Strings

Eleven Years Later

"Straighten your back!" General Caelum yelled as Prince Amias was brought to his knees.

"Ever since you left for the Calvary Hunt, your sword skills have waned, is this how you plan to rule?"

"I'm trying--"

"Trying?" He sneered, "You should be doing more than just trying," and he struck Amias's sword yet again, bringing him down hard.

Amias was on his knees breathing hard, exhausted from the constant drills.

"Give me time to catch my breath," he gritted out - then in a swift moment he grabbed his sword and lunged, pressing the blade close to Caelum's neck.

He was close, breath hot against the General's ear, and said in a low voice, "Never take me for granted, General. Not ever again."

Silence fell over the training yard.

Caelum stared at the boy holding a blade to his throat. Prince Amias at eighteen - beautifully handsome, in a somewhat indescribable way. Too sharp to be called pretty, too delicate to be called just handsome. The kind of face that made the court stare too long.

Then Amias let the sword fall.

"You'll be late for your bath. You have a meeting today with the royal council," Caelum said, recovering.

"Crown Prince," he continued, lowering his voice, "May I speak freely? The Dowager Queen still rules on your behalf. Why was the coronation postponed? You are eighteen now, you were supposed to be crowned last year."

Amias wiped sweat from his brow.

"The council says I am not ready," she said, voice perfectly male, perfectly cold. "They say by 21 I will be ready to take over. Age, they call it."

"Age?" Caelum scoffed. "Or is it because the Queen Mother is afraid to give up power?"

Before Amias could answer, a voice called from the edge of the yard.

"Brother!"

Princess Genevieve and Princess Nessa. Genevieve, the elder sister at twenty, soft and beloved by the people. Nessa, sixteen, sharp-tongued and clever.

Genevieve ran forward, ignoring protocol. "Mother says the Lords have arrived. They are waiting in the council room. They speak of war again."

"I shall meet her at once," Amias said, straightening his tunic.

"We shall see you later brother, Genevieve and I are heading for etiquette class," Nessa said dryly, as Genevieve was already pulling her away, "It is boring," she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Amias laughed before facing Caelum who bows to him.

"General, I'm sure you would want to join the council today. I believe it will be about the war."

"If it is the wish of the Crown Prince, then I will join the council today," Caelum said, bowing his head.

He headed for the High Tribunal - the stone hall where matters of severe issues were hosted. All of the lords rose as he entered, their head lowered down to their knees and only raise after He seated himself on his chair. On his right his mother was seated in a veil-covered alcove, as a woman isn't supposed to be in the war council. Her face was hidden, but her presence was heavier than anyone else's.

The Royal Steward immediately announced, "My Lords, the Drakharn has yet again gone fishing for souls at the border villages. Three villages burned near the Valley village. It is concerning."

Amias allowed the grievance settle as he look around the others, "What do you believe we should do?"

The hall erupted, suggestion coming from each angle, voices above the other. Amias watch his mother leg shift out of the curtains.

"Quiet!" He commanded, he's trained his voice to sound deep, commanding, nothing like the girl he was inside. "I would like that there be order in the High Tribunal, this is not a marketplace where fishwives haggle over spoiled meat. Lord Brennor, please speak."

"We must go to war, Your Highness! Before it comes for the capital!" Lord Brennor shouted.

"War will only make the Drakharn react more! We are giving it the attention it wants! We should fortify and pay tribute!" Lord Varric argued back.

Amias listened, then spoke. His voice was well articulated, calm, kingly.

"Paying tribute to a beast only teaches it we are prey. If we fortify, we starve our own border people. We--"

"There will be no war."

His mother cut him off. Her voice from behind the veil was silk over steel.

One of the lords turned to the Crown Prince, desperate, "Your Highness, this is endangering the lives of your people! The Drakharn does not wait!"

Amias looked at his mother, the Dowager Queen. He felt heat rise in his chest.

"Mother," he said, "They need to see that I can protect them."

She stood from her veiled seat. The whole hall went silent.

"The conversation should be wrapped up if you have nothing else of importance to discuss," she said coldly, ignoring him. She turned and left.

The hall fell quiet, all the lords staring at him for a response, for something.

Amias swallowed hard, he knew his duty and knows it well enough that he was just a puppet with strings, he had no real power.

"You may all be dismissed," he said.

Amias followed her out into the private corridor, his fists clenched.

"Why did you do that? You make me look like an incompetent leader who can't protect his own people!"

The Dowager Queen laughed, a short, cruel sound. She turned and gripped his chin hard.

"You wouldn't even be seated there if it wasn't for me, Amias," she whispered. "If I say no war, you abide by it and do not object in front of my lords. Do not forget your place. You are alive because I allow it. Don't forget!"

Amias felt small. He's had to train all his life and master all the skills he could to one day be the leader his people would be proud of, it wasn't worth it if he is just a puppet. He felt seven again, small, hiding in the hills. Life didn't feel like the confines he now finds himself in and he felt like himself again, as Azubah.

"Yes, Mother," he said.

Her grip softened slightly.

"Those lords want you dead, Amias. While the Drakharn invasion might be concerning, the Lords intentions are not pure. They want you leading the charge into the forest so you never come back. I want you alive for your coronation. People in that room would do anything to claim your life."

He nodded.

"Do you remember your first night here?" she asked. "The maid who tried to feed you poison, do you remember I told you Amias had died, I had also told you it wasn't fever, I don't want you ending up like that. Everyone in this palace is that maid. I care for you dear. Making foolish decisions isn't an option."

She left him standing alone in the cold hallway.

His head lowered, his shoulders finally dropping. For eleven years he had lived as a boy, as a prince, as a sword. And for eleven years he had not cried.

But that night, alone in the hallway that still smelled of his mother's perfume, Prince Amias pressed his back against the cold stone and finally let himself remember what it felt like to be Azubah - the forsaken girl who was never supposed to live at all.