I keep thinking that you only came because you wanted a taste of my wife's food? Is your own cooking not good enough for ya?" Kirk teases, pointing his fork at him.
Leo breaks a sweat. "Ahaha... Well..."

Not too far away, within the cliffs surrounding this peaceful village, a cloaked man stood alone. An eery, black mist floated around his feet. It gurgled, exerting little balls of gas as it moved with the man's every pacing step. He glared into the village with his tired, yellow eyes. Pulling his hood down, his desaturated pink mop flowed in the wind.
"He's in there. I know it."
With the flick of his wrist, his palms were lit ablaze.
"I won't let my son escape me, not this time."