Price of a Crown

Chapter 2: The Price of a Crown

POV: Octavius

The scent of blooming jasmine wafted through the open arches of the eastern wing, mingling with the sweet smoke of incense. I sat on a low stone bench, a heavy leather-bound book in my lap, my gaze focused on the horizon rather than the pages.

From my perspective, the kingdom of my birth resembled a painting of paradise. The white marble of the palace reflected the morning sun, gleaming above the sprawling city below. Merchants peddled silks and spices in the market squares, and the gardens I lived in were a maze of manicured hedges and trickling fountains.

Anyone who looked in saw a kingdom of unparalleled prosperity. And for me, it was simply home.

My position within the palace walls, however, presented a delicate paradox. I wasn’t a servant, but I dined below the salt. I wore nice clothes, but they lacked the royal crest. I inherited the royal bloodline’s sharp, aristocratic features, as well as my mother’s dark, unruly curls, which I barely remembered.

I was the King’s illegitimate son.

My existence was a quiet, unspoken secret, known only by a few trusted ministers, the palace steward, and a few senior guards. To the rest of the court, I was just an unnamed ward of the crown, a distant relative taken in on charity. My father, King Maximus, had never publicly acknowledged me, but he made sure I was educated and comfortable. In exchange, I remained invisible, content to live a quiet life of study and solitude, viewing my father as a distant but formidable protector.

I closed my book and decided to go for a walk. The eastern wing was quiet, but as I approached the central courtyards, the atmosphere of the palace changed.

I walked past the outer barracks, where soldiers in polished armor stood guard. Their boastful and laughter-filled voices carried on the warm wind.

“Another successful harvest, I hear,” one of the captains said, spitting phlegm on the cobblestones. “The King wants to clear the northern borders by the end of the month. Says we need more inventory for the auctions.”

“We’ll have plenty of coin for wine once the slavers take them off our hands,” one laughed, slapping the other on the back. “Those eastern territories produce strong individuals. The children fetch a high price in the southern brothels.”

I paused, my brow furrowed. I recognized the words, harvest, stock, auctions, slavers, but they seemed disjointed, like puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together. My father was a great conqueror who increased the kingdom’s glory. Soldiers spoke bluntly and were rough men. I assumed “stock” referred to livestock and “slavers” dealt with captured enemy combatants.

I shook off my unease and entered the lower courtyard, but the palace’s beauty seemed tarnished.

A heavy iron gate on the west side was open, and a line of wagons was being dragged inside by sweaty, exhausted horses. The wagons were covered in thick canvas, but the wind blew one of the flaps back.

I froze.

For a fleeting moment, I noticed a group of children huddled together in the darkness. Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow, and their clothes were nothing but rags. A guard approached on horseback and roughly yanked the canvas back down, yelling at the driver to move faster.

My heart pounded against my ribcage. I took a step forward, an urge to intervene rising in my throat, but a voice interrupted me.

“Master, Octavius!”

I turned to see Silas, the elderly palace steward, hurrying up to me. Silas was one of the few who knew my true lineage, and he often gave me a pitying, heavy look.

“You should not linger in the outer courtyards,” Silas said, his voice gentle but firm, guiding me away from the gate. “The King’s affairs are not for your eyes.”

“Silas, those children“ I said, my voice tight. “They were terrified. “They looked like prisoners.”

Silas’ expression remained unchanged, but his grip on my arm tightened slightly. “My Lord, they are spoils of war. Orphans from recently conquered territories. The King has given them a new start. Some will serve in noble houses, while others are being relocated to the coast.

The response was rehearsed. I could hear the hollow ring in it. However, the habit of obedience and my deep trust in my father clashed with the sick feeling in my stomach. The spoils of war. I’d read about such events in my history books. It was a normal aspect of conquest.

Nonetheless, the image of those hollow eyes refused to leave me.

Later that afternoon, I sought refuge in the library, desperate to escape the lingering feeling of dread. The high-ceilinged room was dusty and quiet. I was in the back alcove, looking through the highest shelves for a text on ancient architecture, when I heard voices from the adjoining map room.

The door between the rooms was slightly open, and I recognized my father’s loud voice. I also recognized the chief general’s voice.

“I assure you, Maximus, the Trajan boy will not sit idle,” the general said, his voice strained. “His letter was a warning, not just empty bluster. “If we keep moving the children, he will retaliate.”

“Let him!” Maximus snapped, and the sound of a fist striking a wooden table echoed throughout the room. “I am not afraid of a small emperor playing at war. We have both the numbers and the wealth. We need to get the next batch out before the week ends. The buyers in the south are becoming impatient. They want the young people from the eastern villages. They fetch the highest price.”

My breath got caught in my throat. Trajan boy. The letter. I knew about the Trajan Empire, of course, it was the most powerful force in the world, but I had no idea my father had received a letter from its emperor.

A cold, sharp dread began to pierce the veil of my sheltered existence. I leaned in closer to the crack in the door, my fingers gripping the stone arch.

“The shipment leaves tonight,” Maximus added. “Make sure the wagons are secure. “There are no mistakes.”

“But, Your Majesty,” the general paused. “What if the Trajan Emperor follows through on his threat?

“Then we’ll crush him,” Maximus said, his voice full of malice. “Besides, I’ve got a plan. If the Trajan Empire arrives, we have leverage. We have those brats locked in the holding cells beneath the barracks. If Decimus thinks he can march into my kingdom, he will face a bloody rebellion. The buyers are willing to pay extra for discretion. “The Trajan Emperor will not know what hit him.”

I felt blood draining from my face. Holding cells. The children I saw in the wagons were not orphans being given a new start. They were merchandise. My father was selling them.

My stomach lurched. The beautiful palace, the prosperous kingdom, it was all a facade. A gleaming gold mask covers a rotting, diseased core.

I took a step back, my foot scraping on the stone floor.

The voices in the map room abruptly stopped.

“Who is there?” Maximus’ voice boomed. Heavy footsteps approached the door.

My heart jumped into my throat. I turned to flee, but before I could take a single step, a hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

It was Silas. The old steward’s face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.

“Master, Octavius!” Silas hissed, his voice barely audible. He drew me away from the door and into the library’s shadows.

“I….Silas, I heard….“ I stammered, my mind racing and my words failing me.

“Not here,” Silas insisted, his grip bruising. “You should not be here.”

“But my father“ I choked out, returning my gaze to the map room door, which had creaked open. “He’s selling the children. “He is selling people.”

“Quiet!” Silas pleaded, pulling me closer to the servant’s corridor. “If he sees you, he’ll realize you heard. You must return to your chambers and remain there, Octavius. “For your own sake.”

Before I could protest, demand answers, or confront the monster I once called a father, Silas pushed me through the servant’s passage’s narrow doorway. The heavy wooden door clicked shut, enveloping me in darkness and leaving me alone with the terrifying reality of my kingdom.