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The Duty of White
publish date:
2021-04-01 13:25:36Archer’s Journal
Day 2,411.
My little brother Noel was born yesterday. His arrival brings the tally to six boys and three girls. I think Father is making certain that there is an heir and a spare (and a few spares for both).
I remember when I first understood my role as the future king of the Northern Kingdom. At first, my eyes only knew one color: white, the royal color. Everyone of royal blood dresses in white, and the palace decor reflects the same cold stone. As I have grown, I’ve discovered other colors and the meanings behind them, but it will not matter. I am expected to focus solely on the symbol of our realm.
Tomorrow, we meet with the royals from the South Kingdom. Their women are coming to see the new baby, while the men will plan ways to rid ourselves of the rebel resistance. They say Princess Adalia bears her mother Queen Leora’s legendary beauty and her father’s bravery. Tomorrow, I will get the chance to confirm the rumors—especially since she is to be my bride.
Duty, duty, duty. Shut up, Archer.
“Archer!”
He heard his father call for him from the grand hallway.
In a rush, Archer closed his diary and tucked it deep under his mattress—he was sure his father would think chronicling his thoughts and emotions was feminine. In a swift move, he buckled his sword belt, squared his shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor. With his right hand placed firmly on the silver-jeweled hilt of his weapon, he approached the King.
“Your Highness, you called for me?” Archer stood before his father, keeping his gaze lowered in respect.
“There you are. Have you gotten your gifts for the King and Queen?” Lionell’s eyes took in his son’s posture.
Archer stiffened his spine under the evaluation.
“As the heir and future King of the North, you must retain our amicable relationship with the South,” Lionell said, resting a hand on Archer’s shoulder as they walked toward the throne room. “Remember our plight with the rebels. To protect this realm, we must be strong. We cannot allow an invasion. We learned about strength in numbers from Earth, didn’t we?”
“Yes, Father,” Archer replied.
Who could forget the historic rift in 2022 when Earth fought off the Cyclops invasion? It was disastrous, but alliances saved them. “I had the blacksmiths mold a broadsword for King Gabrielle, and I obtained black silk embroidered with gold string for Queen Leora. Will that suffice?”
Archer deliberately avoided mentioning Princess Adalia. A political marriage was tactical; if the rebels withdrew, the betrothal might be called off entirely.
“You did well, my son. This will be your event to host as the eldest,” Lionell said as they reached the throne room. “You must make sure the princess is satisfied. I hear she has a short temper.”
The Princess, Archer thought. No embroidered cloth or precious stone from his mother’s vault would easily win over a warrior princess.
“Everything is ready for the King, Queen, and their children. Trust me, Father, tomorrow will be a good day.” Archer bowed as his father took the throne.
“Where is Doran? Is he aware of tomorrow’s meeting?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Archer’s address shifted automatically. On the throne, Lionell was King first and father second.
“Good. Let us hope the South will join our fight.” Lionell waved a hand in dismissal. “And Archer?”
Archer paused at the heavy doors. “Yes, Sire?”
“Ensure you are on good terms with the princess. If we make an alliance, it means a marriage between the two of you.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I will do my duty.”
Archer bowed and left the throne room, heading toward the residential wing. Before he could reach his chambers, quick steps echoed behind him.
“Archer!” His younger sister Novia ran up to him, wrapping her arm around his waist. Novia was witty and vain, but dangerous with a blade.
“Hey, Novia. What is it?”
“Mother wants to speak with you,” she said, leading him toward the sunlit garden terrace.
They found Queen Ilana resting near the fountain with her younger children. She looked pale yet radiant in her swirling white silk robes. Archer knelt and kissed her hand. “Mother, Novia said you wanted to see me.”
“Has your father spoken to you about your marriage?” Ilana asked softly, stroking his hair while balancing the newborn.
“Marriage? What marriage?” Novia interrupted, her eyes wide.
Archer felt a sudden tightening in his throat, like a silent noose pulling taut. Bringing someone new into his guarded world terrified him. He wanted the genuine love his parents shared, but political matches rarely allowed for choice.
“Your brother may be engaged to Princess Adalia by tomorrow evening,” Queen Ilana explained gently.
“I wouldn’t mind marrying her brother, Prince Randi,” Novia mused, twirling a lock of hair. “I hear his beauty leaves women blinded. Besides, Adalia acts more like a gladiator than a princess.”
“You wield a sword and carry a dagger in your stockings,” Archer countered smoothly. “Does that make you a barbarian?”
Novia smirked. “I’m just saying. If she doesn’t want to marry you, brother, I’ll gladly marry her brother instead.”
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