𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ; 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒐𝒏𝒆 | (being rewritten, on hold)

𝓣𝐖𝐎

♔ ♛ ♔

THE king's booming voice echoed from the grand throne room, traveling down the main corridor, bouncing off the adorned walls. They were decorated with various paintings and portraits, including several of the current king himself. Tarron's father was addressing the many ambassadors, councilors, and officials about the current threat — Trelon. A problematic country undoubtedly. The young prince sat next to the king, being the heir to the throne of course, bored of the bland, mind-numbing talk.

'It'll be a good learning experience, Tarron. You're the heir, remember'. His father's faint voice replayed in his mind over and over again. He heard it everywhere, those three words.

You're the heir.

Tarron had a responsibility. He's had it since the day he was born. He was born to be a leader, general, a hero. And most importantly: A king. To many, it would be a blessing, but to him, it was a curse.

It was like expecting a young child to do something extraordinary. Something important. Something brave. Tarron was expected to be those things, whether he liked it or not. It was not a lightweight on his shoulders.

The harsh voice of his father brought Tarron back to reality. "Tarron, are you even paying attention? If you want to be a good king—" he was cut off by the prince.

"Yes, yes I know. 'I have to act like one first'." he sighed, spiritlessly.

His father eyed him disdainfully before resuming to debate with the others. Tarron knew his father wanted the best for him. He wished for him to be a "good king". It was a high demand, something he didn't expect to fulfill but had to do nonetheless.

Tarron sat slouched in his usual spot, among the many other bluebloods in his father's court. They could tell the young prince was uninterested in their debates. Although his own father had a hard time believing it, unsurprisingly. This was not a pleasant experience, sitting there for hours on end.

As if he was right on time, the eldest son of the king's chief executive councilor, Corbyn Tassen, arrived at the meeting from the grand foyer. Although to Tarron, he was like an older brother to him.

Corbyn rarely checked in at these types of meetings. Like Tarron, he didn't relish sitting in on conversations such as this one. He was a junior ambassador, so he had better things to do. Either he had news for them, or he was there to save Tarron from this excuse of a "learning experience". Tarron silently wished it was the latter.

Corbyn glanced at Tarron hastily before looking back at the rest of the court. "There's been contact from Trelon," he paused as the hushed whispers began to rise in volume. "And it isn't good news," he added, hesitantly.

King Darius's brow furrowed. "Well don't just stand there, tell us what's going on." he motioned Corbyn to continue.

Tarron kept silent as the conversation played out. Apparently, the neighboring kingdom was tired of waiting for Draydon to figure out a peace treaty, so they've now declared war against Northern Draydon — again.

A person in the right state of mind might ask why there was unrest in Draydon in the first place. If he was being honest, Tarron didn't entirely understand it either. He only knew that the purebloods had attempted to overthrow the former Draydion dynasty, and it didn't go as planned.

Purebloods, Bluebloods, there weren't many differences between the two. Except for one thing. Their elemental powers.

Like Tarron, regular bluebloods could only access the elemental powers by using different runes and spells. Purebloods, on the other hand, had the power within them. Flowing through their veins. It came naturally to them.

That was the problem with this war. It was fighting fire with fire, without any water to put it out. Draydon has the best spies and archers, while Trelon has the best elemental mages. Yet, both lack the same thing. A purpose. To Tarron, it was ludicrous.

After what felt like an eternity, the council called it a day. Although as the crown prince of Draydon, Tarron's day was not over, yet.

As he strode out of the court, attempting to keep his posture upright, Tarron's eyes met Corbyn's from across the court for a split second. He could see the concern and uncertainty in his eyes. Tarron knew something was off. There was more to Corbyn's "news" than what he originally said.

And Tarron was going to find out what.

Cursed ashes, what happened now?

♔ ♛ ♔

AUTHOR'S NOTE—

the wheels are finally starting to turn in this story & im loving it ;)

does anyone else have the feeling where they can't wait to write a certain part of their story but they have to write all this stuff before to lead up to that point but you're so impatient and —

Q: Would you rather never watch a movie / tv show again or never use any social media again?

A: WELL THEN- I'd have to say never use social media again, because well, I NEED MY MOVIES-

thank you for reading, love you all!

— mika —