The Days We Lost: Sanders Sides

Chapter 2: Prince Roman

Roman did not like to lie to his father, but for certain pursuits, it was necessary; in particular, the pursuit of love was one of his most prolific fib-fabricators.

"You're a prince, kiddo," King Thomas would say, putting an arm around Roman's shoulders. "I don't want you to have to worry about finding someone to marry quite yet."

"It does not worry me!" Roman would always argue back. "I just crave physical contact with someone beautiful. What is so concerning about that?"

To which his father would begin his neurotic rant about someone taking advantage of Roman's royal status, or his foreign heritage, or create blackmail about his brother's simmering powers that had almost gotten a few servants killed. So Roman learned to lie. In his experience, his father seemed to prefer hearing that Roman was going to a bar rather than a brothel.

When Roman had heard that a seer had come to town who could tell him of his soulmate, he began crafting a lie so fine that it would slide right under the king's nose.

•••

Roman grasped the brass knocker to his father's chambers in his right hand, so tight that the green veins popped out from his skin like admirers. He could hear the king singing one of his original operatic ballads from within, the one that foreign diplomats begged to hear each time they visited.

You should let him finish the song.

Roman, you know that's just you trying to stall.

He let the brass ring go, and it swung towards the plate. Upon contact, it reverberated a long, sonorous note that ricocheted through the corridor. The king's voice cut short.

"Who dares disturb my slumber?!" King Thomas roared, followed by a brigade of laughter.

"Dad, you were clearly not slumbering," Roman grinned as his father opened the door. "People don't sing in their sleep."

Thomas smiled at his son. "You're a walking disproof of that statement."

"What?! No! I do not do that," Roman said, color tinting his cheeks.

Thomas reached out a cloaked arm and ruffled Roman's hair. "Love you, kiddo."

He could feel the guilt began to penetrate, the prince's heart sinking in shame from the falsehoods he was to bestow upon the man who saw him as nothing but a glorious light in his life. It was necessary, a notion which Roman had assured himself of many a time, but heartbreaking.

"So I was going to ask for your permission make a trip down to the Tomathy marketplace," Roman said, not meeting his father's eyes.

The king ruffled through the pockets of his slacks. "I've actually got somethin' for you to do today," Thomas murmured. "If I could just find..."

"Oh. Oh! That is quite alright," Roman said, jamming his pointer fingers through his belt loops in a futile attempt to act casual. "No problem at all."

"A-ha! Here it is," Thomas said, producing a mangled piece of parchment. "My to-do list."

Roman stared at the paper. "Esteemed Scholar Valerie Torres-Rosario is going to have an aneurysm if she sees that."

The king winked. "Let's hope she doesn't see it, then." He began to unfold the list, revealing a sprawl of beautiful handwriting that was reminiscent of a printed typeface. It was the kind of handwriting that made you actually want to complete the task that it assigned.

"Her son Logan actually wrote this out for me," Thomas continued. "He's been taking on some of her duties lately, 'cause she's preparing to pass the position onto him in later years if he proves to be successful."