The King and I {Damien X Shayne}

Chapter 15

Of course he had to go, it almost seemed like a test.

The king without his protector; the boy without his best friend.

Damien stood at the front door of the palace as he watched Matt, but more importantly Shayne, ride away in a carriage bound for the Heartland, the centre town of Aveil. The pair were to spend a week coaching and training the knights from around the kingdom, which meant Damien was alone for the week.

As he waved farewell, it soon dawned on Damien as to what he would do. He no longer had anyone to truly confide in, to joke honestly around or to just be himself. Even though it was his home, the walls of the palace were too his place of work. So no one saw him as Damien, but rather 'your majesty' or 'sire'. Solace was quickly coming to the forefront of his mind, and there were two places in the whole castle that had that; his own chambers, and the smithy.

Damien then turned to walk inside and sighed as he went to push open the doors, only to have them open for him. It was as if he was made of glass, and no one dare let him do anything in case he breaks. So, as quickly as he could without seeming weird, Damien went to his room to change into something more subtle, and to finish off the boots he was making a while ago.

Firstly, Damien tossed his silver crown from his head over to his large bed like a frisbee, and removed and discarded almost all of his garments, draping them over the head of the couch by the fireplace. He then changed into more comfortable, lighter clothing, that Damien was happy to accidentally cover with sweat, holes or leather polish and dye. Purposefully ignoring his crown, Damien took one last look in the mirror by his wardrobe and headed of to the workshop.

It was only now that Damien began to notice the architecture adoring the walls and ceilings of his home. These things were missed as he walked from room to room each day with Shayne, talking as they did so. However, the paintings on the ceilings told stories of each passing king or queen, pulling him along the corridor as he watched their stories unfold in static imagery; tales of vast battles, glorious victories and untimely deaths.

Damien stopped in his path as he got to the end of the corridor and saw scenes he didn't wish to. Those of his father. The battles were more gruesome and bloody, and the victories exaggerated with spoils. Damien moved slowly forward, watching every major detail of his father's reign twist and turn above him. As he had learned from his history lessons, he saw battles dot the ceiling which clearly became his fathers attempts at overthrowing Youtubia as a whole, but stopped as he got to the last one.

It was a scene from somewhere so familiar to him. And suddenly everything looked so clear. The tousled hair of two men in shades of white and brown stood out wearing silver armor, along with another figure clad in gold. The man with the brown hair had plunged his sword through the entire body of the man in gold, whilst the silver haired man held off other soldiers around them. Somehow, without his knowledge, Damien was walking under an artists rendition of his fathers final fight – with him.

He and Wes would never forget that day, and it seemed that Aveil didn't want to either. Damien stood silently, watching the roof, as if the scene played out above him like a film. But that was in the past, as it should be, so Damien shook the thoughts from his mind and proceeded into the next room, now not knowing what it was from gawking above for so long. The guard who had seen the all unfold, Joe, opened the door and walked through into the next room with the king.

Damien had them walked into the throne room, and decided to look upward at the ceiling, seeing the familiar small paintings of clouds dotting the ceiling, but to his amazement, saw far more than before. "What's going on?" asked Damien of Joe who was now following him. "That sir, is the beginning of your timeline." "My what?" "As you saw before, our monarchs have their lives captured by paintings on the ceilings of this palace, as a historical memory. Yours begin after your fathers, in this room." Damien turned to face the Joe. "But this is the throne room?" The guard let out a light chuckle. "Sir, you are the most liberating monarch we have had in recent memory, and it was decided that not just anything significant you did would be painted, but nearly your whole reign, hence the throne room ceiling."