The Prince's War

The Prince's War: Short Story

Rowan tied his steed to the tree, his smile growing even as the dark forest loomed ahead. He patted his horse's head, beaming at him.

"Sorry to leave you out here, Witz, but we both know how skittish you are around him." He brushed his fingers through the silky mane, his blue eyes as bright as his smile.

The white horse snorted, as if to refuse to acknowledge he was afraid of any beast, let alone Rowan's old friend. The boy chuckled and opened the black saddlebag embroidered with a royal blue lion head insignia, then pulled out an apple and offered it. Witz's head bobbed for the apple in excitement, his teeth and lips lightly grazing Rowan's nimble fingers as he snatched it away and munched it happily.

"Yes, good boy. Behave, all right?" Rowan stroked his nose one last time before he turned and ventured into the woods. He'd had Witz for two years—gotten him when he was about twelve—but he'd known his old friend for much longer.

The sun was beginning to set on his father's kingdom, and in the woods, it felt like it was already nighttime, the trees and birds and creatures clamoring for any last drop of orange, dappled sunlight and shielding anything smaller from the light. Rowan hopped onto each sunspot like it was a fun game, humming bright march to himself, practically skipping as he picked up a stick and smacked it against every tree to the beat of his song for no reason other than to make noise. The broken light settled on his curly silver hair that disrupted the natural colors of the forest.

He danced through the forest with a little song, then found their usual spot and plopped down at the base of a giant tree with one of his old ropes tied around the base, drawing pictures in the rich, earthy dirt with his stick.

His smile faded. Ah, he was supposed to be at supper. Father would be angry at his absence. His singing faded into the forest, the specks of red and orange light peeking through the trees, somewhat resembling his father's eyes. The twigs scattered around him at the base of the tree looked like bloody arrows in the broken sunset's burning light. Rowan sang his song louder, his voice echoing off the trees until it seemed like the forest itself was striving to the march, ready to strive into battle—no.

His fingers shook. He clamped his hands together and tried to focus on his song, even as his voice cracked.

Father would be angry anyway, even if Rowan did his very best. He was always angry with him, especially with the war going on. Always...disappointed.

"Scale's sakes, he's so late," he popped his lips, looking at the sky. He started to hum something else, something softer and more like a lullaby. Vines from the trees curled around his back, and he could imagine vines wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him into the tree, molding him into the bark and trapping him forever, secure and warm and safe, one with nature. Sleeping. Forgetting.

He smiled and waved away his whimsical thoughts. "I'm silly as always." He chuckled to himself, then continued to draw pictures of pixies and horses in the dirt between his scraped knees. Father always said to wear long pants and boots now that he was fourteen, but he couldn't stand long pants in the summer.

Wind suddenly rushed around him as thunderous flapping sounds filled the air. Rowan beamed up at the sky. Claws and wings burst through the canopy of the trees, letting in an explosion of sunlight. The sky's orange and purple colors reflected on the golden scales of Rowan's friend as he landed as gently as possible, his slit-pupiled eyes contracting as it spotted Rowan.

"Geoffrey!" Rowan laughed and scrambled towards him, hugging his neck tightly. "I've been waiting for you. How are you, my old friend?"

The dragon, easily the size of two stallions, lowered his head and nudged Rowan with his snout, almost nuzzling his face.

"Aw, I missed you, too. Guess what I brought you?"

He held up the stick and the dragon immediately tensed like a coil, its feet spreading and eyes widening as its tail thumped against the ground.

"Do you want it?"

The dragon nodded rapidly.

"Go get it!" He threw the stick as far out as he could, but it stood no chance. Geoffrey spread his wings and shot towards the stick, catching it mid-air, then brought it back snapped in half and covered in green saliva.

"You broke it, you goof," Rowan laughed, then threw half of the stick, again and again, until his arms were tired and there wasn't much left of it.

He fed Geoffrey a huge piece of steak from his sack, then settled beside him on the ground, resting his back against the dragon's warm, golden scaled belly while the dragon munched on his steak.

"Ah, Geoff. You can always lift my spirits, even on the darkest days." He chuckled to himself, then sighed, looking up at the few stars that had broken out of the deep purple sky that seemed desperate to choke out their light.

"You'll wake up soon, stars, no matter how much the sky tries to extinguish you," he mumbled.

Geoffrey craned his long neck to nuzzle Rowan's face, his steak gone.

"This will be the last time I see you."

Geoffrey flinched, his snout huffing.

Rowan chuckled. Sometimes he forgot how smart dragons were, especially since Geoffrey still acted like a little pup. "I do apologize, Geoff. No more steaks, I'm afraid."

He looked at his sack. His father's crest. It felt so heavy sitting on his lap. Starting tomorrow, life would be heavier. He would be weighed down by chainmail and racing into a bloodied fever dream of death in the form of glinting, red swords.

He knew he wouldn't last long. He had never been the warrior his father desired, and he knew how fierce the battles had become. Anyone on the front lines, particularly the youngest prince who had nothing to offer, would be destroyed.

But his father had commanded it, and so it had to be done. Rowan couldn't be sure why he wanted to send his younger son to the front lines, but they had never really understood each other anyway.

"Geoff, I don't want it to be the last time."

Geoffrey was quiet, no snorts or growls in response. He just placed his head on Rowan's lap, and Rowan hugged him and sang a lullaby.