Manticore Rampant

Ch 7 - Fundamental Interconnectedness

"Tell me a story, Nanny."

The old woman paused in the doorway and turned to look back at the latest—and no doubt last—in her very long line of royal charges, lying on his massive four-poster bed, ankles crossed and hands behind his head.

"Come now, Squelon. You know it's time for your nap."

The heir's chiselled, dark-skinned features, so aristocratic and refined, took on a most unrefined pout.

"Don't wanna nap. I want a story."

"Don't you think you might be getting a little old for stories?"

The prince frowned. "Don't know. How old is too old for stories?"

She couldn't resist a smile. While the boy might be simple, there was no denying simple sometimes got you to the heart of the matter. "I think you might have me there, young man. It's true, we're never too old for stories. But now is not the time. Now is the time for you to get some rest. You don't want to be cranky for dinner, do you? We're having swan-burgers and chips, after all."

"No, I s'pose not." He gave the matter some thought. "But then, if you don't tell me a story, I'll be cranky now."

"Squelon." She gave him her stern face, the one that had cowed future kings and crushed more than one queen-to-be. 

And which left Squelon completely unmoved. "Oh, please, Nanny?" he pleaded. "Pretty please? Just a little, tiny story? Then I'll nap, I promise."

"Oh, very well." She knew she was too soft on the boy—the young man, now—far softer than she had been with any of his forebears. While it might have been the mellowing of age (not that 'mellow' was a word any of the Nanny's acquaintances would ever think to associate with her), she suspected her uncharacteristic leniency was in fact due to sympathy. Perhaps even pity. Pity for this princeling who was still a child in any but the physical sense, who would remain a child for the rest of his days, who for all his good nature and good looks would never be the king his birth and circumstances entitled him to be. Stifling a sigh, she came and perched on the edge of his bed.

"Now, a story. A little, tiny story. Hmm, let me see."

"One with a prince in it, Nanny!"

"Of course there'll be a prince." She ruffled his dense black curls. "Everyone knows all the best stories have princes."

"And dragons!"

"A prince and a dragon? In that case, I think I have just the one. There was once a kingdom, you see—"

"A grand kingdom?"

"Yes, Squelon, a grand kingdom. Well, a kingdom that had at one time been grand, in any case. For, you see, this kingdom had lost its way. Its armies, once mighty and invincible, were but a shadow of their former selves. Its leaders were weak and indecisive, squabbling among themselves and allowing the tradition and custom and law that had stood the kingdom in good stead for centuries to be whittled away, piece by piece. People who once knew their place, who had been happy with their allotment in life, no matter how humble or small, began to have ideas above their station. Its borders, once so strong and secure, were left undefended and weak, allowing all manner of foreigners and ne'er-do-wells to enter the kingdom and do as they pleased, rogues of all species and nations, bringing with them exotic and unnatural magics and trickery and lore. Oh, it was a sorry tale of woe, Squelon. And do you know what was behind it all? What the root cause of all this misery could be?"

Wide-eyed, the prince shook his head.

"Why, it was the lack of a monarch, of course. The lack of a strong hand to guide the kingdom through those troubled times, to set it back on the right course. For, you see, the kingdom's queen had grown unwell and passed away, and her son, the prince, the rightful heir to her throne, was strong and wilful and arrogant and chose to turn his back on his duty. He left the kingdom to pursue his own selfish ends, leaving it lost and leaderless and in disarray."