BLOODLINE // WOOSAN

3

Struggling with the door, and the many warm treats which lie bundled in his arms, Prince San lets out a grunt of annoyance. He knows his father should be in the dining hall, for this is the place where he can often be found at this time. Luckily, this is an area quite suited for eating multiple freshly-baked goods. Unluckily, however, this door is hefty and unfit to open without the use hands.

"Oh, gods," groans the teenager softly. Since he is unable to utilize his arms in this situation, he gathers another idea. He turns around, ramming into the door with his right hip. Because of this forceful action, the prince stumbles over his feet a little bit. But, although his hip is now kind-of throbbing from the impact, it worked, in the least! He blows a deep breath through his nostrils, fixes his posture, and enters the hall to find exactly what he was hoping for.

Looking up, the king greets, "Good morrow, son."

"Good morrow, father." He manages to drop all of the desserts into a consummate assortment on the table without fault, an impressive gesture to even the ruler, the man who previously thought he had seen it all. Mustering a bashful smile, San bows slightly to the king as he steps back. "Would you wish of some sweets, father?"

The elder eyeballs each of the dishes before him, adorned with a faint look of possible acknowledgement that San hopes he isn't mistaken in seeing. "Whatever is the reason for my son bringing me sweets and not the servants upon today?" He warns, "Their sloth may cost them of their positions, iffen they be careful not."

"No, father. I brought them unto you... for I made them of mine own self."

The king's eyes partially widen at this. "You baked of these sundry sweets, son? By your lonesome today, with assistance none by a mistress?"

San feels his cheeks heat up at this. He's unsure of whether his father's words should be taken as a compliment or an insult. Knowing the way things work, it's probably the latter, but San really does try to stay optimistic. "Many unoccupied times art upon my hands evermore, father," he speaks, so softly that it sounds like a mumble. He realizes what he's done as soon as his eyes meet the king's, two spheres of glinting gold locked on each other, so he swiftly clears his throat. "I do apologize," he adds curtly.

Fortunately, the king waves this off. Strangely, San thinks to himself, the king is acting much more... benevolent today. "You do thus in reference to your disability to leave the castle, I am certain," he says. San's father lets out a sigh as he picks up a utensil, ready to dig into the first pastry. He does so with no hesitation, knowing that San will not poison him, no matter how much he may despise his father; they both know that San is nowhere near ready to take the role of leadership over the kingdom. Much to the teenage boy's dismay, this is set to occur just as soon as his father, the current king of if Halawell, dies. "Though, thus may have to occur not, you see, iffen you art to-"

San says, "No," cutting his father off. Before he can be scolded for doing so, he adds, "Never may I wed a wo, father, no matter whatever consequences I shall endure." He intently observes the table as his father takes a bite, nodding at the sweet taste. He takes another while waiting for the boy to finish. "For simply incorrect it is to wed whomever you love not, and receive not love from."

The elder's voice rises a little in volume, the strong and stern father and king in him coming out. He scolds, "And thus is the case hither with your mother and I. For, had it been thus way not, your birth would have occasioned not."

"...Perhaps I should prefer being born not, father...."

"However shall you say thus?!" The man raises his voice even higher. San winces at this sudden change. Yet, what he fails to realize is that he, too, is gradually getting louder with each sentence. "So selfish, you art! Such means of dishonor upon your family, thus way for a man whomever does so shall deserve such a life lived from you not."