Tears of Princes

Chapter 1

The metallic tang of blood was unbearable. Wood creaked beneath my feet, the grains stained with decades of dried blood, though the smell still stung my nose like it was fresh. A bell rung out, echoing through the air and drawing my attention back to the packed courtyard spread out before me. Standing on a wooden platform erected along the back wall, I had an unobstructed view of the hundreds of people crammed into the broad space. That meant they had an unobstructed view of me too. Despite the sick twisting of my stomach, I kept my face the picture of indifference. The heat of the day, along with the stifling humidity caused by so many bodies pressed so close together made me feel claustrophobic. The thick material of the ceremonial robe enveloping my body didn't help either. The deep red garment was stiff and heavy, not to mention probably as old as the kingdom itself. I had to hold my breath to stop from inhaling the dust and mildew that permeated the fabric. The bell rang again, sending a hush through the crowd as a horse strutted into the courtyard from an archway to the left of the platform. The man on its back was adorned in an extravagant robe of deep maroon. His was new, of course, crafted of the finest materials and trimmed with expensive gold thread. I bit back a scowl as he dismounted and promptly strutted up the steps, aiming for the podium at the front of the stage. 

Councilor Vox commanded the crowd simply with his presence, the silence more deafening to me than the chatter.  Gold rings sparkled on his fingers as he lifted a hand and touched three fingers to his forehead, then to his chest. The crowd mimicked the movement, as did the soldiers flanking me on the stage. It's meant to be a sign of respect, to the king and the Gods that anointed him. To me, it felt more mechanical than anything but my fingertips ended up pressed to my chest all the same. Vox withdrew a small scroll from the folds of his robe and placed it on the podium. The hush of the courtyard was so thick that I could hear the sound of the wax seal breaking as he unrolled it. Vox cleared his throat loudly before addressing the crowd, hands raised placatingly. 

"Welcome citizens of Helia!" He bellowed, warmth oozing from his tone. "We are pleased that you have gathered here today to show your devotion to our great kingdom." Councilor Vox waited patiently through the scattered applause that followed.

 "Thanks to our benevolent King Weylen, our kingdom is stronger than ever before!" He gushed, bulbous cheeks turning red in his fervor. "That is why it saddens me to have to stand before you today..."

He motioned to two soldiers positioned at the heavy iron door recessed into the cobblestone wall. One of them swung the door open, quickly stepping aside as a man emerged. A hulking brute of a man, towering over the small figure he dragged behind him by a rope. The prisoner wore a burlap hood over their face, obscuring their vision and making them trip as the man tugged them up the stairs and into the center of the platform. With rough hands, the man shoved the prisoner down onto their knees, the cracking of bone against wood sending chills up my spine. 

"It is my duty to uphold the laws of this land," Vox declares solemnly, placing a hand over his heart, "and I must remind you all that no citizen is above the law." He sounded almost like a disappointed father scolding his son rather than a man condoning what was to happen next.

 "I present to you all, a criminal of the highest degree!" He pointed vehemently towards the prisoner.

In one fluid movement the hood was ripped from the prisoners head and the crowd erupted. They didn't feel the shame and disgust that flooded through me. Instead, their blood lust rattled the ground. Kneeling before me, before the hungry crowd, was a girl no more than eleven years of age. I tried not to notice before, but now I couldn't avoid looking at her. She was dressed in nothing but a thin white nightgown, exposing her emaciated arms which were twisted painfully behind her back and secured with a set of dark iron manacles. Her blonde hair was greasy and matted to her head, possibly from her days locked in the castle dungeon but more likely from living on the streets beforehand. Her ears poked through her straw-like hair, the curve of them scabbed over with dried blood where delicate points should have been. They'd been clipped, cut into the rounded shape of a human ear.