Chapter II: Defying a King

2 years earlier

Gandon rose from his bed feeling strange. Today he turned eighteen and was finally considered a man by the citizens of Feorn. He glanced at the books and scrolls cluttering his table while getting dressed. Yvan, his master, would soon demand them back, but surely, not today of all days? For a moment, Gandon considered lying, claiming Ilmur wanted to borrow them, but no… Yvan would never fall for that.

The day was too beautiful to spend shut indoors. His two favourite colours were purple and black, so he chose a black robe that almost swept the floor. It might be his birthday, but his duties awaited. Having overslept, he missed breakfast and headed to the garden. Master had given him extra responsibilities, and Gandon had no intention of giving him reason to regret it. He had long accepted that Ilmur would always best him with a sword. Magic, though, magic would be his triumph. Royal blood granted Ilmur many privileges, but time to study wasn’t one of them.

Yvan had taught them both as children. The master of sorcery, the only person Gandon knew who could wield both fire and ice. Ilmur, ever reckless, had once tried to eat a fire berry in hopes of mastering fire magic. He had whimpered in bed for nearly two weeks afterward, convinced the berry had burned a hole through his stomach. Gandon had no plans to share his fate. Fire might melt ice, but ice had its own strategic advantages in war.

At the garden gate, the guard let Gandon pass without a word. His face was well-known. The red robes of a novice had long been cast aside; red robes with red hair had always been too much, even for him.

Reaching Yvan’s tower room, Gandon found it empty. The desk was as cluttered as his own, if not worse. Broken potions stained papers. Sighing, Gandon cleaned the mess. Mages had once consumed fresh and dried berries to harness elemental magic. Now, potions distilled from dried berries provided greater potency. The practice had come late to Oban, Yvan’s home island. Perhaps that explained his master’s careless handling of potions. Still, the disarray irritated Gandon.

Finding no messages on the board, he fetched his watering can and stepped into the garden. Tending the elemental berries was a duty he didn’t mind. The practical work provided a welcome break from the endless theories of magic. The fire berries, closest to the left wall, would take at least half an hour to water and weed. The weeds were a nuisance, but necessary to remove, improper growth could weaken or ruin the berries. Gandon didn’t want a fire mage’s death on his conscience.

Though his master still hadn’t returned when he finished, Gandon lingered. He didn’t need to water the ice berries, but he chose to do so anyway. He liked to tell himself it was only to please Ilmur and Yvan.

Gandon’s interests were wide, magic, history, politics, botany, literature, and cultures. Lately, the dwarves of Narda had also intrigued him. Ilmur often teased him, suggesting he should study humans too. Gandon ignored those jabs. He didn’t need reminders that Ilmur was more beloved.

Curiosity drew him toward the courtyard. Ilmur would likely be there, practising. Gandon wasn’t mistaken. Ilmur was sparring with two men simultaneously. Despite the odds, Gandon’s money was still on Ilmur. The prince’s tall figure, clad in a white soldier’s uniform, radiated confidence. His trademark red bandana trailed down to his shoulder blades. Ilmur thrived here. Gandon sometimes envied his physique but would never admit it.

Ilmur noticed him and waved, his smile warm and genuine. He approached, giving the exhausted sparring partners a chance to rest.

“Morning brother! Eighteen, can you imagine? You are not a little boy any longer. Finally, you can take on some real man responsibilities,” said Ilmur.

Ilmur was only a month older than him, but he had been quite insufferable while he had been an adult by the law while Gandon hadn’t. He was glad they could put an end to that chapter.

They weren’t brothers by blood, but they still called each other brothers. He knew that he was as important to Ilmur as his biological brothers and Gandon that had no other family, treasured Ilmur the same way. He wasn’t as fond of Ilmur’s real brothers. Saran was alright, but Taln and Gandon could never see eye to eye for some reason.

“If being an adult means beating each other up with wooden sticks, I don’t think I’m quite ready for it. By the way, I was watering your share of the berries this morning, you know what master would say if you spoiled the berries.”

“Thanks, I would have done it myself, but I’ve been…”

They both looked at the men whimpering on the ground. “Busy?” suggested Gandon.

“Something like that.”

Suddenly Ilmur got all excited. “I heard from Saran that one of father’s old childhood friends is visiting the capital, really soon. Looks like they are planning something. His daughter Alexandra is a real beauty if the rumors can be believed.”

Gandon crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t really have time for women. I study higher arts.”

Ilmur wasn’t convinced. “Stronger men than you have said those words, you will fall for someone, eventually.”

“And you have fallen long ago,” said Gandon.

“Well, you are not wrong, but when they throw themselves at you what are you supposed to do?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I don’t really know what the women see in you,” said Gandon teasingly.

“Yes, what do they see in me? Surely not my good looks, or me being a prince or my intelligence?”

“What intelligence?” asked Gandon. “If you have any it’s about time that you show it to me.”

Ilmur rose and fetched his sword. “You and me, on the courtyard now!” said Ilmur while laughing.

“Oh, I see how it is. You are going to prove to me how intelligent you are with that sword of yours. The first men of the woods must have been real philosophers. Why don’t we play five towers instead?”

Ilmur looked at the youngest boys practicing, trying to appear as he was busy with something else. “Perhaps another day.”

“Yes, you have been quite busy after all.”

Ilmur snapped with his finger and one of the servants came up to him with a black box. Ilmur took it and gave it to Gandon.

“Such a special day, deserves a special gift.”

Gandon opened the box surprised. Inside the box was a gold chain with a lion at the end. The eyes were made out of rubies, and this was worth more than anything that he owned in his possession.” He was quite taken aback.

“Now this is a rare sight, Gandon at a loss for words. You don’t see that every day,” Ilmur said happily.

“I don’t know what to say. This is too much, but thank you.”

“I figured the gold would go well with your black robes. Put it on!”

Gandon did so and liked the feeling. They touched each other’s elbows in a form of embrace.

It felt like Gandon’s brain finally started working again. “Saran is already married, and you’re the second oldest son. If the king’s childhood friends come here with an unmarried daughter, it can only mean one thing.”

“Yes, don’t think I haven’t considered that. But I’m not ready to get married yet. I think I want to wait a few more years. The succession is secured with Saran, and I know how to say no to Father.”

Gandon didn’t look forward to Ilmur marrying someone. He wanted things to stay as they were. If Ilmur had a wife, he would be even busier than he was now. Gandon thought Ilmur underestimated Elram. He was the king, after all. Gandon felt quite sure Ilmur would bend easily to the king’s will.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but Father has planned a special meal in your honour. We will not go to bed hungry tonight.”

Gandon thought they probably hadn’t gone to bed hungry a day in their life but said nothing. “I wouldn’t have said no to a grand meal during breakfast. I was up so late that the cooks had already put away the food.”

“Well, I think I’ve given these two poor souls enough rest. Back to work. How will these men ever protect our kingdom if I don’t put them into shape?”

Ilmur strode off with his sword ready in hand. He looked quite intimidating when he wanted to. Gandon hoped he would never have to face an opponent like him. He had no interest in watching this pathetic display any longer and decided to leave.

He returned to his room to read for a few hours. Ilmur wasn’t the only one who liked practising his skills. He wasn’t sure how long he read before a guard summoned him to the king’s chamber. Normally, this wouldn’t be a good sign, but today, Gandon thought it might be.

The guard took him to the chamber, even though Gandon knew well where it lay. Announcing his presence, the guard left. The king sat at his desk with a glass of wine in hand. He didn’t look drunk—composed, but definitely a little tipsy.

“Have a glass of the finest red and sit down, my boy,” said the king.

Gandon wouldn’t miss the chance for a drink fit for a king. He poured himself a glass before sitting.

“Eighteen years, my boy! Can you imagine? And to think you were only a babe the first time I saw you…” The king’s gaze wandered, embarrassed.

This slip of the tongue interested Gandon greatly. Everyone knew he wasn’t a northerner. He had often been called a bastard, sometimes even to his face. He had wondered for years if it was true. The king never spoke of his past, but that moment made Gandon believe there was more to his story.

If the king was drinking, this might be the best chance to learn the truth. Gandon drank eagerly, hoping the king would copy him, though not too obviously.

“Slow down, my boy! That’s not water!” But the king drank gladly.

“You summoned me here, Your Majesty?” Gandon inquired.

“Your Majesty! Stop being so formal, Gandon. Call me Elram in private, you are like a son to me.”

Gandon had never felt that way. The king’s biological children received better gifts and more time. Gandon was an esteemed guest, nothing more.

“You have given me so much. I’m forever grateful,” he said calmly.

“If only the rest of my sons showed as much grace as you. Then I wouldn’t be so nervous about Ravon and his daughter’s visit in a few days.”

Gandon feigned surprise. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

The king laughed and refilled his glass. “I’m sure! Sometimes it’s a curse being a king, can’t do a damn thing without everyone talking about it. Don’t read too much into it. I merely miss my childhood friend.”

His grace lacked subtlety when drinking, but it didn’t matter. Gandon and Ilmur already knew the king’s plan.

Gandon wanted to wait for a better opportunity, but his curiosity overwhelmed him.

“You knew my mother?”

The king lost eye contact again. “I never had the pleasure. Didn’t even learn her name. But she must’ve had red hair, since your father’s was black as a raven.”

The king’s hair fit that description, but Gandon doubted he was talking about himself.

“You knew my father then?”

“Only briefly. Your father was a courageous man. They never tend to live long.”

“How did he die?”

The king finished his wine but didn’t refill the cup.

“I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. Perhaps another time.”

Gandon rose, furious. “What do you mean you can’t talk about it? He’s my father. If anyone should know, it’s me!”

“I realise you’re upset, but please sit down, my boy.”

“I’m not your boy.” Gandon immediately regretted his outburst.

“I’m the king. Don’t make me repeat myself—sit down. This was supposed to be a friendly chat before dinner.”

Gandon took his leave. “Today, as a grown man, I’m defying a king.”