You followed your king around, checking every once in a while upon your prisoner. They looked so dead and broken, almost like your king. Every day during training with him you would wipe off as much of his oil as you could, being careful not to let it get on your skin.
His father made you do these 'trainings' with him. He was made to learn to fight with a sword, and not his heart which he was so adept in using. His words weren't always expressed properly, but he seemed to have good morals, that are tainted by his father. He was supposed to be dominant, a dominant, big man, who made all the militant decisions and ruled his kingdom with a topaz fist. You noticed and observed how he stared longingly at the maiden's dresses when not under the influence of his oils. About how even when eating he tended to gravitate towards the things that would give him less bulk. He was always like this, ever since he was a little boy.
He wanted to use the looms and do handcrafts like the fair maidens. He wanted to grow his hair longer, and stay in the large tunics that looked like dresses on him. He always complained about how flat his chest was, or about how uncomfortable he felt. He was distant, and he cried to you oft, crying about how he didn't feel normal. How he didn't like his body. His body that felt very much like just the thing he was born with. A vessel. He asked you to call him-Her Hanni in private, which you obliged to quickly. You loved your beautiful best friend when they were little, and free. And you miss the young lad that came and sang poetry to you both over the hedges.
Every time you visited the prisoner's cell, they looked like someone you forgot. They slept, and looked so scared and lost. You noticed whenever the guards weren't looking they'd recite small spells and poems, so when you could, you'd kick them a bit of hardtack, just for the sake of them staying alive long enough to leave, as your queen so desires as well.
Soon, your shift with your queen ended as she fell asleep, and you got into action. You have been setting aside small bits of wages for years, and have been working and finessing the details for just as long, if not longer. It was time.
You met up with a person in an alleyway. They called themself 'The Right.' They were a bounty hunter, and you had had a job for them. You gave them the details right then and there, handing them my pouch of money you had. And now, it was done.
David was going to die.
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Sorry if this sucks. Hope you like it though.
YOU ARE READING
The soldier, the poet, and the king.
FantasyI got inspired by a song, and now here we are. This follows the story of three characters, a misunderstood knight, an underrated poet, and a dark (soon to be) Queen. Enjoy! Also, this may be possibly triggering, but does not include subjects such a...
