4 Princes

II

"...she had to get up before dawn, carry the water into the house, make the fire, cook, and wash. Meanwhile her sisters did everything imaginable to cause her grief and make her look ridiculous."
(Brothers Grimm: Cinderella)

ROOK
MY HEART WAS BEATING so fast I nearly thought it had stopped. I knocked on my father's door and gulped. Most children weren't scared to face their father, but as an adult, I still feared to tell my father anything other than perfect news.

I closed my eyes and stopped my foot from tapping on the ground. As much as I hated it, my father wouldn't be perturbed about Erik's death. He wouldn't be that angry with me.

But I'd be angry with him. And anger causes things to be said that you don't mean to say out loud. One wrong word to my father and it was backhands or switches.

It was late at night, the castle dimly lit with lanterns and candles. My siblings had come home finally, drenched in blood that wasn't theirs and glaring daggers at me.

I didn't stay to help them bring in the dead. I was supposed to. Princes were supposed to. Instead, I left. I was a terrible brother, a terrible soldier. But they didn't feel the same grief as I did. They didn't understand my pain. I couldn't stay and be surrounded by death.

Not when death took little Erik.

"You're telling dad about Erik and you're telling him how you didn't help us with the fallen," Hera scolded me. Her dark blonde hair was cut short, only to her shoulders. It was pulled back in a braid so tight to her head that it made her look like she had a boy's cut.

She had never been this mad at me before. Maybe when I stole her hairbrush when we were much younger, but my little sister was normally very easy going. She looked intimidating, and sometimes she was, but Hera was just as human as the rest of this family.

I didn't respond to them. Adam and Jack couldn't look me in the eyes. They didn't seem angry like Hera did, just disappointed. That made me feel worse.

Father opened the door and smiled when he saw me. "Ah, my son. Come in!" He waved me into his quarters. He was dressed in a deep red robe, white silk under it. He looked far too comfortable to be a King at war.

Father was tall, taller than even Jack. His eyes were a soft grey color and his hair was dark brown. Jack looked most like him, an almost near replica. He had a small beard that grew around his face. He wasn't that old, only 43, but he acted as though he had lived for a hundred years.

"Dad. I have some news." I said sadly, looking up at the painting of my mother. He had it painted after she died, a memory of her. All it did, was make me sad. She wasn't smiling in the painting, and that's what I missed most about her. Was her smile.

Father poured himself a glass of alcohol. "Good news I hope. Do you want a glass?" He turned and looked at me.

"Not exactly." Father's room was large and open. He had a balcony that looked over his kingdom, where he could lord over them.

His bed was big and... empty. I looked away from it. I hated that bed. It held memories of my mother dying in those very sheets. Blood still stained them. I'm surprised he didn't throw them out, I would have.

"Not exactly good news, or not exactly you don't want a glass?" He asked, smirking at me.

I huffed out a breath. "I don't want a glass, dad!" I yelled. He knew I was ireful and upset. He knew I didn't have good news. He was doing this just to irritate me.

He frowned and grabbed his glass, putting a lid on the bottle. He took a sip and nodded to the balcony, silently gesturing for us to go out there.

"Something terrible must have happened if you're handing the news to me. Adam and Jack hate bringing me bad news because they're scared of punishment and losing my favorite child spot. And Hera... well your brothers never make her tell it to me." He wasn't wrong. That didn't make this come out any easier. "Of course, I don't actually have a favorite child. Adam is jus—"