Short Stories

Long Live the King

Once there was a kingdom who's king was sick and dying, and the people of the castle rushed about, preparing for the prince's rise to the throne. The Prince was indifferent about being the heir, but he quickly became reluctant after being called into his father's room. As the king lay dying, frail in his bed, he took his son's hand and told him of what he must do. To prove himself worthy of the throne and to gain his people's trust he must take back a treasure that was once the family's long ago; it was stolen and guarded by a beast in an abandoned castle.

Later that day he mounted his horse and galloped into the dark forest before him. It was not long till nightfall approached when he reached the crumbling castle's entrance. He made his way through the dark corridors of the palace, the bright moon lighting his path as its beams shone through the glassless windows. An aged owl finds itself on the prince's shoulder, wearing the family's crest on its chest. His father told him a bird would aid him taking the treasure home, even though the Prince insisted he needed no such help.

He soon reached the castle's tower, revealing a sleeping dragon curled up in the large, stone, circled room. The prince attempted to sneak around it; he could see some type of precious golden vial in the back of the chamber. Halfway around the sleeping beast the owl perched on his shoulder let out a hoot, sending the dragon to slowly open its glassy eyes, staring right into the prince's soul.

Even though his hands are in a cold sweat and are shaking uncontrollably, the prince draws his sword out with skill. In seconds the dragon already rose to its feet and lunged at him, which the prince avoided with a roll to the ground. Fire was thrown and blades were piercing. The fight seemed to be endless, and once the prince had his hands on the golden flask the dragon snapped at him once more. As it snapped the heir ducked and shoved his sword deep into the dragon's heart. It screeched and whined, and the prince's expression went from relief to horror as the dragon's body slowly morphed back into that of a woman dressed in what once was a beautiful, rich dress. He dropped his blade.

It was his lost mother. Years ago he was told she was sent off to finish a task and never returned.

Before he could speak, before he could put the puzzle together in his head, a dark, ominous haze rose out of her body and into his own. The prince screamed; his hands growing larger and his skin darkening. Seconds later he didn't know who he once was or why he was there. His jaws subconsciously snapped at the old owl flying past him, the vial in its talons. He missed: he was not used to the new length of his mouth.

He roared furiously as he watched the owl soar out a glassless window and into the night. Hours before dawn the golden vial was dropped back into the old king's lap, where he greedily let a few drops trickle into his mouth. The king soon became less thin, and color came back to his skin and eyes. He was now younger, and the owl took up the vial once more and flew off, going back to return the sacred flask to its protected spot.

The twisted king would go about his routine; saying a local witch cured him and extended his life till he could find a new heir, because his son was lost in battle. The king once again continued to rule his blind kingdom for half a century more.