Rulers of Veistanlu

The Crown Prince's Savior

Twelve hours earlier…

The air surrounds a bitter wooden fragrance from the ink that drenched the fountain pen's nib, its barrel dancing by the slender hands of Prince Alvar. Completely mute, he scanned each brown sheet, indulging his eyes on the contents. The current document got signed, which he had approved, accepted, or acknowledged.

There was never a day when his throne, desk, responsibilities, or duties were unoccupied. The Prince makes all of his own moves from doing kingdom work to protecting himself, which leaves him exhausted most of the time, but he doesn't seem to bat an eye.

Independency was his expertise after all.

The Prince was, however, still a human being. He, too, can be deafened by the everyday silence, while confronting isolation. He's doing so not because he wanted to, but because he had to. The enemies rose every time he ages; every flicker of movement was a spy in the shadows, every word speaks falseness, every so-called ally was the complete opposite of what its definition should be— a traitor.

Even complaining about his office being too silent, his focus on work never fails. He just signed a paper about charity, placing the document on the pile in front of him.

But his focus did get startled as his upright body jolted from the deafening roar of trumpets echoing across the kingdom. When he stood up to look at the large glassed embrasure, he saw the terraces of the palace were lined with middle-class Knights blowing brass instruments. He did mention that it was too quiet, and he should be grateful for fleeing the silence away, but it was loud— too loud— that it was deafening.

I wonder what that was about.

There was only one other person who he thought of that could do such an order other than him.

"Your Royal Highness, His Majesty, the King, would like to come in.” He recognized the voice behind the door. It was from the Grand Knight of Veistanlu, Renjiro Wright.

"What do you want, Father?" The Prince asked, expecting that he would be given explanations about the raucous that recently ended. He does have a rough guess about it.

The doors carved with flowery designs with jewelries were opened, revealing a big man. King Alvar had a red royal mantle covering his shoulders, a surcoat, belt, and hose in the color of gold. His hair was short and lightly blonde, while his beard reached his chest. He looked very expensive and powerful.

Renjiro in his golden armor came in and closed the door.

King Alvar declared, "I have sent the Knights to get you a combatant."

"Nice idea, father. Are you trying to kill me as well?" The Prince asked in a soft tone. He had clear intentions to be rude, since he was certainly tired of dealing with people inside the castle that had ulterior motives, and there will be another one coming in. What more, a combatant will always be on his side.

Also, it unsettled him that his father was strangely calm.

"It is for the better of your own good, son," he replied whilst approaching the Prince, his head lowered from his towering height. He held his son's shoulders. "You need to be protected. How are you going to rule this land when you are deceased?"

"The point is that I will have to watch the butler, not the other way around."

"I will be there in the selection, and you should be, too. Use your mighty wits and analyze each person. If we land on someone unworthy, we can discontinue the idea."

Under the King's good points, Prince Alvar remained silent. No one knew how long it would take for his life and throne to be taken away, and not even the Prince was certain that staying low would be a good strategy. Softly, he replied, "Nevertheless, it would take a miracle to find someone who is no murderer."

The King's hand slowly brushed the back of his head after letting go of his son. He replied with a sigh, "It would not hurt to try, son. You should simmer down your pessimistic viewpoints."

He turned around, walking out the door that Renjiro had opened for him once more, completely oblivious to how his son felt. The whole time, Prince Alvar's face stayed neutral.

Before the door closed, the King added, "The selection is two days from now. Remember to eat, and do not overwork yourself."

Prince Alvar sighed.

They both know that it’s impossible to not overwork himself. He had no assistants, servants, or cooks. There would only be during events, which only happens once on New Year’s Eve, so he would have to make everything himself. Or, rely on his father's butler.

He had a firing spree just last month when he suffered food poisoning. It wasn't the best decision to be low on allies, but he found out that all the cooks were working together to kill him and his father. His father recommended finding another set, but the Prince just wasn't having it.

He didn't worry much, since figuring out who's friend or foe was just child's play. All of his life, he was gifted with wits, and had used it, gaining lots of experiences determining people— it was just that he was restless enough to have his guard down on the previous cooks' attempt.

He went back to being stuck on his desk again with an excellent posture, scribbling his name and signature on good papers, occasionally snacking on the pastries served to him— and he did that until midnight.

**

Prince Alvar woke up on his cheek lying on the desk from the knocking on his door.

"Yes?" He asked, his voice laced with drowsiness as he raised his body up.

"Your Royal Highness, Sir Marshall has arrived." The Prince watched as Renjiro opened the door for a man in a black surcoat to enter, and the two people he trusted walked in. The food trolley creaked when it was delivered in front of the Prince.

"Did His Royal Highness fell asleep on the desk?!" Renjiro's loud voice was full of worry, perhaps, a little overdramatizing. Usually, people get startled over Renjiro’s sudden boisterous nature, but for the Prince’s case, he had been with him for years.

"It is not a huge concern. Thank you for your thoughtfulness."

"I shall remind you to sleep in your room then!" With an open hand on his sternum, Renjiro offered.

"I believe that would be my job, Sir Renjro," Sir Marshall laughed as he poured tea on the white teacup, watching the Prince stare blankly on his desk.

Prince Alvar turned his head towards Sir Marshall, and said, "There is no need. You are no butler of mine."

Renjiro then tugged the roots of his straight gray hair, long enough to reach his eyebrows and frowned, seeming as if he realized something. He exclaimed, “I just remembered my experience sleeping on my desk and I had back aches! You wouldn’t want to experience that. Even worse, blood clots may form from sitting for hours—”

"It is fine, Renjiro." The Prince replied to the worried Knight without letting him know that he’s always been sleeping on his chair for weeks, which will bother the klazomaniac even more.

"Do you need anything else, Prince Alvar!?"

"No." With only one word, Renjiro bowed and went out of the room. Soothed in relief, he was glad that Renjiro's protectiveness over him wasn’t that infuriating early in the morning. He pulled his golden pocket watch in his pocket. Six thirty four.

The tiredness weighing on his eyelids was enough to indicate that he hadn’t slept for long.

"Here is your ientaculum, Your Royal Highness." Sir Marshall presented to him a bread topped with shredded cheese, eggs, and a tiny salad perfectly decorated over a wooden plate.

Prince Alvar stood up and ordered, "Have it covered for a while, Sir Marshall."

Sir Marshall hesitatingly covered the hot, steaming food. "But Your Majesty, it would be stale."

"I do not mind, have no worries."

His drowsy legs made its way into his own room, leaving the breakfast untouched, since his appetite only comes around noon. Flicking the switch, the sparkling candelabra washed the bedroom with an orange hue of light. It had been a while since he last entered his chamber.

Purple walls and pervenche sheets captured his attention, thinking of how beautiful the colors happen to be. How he missed seeing the landscape first thing in the morning when he awoke. When he'd feel the need to recoup and start fresh was the only time that he visited his room.

He decided to clean after the endless hours of sitting in the same space doing the same tasks. After removing his plum surcoat, he entered the bathroom, switched the shower’s handle, and let the warm water tingle his body as it slowly followed his skin until it landed on the frigid tiles.

The conversation he had with the King from yesterday was still fresh on his mind. The Prince's hand slid on his forehead as he watched the sprinkling water hit his chest.

"I have sent the Knights to get you a combatant," his father had declared.

The Prince wasn't entirely opposed to keeping a butler on staff. While the risk was too great, it would be very beneficial to him in a variety of ways.

He dabbed a good amount of pink fluid from the bottle of body wash to scrub it on his scarred limbs. He thought, If the butler is an assassin, though, that may be the worst-case scenario.

Soap suds from his pale hand met his hair.

While he’d watched his father leaving, he added a remark to him, "You should simmer down your pessimistic viewpoints."

His palm gripped his pale forearm, and a faint sigh echoed. Out of everything that his father could ask of him was what he couldn't do. In fact, he had just done it seconds ago; thinking about the worst.

Steam from the hot shower circulated around his muscles, relaxing them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give in for he had a never-ending list of responsibilities— and a goal he had to achieve. Turning the knob off, his pale skin disappeared beneath a cotton towel, and the warmth he felt in a short while had taken a turn. He was cold.

It was always hopeless.

As he switched off the bathroom lights, he convinced himself to avoid gazing at his reflection by the mirror.

Always, always has been.

**

Without wasting too much time, he dressed himself in a royal tunic of the color navy blue paired with trousers. His feet in leather pattens walked outside after lights were switched off. While he was strolling across the red carpeted floor, he saw that he was being approached by Renjiro, again, in the distance. The golden armor below the Grand Knight’s red robe had hit the sunlight.

“Your Royal Highness!” Renjiro bowed his neck, and returned to his mighty stance. Between his index and tall finger was a white envelope that was closed by golden wax. The Prince’s eyes gazed on the letter, then tilted his head in disappointment. He finally understood why his father was so calm: the neighboring kingdom, which he loathed but which his father loved, had sent greetings.

“I refuse to see it.”

“But Your majesty, the delivery man claims that Her Royal Highness, Princess of Avairu—”

“With all due respect, I decline to acknowledge that letter,” as he walked past Renjiro, he said while retaining the softness of his voice. The Knight frowned, noticing that the emotionless eyes of the Prince just came to life, but it was cold.

“Apologies, Prince.” It was all he could say while he watched the lean back of the Prince gliding the hall.

When they arrived at the office, Renjiro placed the letter in the corner of the piled papers that the Prince hadn't yet touched. Renjiro, with his compulsiveness, hoped that the Prince would be able to reopen his doors that were once welcoming to the neighboring kingdom, and then he left with the thought of reading the letter would be the first step.

Silence again. But unlike yesterday, the Prince stretched a small smile instead of resting his lips straight. He checked the time. Eight, sharp.

He hurriedly sat down on his throne and took his time to eat everything on the platter, disregarding the nauseous feeling in his gut. The teacup was drained and the plate held tiny crumbs of bread when the Prince grabbed a denim blue hooded robe in a closet, buckling it over his slim shoulders.

Thirty minutes.

Standing in front of his blue berry wall, his thick eyelids closed, and he allowed himself surging deep through his core— then his body levitated. He felt weightless as leather pattens no longer drifted against his floor when he walked by the glassed embrasure that did not reflect his own appearance. He moved against the walls that were supposed to stop him from the outside, tucking his index behind his collar, and his feet slowly hit the ground as he fell gracefully from the palace's topmost tower.

With ease, he glided past the heavily guarded front gates, where the selection's registry was housed, where someone would have the most trouble dealing when storming in the palace. To be fair, the Knights seemed to be completely unaware of the Prince's presence.

In instances like this, Prince Alvar, who had become unfond with the idea of being a royal son, was grateful that he was born with a magical skill that he could freely employ by will.

I have thirty minutes.

The bustling streets, where the crowd would have dropped down on one knee in his honor and greeted him with joyful symphonies, went about their daily routines. When the Prince was not seen, he was able to feel like a normal person, which provided him with a great deal of relief. Children fleeing their chastising parents passed by where he stood, one passing through his non-visible body, and he simply grinned.

He arrived at a hall house just a few meters away from the palace, and his knuckle, now visible on his sight, tapped the wooden door when no one was around. The door opened for him to see a dark-haired woman with golden eyes, looking at him with disbelief, then her head bowed immediately.

“Your Majesty!” she stuttered, her hands clasped tightly against the door handle.

“I apologize again for the sudden visit, Miss Ria. Am I welcomed?”

“Of course! But the children are still sleeping soundly, Your Majesty,” Ria, an orphan keeper, answered.

The door creaked open, and the Prince walked inside with the faintest sound. The inside was simple; wooden furniture such as stools and long tables, paintings of landscapes by the cream walls, and multiple papers sticking on one side of the wall full of colorful splatters and scribbles. The Prince stared at that specific wall, he thought something about it was endearing.

His gaze broke when a golden-haired child with faint traces of girlhood that seemed younger than eight tugged his robe. He was certain that out of all the three visits he made, he had never set an eye on her pretty face.

“Good morning,” the Prince greeted her.

“Why are you gray?” The girl asked, which left a grin on the Prince’s lips. She might be pointing out his skin, but “pale” wasn’t in her vocabulary just yet. He noticed instead that the girl was wearing a necklace with a gold crystal in the middle, and he was sure that it had magic.

“Why are you rude?” Ria held the girl’s shoulders and spun her around. She whispered, “He is the Crown Prince of this Kingdom, sweetie!”

The girl’s once drowsy eyes were full of surprise. She placed herself in a downward dog, and exclaimed, “Sorry!”

“It is alright,” Prince Alvar replied while being amused at the girl. Ria gestured to him to sit on one of the stools as she took a seat in front of him. He noticed that Ria was panicking— shuddering lips, crossed arms, and her finger was holding tight to her elbows. She said, “I apologize for my daughter, Your Majesty.”

“Not a huge concern,” Prince Alvar assured. “It is the first time that I saw her.”

“Rosivive was always in her room. She is not that social type of kid.”

“I wonder what her natural eye color is.” The Prince’s question startled Ria, her mouth slightly opened. Very foreseeable. He continued, “I happened to see her pendant.”

“She likes her eyes being as golden as mine, that is all, Your Majesty.” The words were delivered with a smile on her lips, but the Prince wouldn’t believe it. He knew they were false, yet he moved on. He explained softly, “I happened to see your letter yesterday, and I have concluded that this orphanage is one of what I had chosen to have a great amount of funding. I would like to congratulate you in person.”

Ria gasped and jolted off her seat. She stuttered, “I have to tell— Kids!”

He watched her disappear from the room in a joyful hurry, and without showing it, the Prince was surprised by her overjoyed reaction. A little sneeze travelled from his right, seeing the small Rosivive toying around a green sock puppet. Slowly walking towards her, he looked down and asked, “Do you happen to know your eye color, Miss Rosivive?”

“Without this?” She lazily pointed on her silver necklace using her right hand inside the puppet.

“Without that,” Prince Alvar replied, matching the softness of her tone.

“Red.” His eyes widened, lips parting in a wordless recoil. Was the kid just trying to believe that she really had red eyes? Even so, he couldn’t help but to believe it, and was fully convinced that she was telling the truth. Kids don't lie as they say.

As he was about to question her again, Ria already brought out around twenty different aged children in their fuzzy clothes, and they had the same reaction as Rosivive; yawning with their tired eyes, then a jolt of energy suddenly caused them to burst. They bowed, some kneeled, and some did a downward dog as Rosiveve. They shouted a huge “thank you” with their lion-hearts, making the Prince happier than worried.

Mrs. Delilah, another orphan keeper in her fifties, much older than Ria, ran towards the Prince and bowed. Standing up again, she offered, “We are forever thankful for the Crown Prince! May you join us for a feast? You and your Knights are welcome to the celebration!”

“I would love to, Mrs. Delilah. However, I have more work to do, and I,” Prince Alvar paused, rethinking if the words he was supposed to share were allowed to be disclosed. Since Ria was busy explaining the benefits of funding to the hooraying children, it seemed like a good sign. “I came alone.”

“Oh, of course.” Like the Prince had expected, Mrs. Delilah isn’t a threat, luckily, when she didn’t further question him. “No fear. You will have your beloved butler soon, Your Majesty!”

Mentioning ‘butler’ made the Prince realize that he lost track of time being overjoyed by everyone’s reactions. He grabbed his pocket watch and read the time. Eight forty nine. Passing the time limit he had set for himself, he thought of the possibility that Renjiro found out that he had sneaked out— and even god doesn't know what Renjiro would command with his high power in Knightdom.

Prince Alvar smiled at the old lady and promised, “I will join a meal if I come back. Hopefully, with my own butler.”

He gave his goodbyes to the children and hooded himself as he walked out the door opened by Mrs. Delilah. Before walking down the stairs, Ria came chasing him, and with her cheek muscles up, she exclaimed, “They loved your book!”

“Which one of the three?”

“The one titled Rainbow, Your Majesty!”

The Prince turned away and looked at the morning horizon, the baby blue sky and fluffy clouds. Without even realizing, his eyes smiled with his lips, and he did not dare to stop it since he wasn’t facing Ria that had already left, and he was already to be unseen.

**

It was a wise decision to return to the palace because he was progressively starving with each passing second as his body continued to wield his abilities.

Red, he remembered the golden-haired child’s honest answer, and it unsettled the depths of his mind. Such an interesting eye color— and definitely from a non-human.

“A serf like you should not be here to begin with—” While the Prince neared the black gates of the palace, his eyes floated across one of the Knights that he once saw as he snuck out by the entrance shouting at a tall man with long locks of black hair. He planned to pass through the right side of the cream-yellow walls, but hearing “serf” made him stop and listen.

“All I’m asking is a higher authority who knows the rules better than you,” the man that towered the Knight with his long legs exclaimed. The Prince watched a pink plastic that had a box shaped object clinging inside by that man’s wrist, and he noticed that it had unnecessary protuberance at its underside. He found it strange.

The Knight who appeared to have the oldest features, his face full of wrinkles, exclaimed, “A mere crooked-nosed knave such as you doesn't have words to say to a Noble. Your lack of respect was the reason your Lord does not allow you to be here. Off you go.”

Prince Alvar, under his softly featured face, felt a strong sense of surging temper.

But it didn’t end there; the tallest guy just doesn’t know when to halt his tongue, neither of them were. Without knowing that the Prince was witnessing everything just behind him, the tall man hissed, “As a Noble, you have the lowest authority since you're a Knight, and you don’t have a say to me since you don’t even bother to listen. Even if you did, your old, haggy ears wouldn’t comprehend a word.”

The Prince wouldn’t believe the swift movements that followed through; a golden spear from the Knight was to thrust forward an innocent civilian for the reason of losing against a rebuttal. Fortunately, the tall man swiftly glided his foot away from the spear— but the Prince hadn’t.

Him being invisible made him place his guard down, and it stirred his mind from starvation. It was certain to hit him; he was certain that the spear would s***h his delicate flesh, causing him to freeze and exhale sharply.

In his peripheral, wide green eyes of the unfamiliar man gazed at him after his sharp exhale, as if Prince Alvar was actually visible when he’s not— and a strong hand immediately held back the spear’s body before it reached the Prince’s thudding chest of consternation.

All Prince Alvar ever had was himself, and this tall, long-haired man saved him when he could not.