Hector peered out through the window of the carriage. The captain of the Crown Guard had argued with him over setting a single foot outside the castle, but Hector would not back down. Not this time.

Once Hector stated, “It is my command, as Crown Prince.”

The captain bowed his head.

“At once, my liege.”

Hector paused.

“You shall instruct the Oracles to not mention my departure. I want our arrival unannounced.”

“My liege, I strongly advise-”

“It is my command.”

Hector stared at his image before the standing mirror. He wore a grey tunic absent of finery, simple in its cloth texture that collared loosely around his neck. Pants of the same material traveled down to black leathered boots.

His skin was pallid, causing his pale blue eyes to brighten from his darker blonde hair. For all purposes he looked the son of a minor noble. Guarded for all his life, not yet ascended, not yet a threat. With a sharp squeak of his boots he turned to meet with the captain.

Thus his journey had started to the kingdom of Raul. Hector was filled with apprehension for the unknown, yet after having left the monolithic fortress that had housed him for nearly two decades he felt as if formless shackles had been freed from his body. He looked back at the cold grey unyielding stone spires puncturing the white sky and thought back to its colder inhabitants, his entire world for a time. There was a giddy excitement to leave it all behind, and a sparking curiosity for the rest of the world.

Fields of wheat grain, crops of corn, root vegetables and a diverse multitude of farm animals neighboured the long road. Farmers at work glanced with curiosity at the caravan of carriages. Hector had ordered they ride the plainest ones and that only a dozen of the Crown Guard travel alongside, remaining inside the carriages. The captain insisted he stay with Hector. His armor clinked in the stifled space, helmet resting at his hip ready to be donned. The carriage bumped with each uneven stone, and Hector spoke to distract the growing unease of his stomach.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me what that animal is?”

“That would be a cow, my liege.”

“A cow. To think, in all my seventeen years, I would not know an animal that lived within a league from my own home.” He laughed without humor.

“If I may, my liege, it was for your own protection.”

“Yes, so they told me. And now that I am outside the borders of the castle, I am painfully aware of how unaware I am because of it.”

“My liege-”

“Please, address me by my name, Baric. You practically called me by my title my whole damn life.”

“Hector. Why go through all this trouble to smuggle you out of your own home to the kingdom of Raul?”

The captain was a decent man, so Freia had said after gleaning his mind. Honest and capable, his virtue knows no other, so his father had repeated her words. Baric was near shaven in hair and face as was the conduct of the army. A straight set nose, warm hazel eyes, mouth now set in a curt line along a squared jaw. Blunt honest features, in prophecy of Freia’s judgement. Hector sighed. Even though he trusted Baric, he could not tell him the truth.

“I mean to witness the siege myself. And put an end to all this.”

Baric was tactful enough to not push the subject any further, so they sat in silence until Hector asked, “Is that a goat?”

“That is a sheep.”

They reached Riverden by evening, a large town beside the Errant River. The carriages crossed the long bridge, wheels clattering on the wooden planks. Quaint logged houses lined its streets. They were two stories high triangled upwards with bark tiled roofing. Baric explained this was the last town with an inn that had a stable big enough to house all the horses. The coachmen drove the carriages to a building larger than its neighbouring houses, the inn. An overhanging painted wood sign of a faded black tankard swayed to the wind.

Upon entering the tavern all its occupants stared at Hector and his twelve Crown Guard looming behind him. The sight of their armor polished to a brilliant shine with their swords resting in their scabbards gave no uncertainty to their station. The tavern was half empty, lit by flickering stumped candle lamps placed strategically away from the patrons, all older men past the mortal span of forty or so years. They lowered their voices to a murmur at their appearance. A grizzled man wearing a long apron approached Hector, eyeing his guards with heed.

“We’ve never had the honor to welcome a mage, or any mages into my humble inn.” He turned to his previous customers. “Alright then. Clear out, all of you lot!”

Hector raised his arm to stop them and tried to give his most reassuring smile. “That won’t be necessary. We only seek lodgings and a hearty meal.”

The innkeeper nodded and called out, “Tamira! We have important guests!”

A stout woman of chestnut hair strode out fuming from the halved doors of the kitchens. A gut churning aroma wafted out with the promise of freshly baked bread and savory meat.

“This better be-” she paused at the sight of Hector and his small troop.

"I see," Tamira murmured, wringing her hands. "Please, sit wherever you'd like."

Hector sat at an empty table joined by Baric and several others of his guard. The rest sat at opposite tables, a wall of gleaming steel surrounding the prince. The other patrons stole glances past the safety of their tankards, the low flow of conversation rising steadily back. Tamira promptly served them bowls of steaming stew, cut loaves of bread, and beer foaming out from its tankards.

"You did not ask for payment," Hector stated. Tamira shook her head in furious refusal.

"We are simply honored that the line of the mythic grace us with their presence," she spoke in a hurried tone, with a note of fear.

"Will this do?" Hector produced a gold coin under the cover of the table. A crown, equivalent to a hundred silver marks. Tamira's eyes widened at its sight.

"Milord- I cannot accept this. It is too much," she whispered.

"I insist. Please." He closed her hand over the single crown. She pocketed the coin and walked with brisk strides back to the cover of the kitchens.

“These people have never seen a crown in their lives,” Baric murmured. “You are your father’s son, my liege.”

“I am my mother’s as well. I do not forget that.”

Hector sipped from his tankard, deep in thought. The product of an unsanctioned union between the mage aristocracy and the common folk.

"Did you know my mother, Baric?"

"I can't say I did. I know she was a good woman."

"Can you describe what she looked like?"

"...she had blonde hair, blue eyes the same as yours."

"They never had a painting together," Hector said absentmindedly. "My father told me she forbid it. He never did talk about her. Thus she remains; a ghost of hearsay to me."

His father never discussed how he met his mother. Many years ago he had to ask what her name was from Baric: Meliora.

The innkeeper approached Hector in gingerish discomfort.

"Milord, your rooms are ready up the stairs. The floor is vacant, so you won't have to worry for privacy. The master room is at the end of the hall."

Hector nodded his thanks and followed his directions, his guard standing up to escort him, an abrupt jangling of moving armor.

"I'll be right outside your door if you need anything, my liege," Baric promised. Hector turned the black iron key left in the lock, clicking shut.

The room was comfortably furnished. A plush blue carpet covered most of the floor underneath an open twin posted bed, half in size to the curtained four posted beds in the royal quarters. A fresh candle set on a black iron plate rested on a small table with a singular straight cut chair. The wooden shutters of the window remained closed.

Hector heard the muted noise of the tavern below, discussions distorted and lost in translation past the oaken floorboards. He took off his leather boots before he lay on the overstuffed mattress, feeling as if he was sinking into its feathered depths. He was still, and alone, sifting and shifting in his thoughts. A memory of his father formed from the back of his mind. He caught it, focused on it, and began to remember.

They sat at the long table, his father at the front, Roth to the corner of his left side and Hector at his right. The nobles were seated down the table’s sides. It was the first time Hector had seen all of them together. He recognized some faces, the reedy Duke Olivar who gifted a new bauble from the other realms for Hector to marvel over. Of Duchess Vivine who still pinched Hector's cheek in his seventeenth year, her plump round face powdered white, hair tressed up in a towering brown bundle. Several other nobles who had met with his father during the many meetings over the years. The other faces were unknown to him, strangers of distant lands and titles. All of the nobles were embroiled in a heated dispute over the matter: The peace treaty with the natives of Orr.

“We cannot be expected to hand over all our slaves! It will only swell their ranks!” Ushered a portly noble. “The moment they are free they will raid our lands!” Several of his followers uttered their ayes in agreement.

“Revenge you say? After you raided their lands, took their people as slaves, and did what you pleased with them?” A woman’s lip curled in disgust. Her silver hair was tied in a bun, the same metallic hue as the circlet she wore. “You would not heed the Laws, nor control the vile worms that are your cocks, and here you now squeal at the consequences you’ve sowed.”

The noble sunk back to his chair in sulking answer.

His father, in that moment of clear silence, spoke. “Despite the harshness of Queen Lillian’s words, she is right. The Laws of our forebears have been broken. I will not sit and pass judgment on who is to blame for the half breeds. I told Queen Lyssa it was a mistake to enter the Green Pass.”

The portly man gathered his remaining courage to say, “What of King Celdan, during his rule?”

“I am not King Celdan!” King Alexander roared. “My forefather refused to follow the Laws, taking us back centuries for possible peace with the natives.”

He brushed his hand over his face and looked at his subjects; the portly noble quailed before his dark eyes. A simple gold crown curved to three points rested upon his head, his long copper colored hair reaching his sharply cropped beard. He was tanned to Hector's pallid skin, having traveled across the realms compared to Hector, who had spent his life underneath the shelter of the Royal Castle. Hector looked down then, lest he test his father’s wrath. The King let out a long breath.

“I know some of you do not respect the Laws. You see it as holding us back from expansion, from advancement. Our forebears had even greater power than all of our combined might, yet they chose to control it. We have a responsibility to our people to guide them, to not repeat the mistakes of the past. We stand now today over the shoulders of giants, of gods, our forebears. And you,” he stared at the portly noble and his comrades. “Seek to destroy the progress our ancestors strove to create? You think to know more than their wisdom they passed down onto us? I shall head to Raul. I will speak to the natives myself, and we can hope it may end with peace.”

The table erupted in an uproar, some nobles arguing, others pleading for the King to reconsider his decision.

“Out! All of you!” His father thundered. “My decision is final.”

The nobles shuffled out of the dining hall, murmuring amongst themselves.

“That means you as well, Commander Roth.”

Roth bowed his head, exiting. “My liege.”

His father sighed when they were alone.

“It will be some time before I return. I will try my best to communicate with you through the Oracles once I reach Raul, but I cannot promise you I’ll have the time.”

There was a silent dread growing between them, or had grown for some time. Hector could not hold the questions that had lingered in his mind any further.

“Father. If you knew mother would die, why did you marry her?”

His father looked at Hector then, a strange expression on his face.

“Your mother… was the bravest woman I ever knew. She showed me a path that was harder to tread amongst mages, and it was common decency. That was worth more than any mage’s bloodline.”

“Did I kill her?”

“Of course not.”

“You blame me for it.” Hector looked down. “Is that why you’re always away, so you don’t have to remember?”

His father stood up to kneel beside Hector’s chair and embraced him.

“You are my son,” he said fiercely. “You do not deserve to know war. That is why I cannot stay here. There are wolves at our door, my son, that seek our end. And I would kill them all if they think to touch a hair on your head.”

“Father what is happening? Why are you telling me this?”

“Take heed of Freia’s guidance. Never forget the Laws. And never forget where you came from. One day you will understand.”

The King stood up and left Hector, the last time he saw his father.

He was always cold and distant, Hector thought. Often months would go by before he ever returned to the capital. That moment was the most warmth his father had ever shown him.

And he died for nothing, leaving me with riddles. Hector stood up to blow out the candle. Now he was alone, his mother not even a memory, his father having given him a brief moment of sincerity. Hector wept in silence, not for what things had become, but what could have been.

***

The following morning they departed Riverden, a blanket of fog rolled past obscuring the landscape from Hector's window.

“How long did you serve my father, Baric?”

“About fifty years or so.”

“What was he like, before he met my mother, Meliora?”

“Your father was an honorable man, having reunited the Empire."

"He killed all the previous rulers, did he not?"

"Only those that would not kneel. His judgement was… fair."

"How long was the war?"

"...the campaign lasted twenty three years.” Baric’s eyes darted about the haze of mist, searching for foes of the past.

“Every city was a kingdom, every town ruled by a mage warlord or despot that vied for power. There was no Crown King for centuries, not since King Celdan. It was a different time then. Your father brought an order to things.”

Twenty three years. A war older than my current span, amongst dozens of kingdoms of would be kings and queens.

“It must have been chaos,” Hector said. “Were you captain of his royal guard back then?”

Baric shook his head.

“I served the then King Darion of what is now the city of Thistlmyr. He and his Circle ruled their kingdom with impunity, in utter disregard for the Laws. He had his people treat the mages as gods. Myself and a cabal of other mages joined your father’s cause in secret. We had long waited over the decades for someone worthy to follow and overthrow Darion's rule. When King Alexander's army came to Thistlemyr, he offered to spare their lives should they join his cause. Darion put the messenger's head on a pike. Under the cover of night we opened the gates and signalled your father. He was a good man, wishing to spare further bloodshed we disguised ourselves as commoners and broke into the palace. King Alexander challenged Darion to a duel, which he cowardly denied. The battle was short lived. Myself and the cabal with your father and his royal guard overwhelmed Darion and his Circle. That was when he recruited me and the ones who guard you now into his Crown Guard."

Baric blinked, as if breaking from a trance.

"That's quite a chronicle. Can you tell me more of the Reunification?"

"That was a story I am proud of, my liege. Some others I am less so, and others that I try to forget. Power is something that can corrupt man, whether he deems himself a god or not. We all learned that in the war, and understood why our forebears did what they had to do. The Laws were to be followed, or we would witness mankind devour itself once more."

"If I am to be King, I must know the past and learn from its mistakes. I understand hard decisions had to be made, and there certainly will be more in the future. I must know, if I am to be prepared. Please.”

The captain drew a deep breath, and continued his account of the war. Hector listened and learned; of dark deeds, of atrocities committed though horrific to hear Hector suspected Baric was still leaving even darker details out. His words left Hector to question what it was to be human, and if morality was not a noble quality, but a false privilege. He pondered then, In a world of monsters, what are monsters among men?