A Prince Has Got to Slay

Chapter Two: Not My Son

💔Edited💔

Please correct any Spanish I translated incorrectly.

Roman didn't knock or request an audience with the King. This was too dire. His blood was still pumping and his heart couldn't seem to calm down. There were salty tear stains on his cheeks from what he had cried while running as fast and hard as he could over dozens of miles just to get his friends and head home. The ringing in his ears, the sorcery of those foreign weapons, the smirk of that snake sorcerer as they playfully teased him. Was this all a game!? The deaths of millions of people, was it all a game!? Roman pushed through the doors to see his Mother and Father discussing whatever. The Queen gasped and shrieked in surprise. She always did overreact. Trophy wife. His father shot him a glare that would turn even Medusa into stone. His face went red in anger and he stood up from his throne, extremely angry at Roman. Roman didn't care. He was put through too much trauma in the past day and a half, not had he slept a wink.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU PANSY!? You didn't request an audience with me nor should you even be in Muse! What the FUCK is wrong!?"

Roman ran up to the spot where he was supposed to bow and he stood. He didn't bother with formalities. He didn't care. Everything that was happening was too hellish to even bother with that bull crap, much to the dismay of his father. Roman was sweating buckets by the second and his face put his sash to shame. He had salty tear stains dragging down his cheeks and his lips were sore from biting them and whimpering so much. His sword was in its Scabbard, but he always had a hand hovering over it just in case. How old was Roman? Roman was seventeen. A seventeen year old boy who was to rule a kingdom in a year and lead an army to against the threats of the East. With witchcraft. He can't handle this. There's no way he can do this. Father has to help. Father can fix this.... right?

"They have sorcery! Magic weapons that made tiny explosions that killed our soldiers! That tyrant witht he scar over their eye led them! They said they were from Dolus and they called the witchcraft 'guns'! They knew of me by name! You have to help Dad! You have to lead the troops and protect the townsfolk! I... I... I can't do it!"

Roman fell to his knees. Saying it all out loud broke him. He felt his willpower and ego shatter like a mirror to a fist. More tears spilt from his dehydrated eyes as he used his palms to keep himself from falling fsce first unto the cobblestone floor. His mother said naught a word. She was a trophy wife, what was she supposed to do? Roman felt his stomach go queasy as if he was going to vomit. He lifted his chin up a tiny bit and he saw his Father standing before him with the most disapproving look anyone on the continent Orbis would ever see. Through his blurred vision Roman felt the most pain, guilt, and trauma he has ever experienced in his entire life. He found himself on the cold floor, skidded on his side with skinned wounds on his outer thigh and shoulder. His face stung with pain and dishonor. He weakly tried to sit up, but he was thrown back to the ground with a loud smack, leaving a reddened hand mark on his face

"Stay down, you fucking pansy. Can't handle a battlefield, huh? Then you have no right to be my son. You have no right to be King of Rome. You are hereby denounced from the title of Crown Prince, disowned as my son, and you are to leave Rome at once. I never want to see your face again. Get out of my fucking sight. GO DAMNIT!!!"

Roman struggled to get to his feet and he scrambled to get out of the throne room. The doors slammed behind him and Roman slid down, hugging his knees and crying into him. His body stung, his face stung, his heart stung, everything stung. Kicked out of Rome? But he was the prince! Rome was all he had ever known. Roman wanted to die. He wished he was exploded with that dark magic at the battlefield. Why did they have to force him to survive? Why was he forced to play this game of war and pain? He just wanted to take his word to his throat. Maybe his dad was right... What good is a Prince if he can't kill anyone? Maybe he should just commit suicide and just try to do some good. Face that guy alone and challenge him to a duel. No, Roman can't. Roman is a Pansy who isn't even Romanian anymore. He isn't a Prince. Roman was about to get up and leave, but then he felt something on his shoulder. He lifted his head.

"Sire? I am at your command."

Valerie. How did she get here? He had ordered her to stay with Joan, the only other survivor of the massacre. Where did her maid's uniform go? She wore it when they came back. Why was she covered in scars? She didn't need inform him of any injuries. Where was Joan? There was a heaviness and Sadness in her eyes. Blood trickled down her cheek. She extended her hand towards him. She was offering to help him up. Roman tried to hold back tears. Boys don't cry. Princes don't cry. Valerie weakly smiled and wiped them away for him, giving him all the love she had. He took her hand and she hoisted him back up to his feet. She tried to fake a smile to comfort her lord, but that didn't last. Roman didn't deserve a smile. He abandoned her and Joan. There was silence between the two before Valerie spoke again.

"Forgive my eavesdropping but I'm afraid I heard everything through the doors. What should we do now? Word has been told that Broadway has been reduced to ashes and corpses. The Eastern forces advancing and killing everyone in sight. I... I am at your command."

Roman and Valerie both turned heads when they saw Joan limping down the hallway. They realized they were being watched and fixed themself as best as they could, walking as straight as their queer cut open self could. They wore a clumsy smile, reassuring the duo that everything was going to be okay. Roman instantly pulled them into a warm embrace, running up to meet them half way. Valerie slowly walked behind, watching and waiting and trying to be as supportive as she can.

"Woah, take it easy Chief. I'll be okay when the swelling goes down."

No they won't. The doors of the throne room swung open, the King standing there and seeing his son still in the castle with two filthy commoners. He was unable to recognize Valerie as a maid in her peasant clothes. Roman felt his entire body lose all color as he turned around and saw him standing there, his pathetic excuse for a mother standing behind him. The King as far taller and broader than Roman, despite his ideal athletic build. He glared down at what used to be his son, reminding Roman of what's a failure he was.

"What did I tell you, scumbag? Leave my country or I shall take your head off and throw your body to the maggots."

The king lifted Roman up, smacking him once more before throwing him to the ground as he spoke. Roman struggled to stand. In his sheltered, naïve life he had never been treated so horribly, not even in training. This was the worst. Valerie hand tbothered to stand by. She disobeyed the unspoken rule of the king and helped the one she was loyal to up. This was the last of what she was going to be in the castle, so she went ahead and let the king have it, peaking a language that Roman had never heard before. He had never heard her so spiteful. It made Joan's face go pale to see her go this ballistic.

"¡Eres nu pésimo Rey! ¡Eres una destructs para este paîs! ¡Estero que the quemes eternamente en el infierno!"

She slapped him.

Everybody gasped In Horror as the brunette maid took her open palm and struck it against the King's face so hard he turned his head. The queen began to fuss on him, but he violently shook her off. Valerie had no remorse on her face. She gritted her teeth and turned herself around, grabbing her friends by the wrist. 

"Vamanos, mis preciosos. Nuestros Tenemos-que salir."

Like that, she dragged them running out of the castle. Roman was at a Lost for Word. Joan screamed at Valerie that she was crazy as they ran down the corridors to the exit. Where do they go next? What should they do? Hopefully Valerie knew, because Roman was scared. He was flying blind. He was just thankful he wasn't flying solo. Valerie hadn't said a word until they made it outside of the castle. Her chest began heaving. She took her knife immediately and before either of her friends could protest it, she cut off half of all the long brown hair that all maids are required to have. The long hair, not the brunette hair. Hair fell around her feet and her lips quivered as she shoved her knife back in her medieval equivalent of a bra. 

"Tenemos-Que Ir Ser... Oh, sorry. I forgot neither of you speak my mothertongue. We have to go to Serendipity. That's the closest kingdom to here."

1529 Words

~Eva