Blood and Betrayal

-02-

"Your Highness, are you listening?"

Prince Ian Lenano was jerked awake as the Duke of Costella, Loarinton Huntsbern stared at him.

"Ahem. Yes. About the..." He stumbled on his lines as the entire council swiveled to look at him.

Parker Schore, his ever-loyal friend (or 'subordinate', as Parker liked to say) leaned toward him slightly.

"The recent tax elevation of Horrafin," He hissed into the prince's ear.

"About the raise of taxes in Horrafin?" Ian put on his 'I'm listening, listening, listening. Always listening' face.

The duke raised his eyebrow and was about to say something when a ruffled-looking messenger rushed to his side and hurriedly whispered something into his ear.

Something stiffened in Loarinton's face, and for a moment the calm, preening sneer melted away.

The prince cleared his throat.

"Duke Loarinton..? You were saying?"

The duke snapped his head up, the momentary tear in his mask resealed. He gave an oily smile and waved a hand, as if to dismiss him. Dismiss him! As if the prince were merely an ant he would step on eventually!

"Oh, the king just sent a tidbit of news and such. No big matter. Meeting adjourned." With that, the duke left the council.

"How come he gets to leave whenever he wants to, but I have to stay during the entire time?" the prince complained quietly.

Parker kicked him in the shins.

Ian elbowed him in the groin.

They left the council room.

--

No.

Ian could still hear that word, echoing around the room, emitting from the person standing him. Don't say it again, don't say it again, nine-year-old Ian prayed.

He repeated it, louder and firmer.

Ian's father, King Adin stood up.

"Say that again, Jon Icapus Lelano."

"I said no."

Before Ian could even react, the king slapped his eldest son.

"Very well, then," He said, deathly quiet. "Tell me, how did you do it? Why did you do it?"

Ian looked fearfully at his brother from the corner of his eye. Jon was staring right back at his father, eyes burning with rage.

His father simmered. "I see how it is, hmm? You won't tell me." He flicked his wrist, the tiniest movement, but that was all it took. The guards rushed to his side, pulling, grasping at Jon's arms.

King Adin glowered at his son.

"Throw him in the West Wing of the dungeon until he opens his mouth." the king snarled.

Guards dragged the prince away, their boots THUMP-thump-THUMP-thump-ing on the cold stone ground.

"Father!" Ian cried. "You- you can't throw Jon into the dungeons! H-he's still your son!"

He looked down at the young prince, just barely nine years old.

"Why should I," the king said softly, "If I have a perfectly fine one here?" He bent down to Ian's eye level. "Someday, son, you'll understand my actions. One day, when you take my place." With that, Adin Vacente Lelano rose and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.