The God's Game

Cyra Schulz

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING!!

MENTION OF SOUP OF SIDE.

ALSO, THIS AUTHOR WROTE SOME MILDLY DISTURBING IMAGERY.

"His Majesty requests your presence in the court room.'"

The guard announced loudly through the closed ebony doors. "I'm here to escort you."

Kaizer Schulz felt the informal address slicing into his pride like a shard of glass. Slowly, he crawled to his feet, biting down on his lip hard enough to reopen the barely healed cut.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Facing his father with bloodshot eyes, puffy face, and tear-stained cheeks would have its consequences. The busted lip was a reminder from the last time he cried in his father's presence, which was a week ago, when his mother took her own life.

It was never wise to keep Cyra Schulz waiting. Kaizer hastily splashed water on his face, hoping to get rid of the shameful remnants of his meltdown. It provided little relief; the bluish crimson around his silvery eyes and abused lips standing in stark contrast to his ghostly pale skin. That, coupled with his whitewashed features made him look like a fragile paper cutout in comparison to other kids his age.

Running his fingers through his white-blonde hair, he attempted in vain to tame it into a more presentable style. After ensuring his face betrayed not a hint of the storm inside, he followed the guard to the court room.

He held his head high, shoulders squared and gait confidently. The former crown prince concealed the frantic tremor of his hands within the flowing folds of his black mourning garb, away from the belittling gazes of passersby.

He could tolerate the ridicule. Sympathy? Not so much.

The majestic, dark ebony doors, accentuated with silver, swung open before him. He stepped over the threshold of the court room, shuddering at how dramatically cold the regal hall was. Kaizer loathed how those giant marble pillars and soaring ceiling made him feel miniscule. The throne room was disturbingly spacious, and being swallowed up by it always made his heart clench.

The colossal chamber saw many distinguished guests on this day; dignitaries and officials from all four corners of the Western realms. Kaizer noticed specks of white, black, and red dusting the sea of royal blue livery as he traversed the hall. Each leaden step he took reverberated hauntingly off the walls, the echo lingering in the deafening silence that descended the second he entered.

Cyra Schulz peered down his nose at his eldest son from his lofty throne as Kaizer bowed deeply. Draped in three layers of exquisite dark blue silk threaded with silver, the man appeared nothing less than a majestic beast. His eyes, the same steel gray as his son's, held not a hint of warmth. They gleamed heartlessly under the sunlight, mirroring the cold, bejeweled silver crown atop his chestnut hair.

The West King clicked his tongue; the sound piercing the quietness like the thunder of a whip. Kaizer flinched, only years of practice holding him back from breaking into a maddened sprint. His father had noticed his reddened nose and cheeks, and now there was no salvaging his final strips of dignity.

"Let's commence," His voice boomed through the chamber, causing even the dome to tremble. All eyes shifted from the peculiar-looking twelve-year-old to the esteemed king of the West.

"This is my first-born child," Cyra Schulz continued with his trademark lackluster yet authoritative tone. "Kaizer Schulz."

Kaizer's throat burned, the taste of bile flooding his mouth, but he clenched his jaw to stave off the urge to retch. Refusing to crumble under the weight of a hundred condescending gazes, he tightened his grip on the black fabric and stood resolute.