King Gregory on top.
August 17, 1345.
Stormhold Castle,
The walled city of Rothwell,
Capital of Myknos.
Prince Nicolas Alexander Tutton
He stared into the fire that burned in the grate as he sipped a dark rum from his cup. The weather was far too hot for a fire but he didn't care. Watching the flames helped him stay calm but today only the sound of her voice rejecting him resounded in his head over and over again.
"Argh!" He yelled throwing the cup into the flames.
Why did he believe that she would love him too? She was attracted, yes, but love? How could he have been so stupid?
'You've always treated her like a criminal.' His conscience scolded, 'How could you expect her to love you?'
He slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Odeya." He said her name as a whisper.
She had risked losing her mother by telling them of the war lying just outside their gates but his traitorous mind refused to see past her rejection.
He hated the internal battle raging in his mind. The answer should have been clear but the devil on his shoulder left no room for that. The better part of his mind scolding him for overreacting and the dark parts saying he was right to punish her seeing that she was sent to kill him. As if that would change anything.
'What should I do?' He thought.
An answer came in form of the last person he expected to see. His father, King Gregory of Myknos dressed in all the finery the kingdom had to offer.
"Your Highness." He bowed in respect, "Why are you not at the games?"
"I came to check on my sulking son." He said, sitting on the edge of Nicolas' bed and patting the space beside him, "Tell me what troubles you."
King Gregory was in his late fifties but he looked much younger than was expected although his dark brown hair had turned fully grey. The unsuspecting maids fell for his soft spoken nature and bright smile but he knew better.
The small display of affection would have been welcomed years ago but now, he was a man grown. Their relationship after Henrik's death had first turned cold, with unspoken blame for the death of his older brother, then purely formal with trainings on how to rule a kingdom.
Nicolas shook his head and returned to his position by the window. He heard his father's audible sigh but refused to look at him; the pain of the cold behavior over the years lingering in his heart.
King Gregory took off his crown and placed it on the bed. He walked toward his second son and attempted to lay a soothing hand on his back but the sharp flinch had him withdrawing his hand. Regret burned in the pit of his stomach and unspoken apologies lingered in his mind. How could he hope to mend the relationship with his son after so many years of neglect?
"Look son. I know...that I might not be the best of fathers and I haven't been there for you but..."
"Might?" Nicolas interrupted, anger clearly burning in his eyes.
He already had enough on his plate and for his father to bring up the issue he had long lain to rest...it was too much.
"I need the pleasure of my solitude Father. You may talk your leave." He said leaving no room for arguments.
YOU ARE READING
A Kings Surrender
Historical Fiction"Oh really. I'd say you really enjoyed my visit." He said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He walked closer to her until she had to use her hand to stop him from crushing her against the wall. He bent his head and nipped a small line from her n...
