Chapter Text
The Kingdom of Auros was expanding ever since a new king rose. The new king was almost a mystery to his subjects. What they knew was that he was the only legitimate member of the remaining bloodline of the legendary royal family, known for all their stories and deeds. He was just a child, a child ruler with countless nobles and advisors trying to make him his puppet. Still, no matter all that, he listened to himself.
In a way, his majesty too was promising. Winning battles left and right. Elijah Aurelius was no quitter. That is what they knew. He listened to his word, and his word absolute Many didn't care about all those dumb stories. From what many thought, he was just a simple man child trying to show himself. In the end, the kingdom might as well fall from the grace his ancestors built just by his sheer luck. Elijah made rules, made some changes many didn’t like, nobles one of them. Villagers got to get some education, after all they were the backbone of the country. Knowledge is power, his advisors said, they’ll overthrow him; yet they loved him even more so. He rebuilt cities and gave money, he raised his army and conquered the stolen lands the Utgard Empire took, something his father couldn’t fight off, the same people who killed most of his family.
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A courtier, a mischievous woman who played the weak strings of lustful men and naïve women, got herself into what she usually did. Lady Jezebel Weston, daughter of a rich trader, got pregnant claiming all around the court and halls that it was the son of the King. King Ahab was married, his wife was the ever-loved Gloria, a daughter of one of the princes Utgard had. It was just a mere alliance, a means to an end, a use. Yet Gloria proved to never sire heirs, she never could even conceive. Years passed and nothing, she even reached a point where even the most fertile women had troubles.
This was a chance, a chance to get rid of her. A backup.
Jezebel was now no lowly courtier; she produced a beautiful son with the characteristic golden eyes of the Aurelius line. His features were same as Ahab as they say. Jezebel was overjoyed, her plans worked. She wasn’t queen yet though, but she was higher up. She didn’t care much for the boy. What she did was the quality of her wine and clothes, the jewels Ahab gifted her for an heir, the mentions of her name, the poet’s poems and the fame. The wicked queen revelled in all that. But the boy?
He was put aside, sometimes he’d escape the palace, he’d play with the servant’s children, would look at soldiers and guards that practiced. Elijah would read, he would sing, but he would fight the most. His swordplay was graced with fluidity and promise. Every swing, every slash, there was no doubt he’d be great. Ahab even looked from afar, but never would he talk with his son. It was a tedious job for the king when there were nannies and teachers, and of course his mother. The mother at least gave him a crucial lesson, ‘Love is foolish, it complicated matters and plans.’
And that much was true. His father divorced Gloria. She was thrown away from court and begged to be let again once more, for Ahab to forgive her. Nothing. It made tensions with the Utgard bigger after one of the people saw her dead in one of the streets of Auros’ cities, dead from childbirth. That is what he knew, that is what his mother laughed about every time she talked. The little prince felt bad, felt bad for a woman that fell in love with his father, for being blinded by love. Pitiful. He hated the idea of love, despised it. Jezebel made sure he did in her drunken rambles. So, he didn’t love her, he didn’t care for her.
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As a child, he didn’t go much to those fancy parties. All of them were too proper and he hated his cousins that acted dumb and foolish. His female cousins all dreamt of a prince to be married off to for some dumb alliance they didn’t know much about. A prince on a white horse waiting for them at the gates of their estate, singing about true love while the animals followed and sang along. His male cousins dreamt of glory, something he did admire. But it wasn’t the same. While Elijah loved the idea of glory and fame, just like his mother, he didn’t want to have all the power. To use it selfishly, something his cousins described in detail. Gold, jewels, wives and children. All of them were children acting as their parents; Elijah didn’t want to be anything like them.
Someone who he did like was Duncan. He was of middle class, his mother head maid and his father in the army. Duncan was a small boy with green eyes like emerald, something Elijah didn’t understand since both his parents had brown eyes. The small boy also looked lile him, the same button nose and the same height, the color of their hair and all. That aside, he played with the boy. He learned great games only ‘the strongest generals’ knew of, like: Catch, hide n’ seek, pretend, sword fight, war… Maybe he learnt it from his father? Must be. This child was his enemy, he knew to much in warfare and tactics. He always found him hiding, he always was faster, so Elijah got better. Elijah learned to laugh when he finally won, he learned to accept defeat. That was a lie. Duncan was… a friend. Maybe friend was a big word. He didn’t trust him much. The boy at an early age spied on the court and nobles, gossiped with his mother about all. Maybe he was using him? Elijah didn’t know that. If he was, he would stay. Duncan made him happy.
“How dare you play with such filth! You are better than this! You affect me, not just you! Useless! Useless! Your only worth is existing, but even that you fail at!” His mother beat him.
“You’ll get attached! You’ll be betrayed! Think of your father’s wife! Stupid!” She swung her hand, the nannies and her ladies in waiting gasping, some chuckling and whispering.
“I mustn’t play with you anymore.” Elijah said, not looking back at Duncan, frowining and holding his tears.
“Why not?”
“You are filth, I am too-” Elijah stopped, “-No, I’m better, I’m only becoming like you, acting like you. That is why.”
“You’re dumb.” Duncan laughed and Elijah blushed and shouted at him as children did, trying to defend himself. Duncan still laughed.
“Alright, then I’ll be your servant, highness.” He bowed before Elijah. He didn’t mind, he liked being bowed to, he loved being superior.
“Okay, I pronounce you-” Elijah took a stick and put it on his head. “-My valet Duncan of the filth!” The two laughed and from then, Elijah ordered him around and joked with him. Day to day he heard the greatest gossips Elijah could provide; he carried his books and helped him in his swordplay. Jezebel didn’t like then still hanging around, but it was acceptable enough that he ‘served’ him.
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It was Elijah’s 12th birthday. Grand in the palace halls and ballrooms, decorated and full of the noblest guests. All his family came, after all, the heir that stopped their succession to the throne was growing up to a proper boy. He couldn’t drink or dance, didn’t talk and couldn’t leave. Even Duncan wasn’t there to tell him a joke, but even if he could Elijah mustn’t laugh. He stood there like a doll. Guests from around the globe came. From the north and from the south. From the west and the east. From the distant continents full of culture and sand, of mountains and islands. From the civil men of elegant countries to the colonies’ ambassadors. Of the rich men that traded goods and those from whom they got their spices. None of which were interesting. There were girls not yet of age that were presented to him. From some princesses and duchesses to the rich daughters. Many looked scared, some were hopeful, some full of ego. Some didn’t seem interested. One was brought by her uncle, and she didn’t even want to talk to Elijah, only to be taken back by her furious father. That was one of the Skybriar men. The father was a man who made carriages and fixed them. He came often and that was how he knew him. One of the biggest and stuck-up girls was Patricia Macow. She flaunted over her riches and her worth and-
Suddenly screams and sky piercing cries were thrown into the air. Guards flew into the room and- Blood. Crimson and thicker than water, coming from the severed head of his aunt. And much more was to come, people ran and hid. Surely, he could hide, Duncan never could find him. He was going to be okay…
“Come now, boy.” His father, in a cloak that hid his jewels and fancy silk and cotton garments, took his arm. The hand was full of callouses, dry and all wrinkly. Elijah didn’t like the cold of the ice fingertips.
Beside his father was his mother, who had an unpleasant look on her face. Elijah asked and begged for answers, but he got a slap from his mother and a glance that needed no explanation. Ahab pushed a stone, and a doorway opened. He took a torch, and the door closed. It was all narrow and dark. Every step was heard, every breath, every drip a droplet of water hit the cobblestone floor. Cobwebs decorated the passages, and small crimson splotches could be found when you looked close enough.
“Where are we-”
“Quiet.” His mother’s voice was cold and held no emotion. No fury or disappointment. It was just that, a command.
They finally entered a ‘room’. It was small and cramped. Chests full of belongings and gold, with papers and dried ink bottles on a table. His father sat on a chair and from the table took a golden chalice he didn’t realize was there. Mother opened a cabinet and took a bottle of wine that looked older than Ahab was. She poured it and father drunk it all in a gulp. After that she poured some more and took the chalice to drink it herself.
They didn’t say much to Elijah, he only sat in a corner and looked around. He wasn’t scared! He was a brave boy! He was a-
“Child.” The voice of his father’s voice startled him. He offered him the chalice of wine, but Elijah didn’t take it. The pair laughed.
“Pathetic. You know, you can become king any day.”
“What does that mean?” Elijah asked but they stayed quiet. They talked of the party, of him and how he was a nuisance, complimented each other and what not. Ahab mentioned Quentin, his right-hand man and how he’ll come to assure them of the situation. But Elijah was curious, what was happening? Where were they? He didn’t want to ask.
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Time passed; God knows how long has passed. His father was drop dead drunk, laughing and smiling, yet his mother looked as she always did, wicked. She was in his lap and whispered things in his ears, touched his jaw and kissed his head. She said love was worthless, so what was she doing? A manipulative tactic? A lie? A trap? He didn’t understand, he didn’t know what to believe.
“Brat.” She started, “Get me some more wine, be useful for once.”
“Do you love father-” He shouldn’t ask, he didn’t know why he asked. He knew the answer. She only laughed and then her whole face changed. From a drunken noble lady to a witch with the devil’s fury.
“You should keep your mind shut. Your father loves me, isn’t that what matters?” She sipped the last drops from the chalice, her lips searching for more.
She doesn’t love father; she doesn’t love her son. The witch controls the stupid man because he loves her. She thinks Elijah would obey since he is her offspring, he loves her. Once more she asked for wine and Elijah got up, looking at her emotionless. Jezebel played with the old man’s jewels and rings, her hand taking his signet ring and tracing the details. Elijah in the meantime got up and rummaged through the chest. The witch warned him it was in the cabinet, but he didn’t go to it.
“Dumb brat! Useless!” she got off the lap and went to the cabinet. Elijah step by step went over to the passed-out man. Steps were heard from far away, but he didn’t care, and she didn’t hear. The man’s eyes fluttered and he let out a bloody shout. The golden dagger was pierced through his chest. Jezebel looked back and ran over, taking the man who gasped for air.
“SHUT UP!” she said looking over the man, she slowly turned to Elijah who started to cry. They weren’t sad tears or even genuine. The steps became louder and quicker and finally, guards came in holding their weapons.
“HALT!” They commanded and Jezebel protested. Elijah cried and went over to the man that was dying, crying as if he was anything important to him. Quentin came and looked in horror, his eyes wide open.
“Jezebel, how shocking. Guards, arrest the woman-”
“IT WAS THE BRAT!”
No one listened to her. The signet ring was dropped from her hands, and her hands were stained red, but from wine, not blood. She shouted and screamed, all mixed up with the child cries. In a moment she looked back at Elijah who wickedly smiled at her. It was her smile, her wicked smile which held her confident and victorious attitude.
“Poor child…” One of the guards said. Quentin approached and knelt. His tone was still cold and serious yet was softer than before.
“Come on, child. Let us go, we must prepare.”
“For what?” Elijah sniffled
“For the funerals… For the coronation.”
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On his head was a heavy crown,
On his face a cruel frown.
On his body a black attire of gold,
He was alone, so he was told.