Blood of Kings ✔️

F O U R

The town was still engulfed in flames as they made their way through the chaos. Everyone was too busy putting out the fires to worry about them. It made for a convenient distraction.

Rowan watched as Aleksander knocked at an old door covered with moss and grime. He looked around making sure there were no soldiers that had followed them. Before he could turn back around, Aleksander had tugged him inside.

Candles speckled the room like stars in the night sky. Still, the room was dim and he could not make out a thing. There seemed to be shadowy figures masquerading around the room. He pressed closer to Aleksander as one came from the darkness and more into the light.

"My Lordship."

A man took a deep bow in front of Aleksander before rising and looking at him.

"Like a cockroach, you always manage to survive even the most heinous of battles, Reginul." Soon, Aleksander gave way to a smile. The two men greeted one another with a short hug lessening his unease.

"As you always seem to do as well." Again, the man looked at him and smiled. "You are not such a boy anymore. Nor are you a prince."

Rowan looked to Aleksander as the man started his approach towards him.

"You are a king."

His lips parted.

"But you are not my king."

Torches were set in the middle of the tables and lit up the room like a beacon through the night. As he looked around, he saw faces of men both old and new, littered around, looking, leering.

"Reginul, enough."

"Your kingdom is built on the blood and sweat of our people who you had savagely murdered and executed."

He walked close to his face, but Aleksander stood in his way.

"I did not bring him here to be lectured," Aleksander admonished.

Reginul went on and combed his fingers through his ashen beard as his eyes continued to narrow. With a wave of his hand, the men around the room began to settle back down into their chairs. Some played with their small daggers. Others refined their blades.

"You both must be famished. I'll have Arthur get you some meat and bread made ready for you. It is rather exhausting both on the mind and body to have even your own soldiers wanting you dead. To become a displaced king must be tiring, indeed."

Aleksander gave him a glare before walking around the table and sitting down. His eyes fixated on the floor. He would not meet his gaze.

What is it that he must feel guilty of, Rowan thought. He had done him no wrong. Since they were but small boys, Aleksander only ever cared for him and his well-being. Over ten years had passed by and he was very much the same boy who had given the friendship his heart so desired.

Rowan sat across from him. He played with his hands while trying his best to ignore the stares boring into his back. They were Mythen people, he gathered. The ones who his father had ordered thousands upon thousands of them to be slaughtered. He looked to his hands once more.

As promised, bread and roasted chicken were set in the middle of their table. A jug water sat close by.

"My Grace," came a woman's voice causing Rowan to pick his head up and look from her to him.

His eyes shut. Soon, he waved her off and began to pour his own drink of water.

"So you are king here?"

"I will now and forever be their one and only king." He grabbed a leg of chicken and waved to the food. "Eat."

Rowan stared at the man before him, wondering what kind of hardships he had faced? Had he hated him all these years? Had he even thought of him? To be hated is something he would rather have than to be a forgotten, bitter memory.