Blackheart

Discontent

A signature here, a signature there, a compliment, a threat and an insult...

The prince folded the paper before stamping it with the royal seal, tossing it to the side of the desk. He leaned back and sighed, rubbing at his temples.

The young man had been doing this for weeks. Normally burning with drive and unusually active, the normally fair, clean-shaven prince looked overworked and disheveled, with rings under his eyes and growing stubble all over his face.

He was currently in a small office, next to his room. The office space was as richly decorated as one might expect from the castle that housed the entire royal family of Geralthin. Tapestries and expensive baubles were placed around the room, though it wasn't quite as extravagant as the rest of the castle.

This was an office, after all. No one but the family and perhaps a few stewards ever came in here.

Sunlight streamed in through the window as a light breeze flowed in, giving the prince a brief respite from the all the hardship. His arms dangled to his sides as he closed his eyes and felt the breeze on his neck, cooling him slightly.

"Your highness?"

The prince opened his eyes, locking onto the figure at the door.

One of the new hires stood there. A young man with few defining qualities that the prince never bothered to find out the name of.

"What?"

"Err...perhaps I could take over for-"

"No."

His answer was blunt, and his tone was authoritative. The servant seemed to fold at it immediately.

"O-okay, your highness."

The man vanished, off to whatever it was he did. The prince didn't care. He had more important things to worry about.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, face in his hands.

It was getting to be too much. At this point, how could he keep up?

He'd been writing letters and trying to push forward decrees wherever he could. He'd ridden to and from so many noblemens' houses. He'd been up night and day working to put together an army, but no one seemed willing.

He'd gone as far as to track down the poorest, least prestigious noble houses in the kingdom, yet even they wouldn't lend their men to him for a shot at relevancy in the court.

Not single person seemed to give a damn.

That was enough. He decided to see his friend about this. He rose out of the chair and left the room, making his way down the hall.

The wild wealth that pulsed through the heart of the kingdom was lost on the prince at the moment. He was halfway in his own mind, stewing over it all.

The Edict...the executions...the city...the demons...

What the hell was going on?!

He stomped down the gilded halls, head hung low and hands folded behind his back.

Why was it like this? The castle should be utterly swarming with activity in the midst of this madness! An entire city, and thousands of lives were just lost! Add the population of the city onto the losses of the missing armies sent there and...

He grimaced. Something had to be done. Why was nothing being done?

Sure, they'd sent the knight, but really? That's all?