The Queen of Aramdeau

Chapter 1: Charles, King of Aramdeau

Dear Charles,

My darling boy. If you are reading this letter, I am gone and you are now the King of Aramdeau. I can only hope that many years have passed since this was written, and that you are prepared to face the road ahead of you. I do not pretend to be a wise man, but if I can give you any advice, let it be this: let Love be your guide. Love for the kingdom, for your family, and for the Lord God. In time, you will find balance. Compassion is a form of Love, but so is duty, sacrifice, and strength.

It is our fate that I will not be able to offer support in the moment you will most want it. But you do not need it. You have all you need within you.

Love,

Your Father, King Edmund Ternhaligon of Aramdeau

Charles gripped the parchment tightly. How could it be so short? It irritated him. As did his burning eyes and the awareness of his toes barely reaching the floor. The letter had been written less than a year ago. He flipped the page over and back, again and again. Nothing.

There was a gentle tap on the door, and a warm-looking woman let herself in.

"Mother!" Charles hopped down and ran to the woman, who knelt to embrace him.

"Tell me what to do, Mother, please." He cried into his mother's shoulder as she gently comforted him. Then she pulled back and rested a hand squarely on his shoulder.

"From now on, I cannot tell you what to do. No one in this world has that right."

Charles could now look up into her eyes, but his tears had a mind of their own and would not stop.

"I will always be here to help you or advise you," she continued, "as will your father's-your-council, but not one of us can tell you what to do. For the sake of Aramdeau, you must now be strong and follow your own will." His mother's look softened, and she kissed Charles' damp cheek. "I am so sorry, my son."

In a moment, she rose and curtsied to her son for the first time. Just before she left, she said, "I will tell you to do one last thing. Do not let them see you cry."

The following morning, Charles walked purposefully to the council meeting. The gilded collar of his doublet scraped at his chin, but the hard tap-tap of his rigid shoes on stone made him feel a little grown-up.

He steeled himself and waited for the servant to open the door for him. A dozen men rose and faced Charles as he entered as boldly as he could muster. Some were stern, others sympathetic, but all focused entirely on him. He took his seat as soon as he could and bade the meeting commence.

There were reports on trade and crime and taxes, financial reports, defense reports, plans for his coronation, and squabbles amongst the castle staff. Charles listened and responded to each as best he could. His role was mostly to agree with the councilor's plans, but it was still exhausting. He found himself constantly searching the faces of each councilor to gauge their reactions toward him. No one pointed out the obvious issue, that Charles was still a child. They acted like it was completely normal to be taking orders from a boy not yet eleven years old.

"Your Majesty, there is one pressing matter that remains." The voice came from a gray man with a long wispy beard. It seemed to blend into his gray robes without ever ending.

"Proceed, Baron Lansing."

"It is the question of war with Brasador."

"With Brasador? But we achieved peace not one year ago. They surrendered the Eastern Territories."