The Witch's Cursed Daughter

81. Workload Of A Prince

In the gloom cast by endless shelves coated in dust and knowledge, Wen sat fixated on the books before him. In his absence from the palace due to the Emperor's orders, little of his workload had been managed. He was now intent on re-establishing a form of organisation to the budget, management, and account records.

His hidden office was lit due to a gap on the shelves behind him created by stacks of leather-bound pages offering light from a far-off window, along with a candle that constantly threatened inferno should he bump the table. Hours into his work, Wen felt eyes on him. Without thought, he reached beneath his desk to draw a slim dagger, not in the mood to wager the onlooker's intention. As he gripped the hilt, a familiar voice rushed out words as if he felt his demise on the approach.

"Your Imperial Highness, it is Kallin Ro Beras. I am here on the command of His Imperial Majesty," the steward stepped closer, purposely adding more weight behind his steps to disclose his location in the shadows. His golden badges shone softly as the orange flame found comfort in the metallic surfaces.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Wen grumbled, releasing his touch from the concealed blade. He noticed a trickle of sweat race by Kallin's ear, "I am guessing it is not a summons, based on your lackadaisical approach."

"I apologise for the delay in announcing my presence. However, I didn't wish to interrupt," Kallin placed his hand on his chest while bowing his head, displaying his admittance of guilt and hopes for forgiveness before the sleep-deprived first prince.

Wen turned away from the common sight of bowing and shifted his attention once again to his work. "Why are you here, Kallin?"

"His Imperial Highness, the Second Prince, Julian Dominic Oran Del Waldemar, along with his command, is set to arrive the day after next."

"I see," the reply was monotonous and uninterested. Expecting the steward to leave after sharing his charge, Wen found his green eyes trailing up the man's frame, curious at his continued presence. "Anything else?"

Kallin swallowed hard as the beastlike prince peered at him from hollowed-out eyes. Licking his lips slightly before he spoke, Kallin pronounced, "His Imperial Majesty requests that a feast be prepared for the day of his arrival to celebrate the Second Prince's triumphant return."

"Does His Imperial Majesty understand that I have neither the time nor the urge to fulfil such a request?" Wen retorted cynically.

"Your Imperial Highness," Kallin hushed in a low tone.

"I know, don't fret so much, Kallin," Wen grinned momentarily before returning to his exhausted expression. Standing up, Wen closed over a large volume which sighed a moderate-sized cloud of dust as it shut. Pacing around the table towards the bookshelves closest to the steward, he ran his fingers along the covers before stopping a couple of inches away from the man who stood a little higher than two inches taller than him. "I would like to ask why you, the Emperor's steward, and not his messenger are relaying such news to me?"

Kallin knew not to move from his position; however, the prince was so close that his unreleased aura pressured the steward intensely. Unable to afford a few moments to think, Kallin blurted, "I suspected that you had something you wished to ask me, Your Imperial Highness."

"Indeed," the brown-haired prince admitted, pulling away from the closeness between them. Taking the slim tome he had stopped on with him, Wen flicked through the pages as he spoke, "The last time we met, you dropped a design before me in the hopes that it would catch my attention, yes?"

"Yes."

Wen grinned to himself. While Kallin Ro Beras was a close associate of Julian's, there had always been a distrust stemming from the steward towards the first prince. Brushing aside his humour, Wen composed himself, "I have records of every proposed and produced weapon on the continent. Never have I seen a blueprint such as that."

"It originates from the mind of Princess Illea," Kallin revealed.

"Of course it does," Wen laughed audibly this time, unsurprised by the sadistic creativity of his sister, "what is its purpose?"

"From my understanding, the Princess collaborated closely with the Imperial Mages to finesse a weapon which could store and release magical energy towards a target."

"Is it a kind of crossbow," Wen asked as he recalled the sketch he had seen.

"Partly, though the proportions of the weapon suggest that its size would be far too large for a man, or a group of men, to carry," Kallin explained.

Wen pondered for a while, "So, it is stationary." Returning to his chair, lit with soft grey light, the prince could feel his mind rumble as the new information sank in. "Do you know where it will be deployed?"

"Unfortunately, I do not. However, I believe it may have been assembled in place due to the sheer mass of it," the steward answered, his voice quivering slightly as he imagined the destructive horror of the device.

Frustrated by the number of uncertain variables, Wen waved his hand, "I understand. You may return, Kallin."

"I am glad to be of service, Your Imperial Highness," the steward responded, bowing once again as he stepped back into the darkness cloaked by bookcases. Aware of the cluttered floor, Kallin stumbled silently as he travelled towards the exit. Hearing him twisting the handle, Wen flipped over his papers to examine the other side before he began to prepare for the newly enforced festivities under his care.

"Oh, Kallin, I'm surprised to see you here," an angelic voice fluttered to Wen's ears, filling his gut with coal. "Is my elder brother inside?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Highness," Kallin replied politely.

Aware of her dance-like steps quickly coming closer, Wen's workload scrunched under his fingers before the Illea's statuesque figure appeared in the place once occupied by Kallin.

"Elder Brother, I have arrived."