A LOVE WRITTEN IN ERROR

CHAPTER 1: PRINCE ESCALUS

The city of Therona trembled in the grip of a simmering tension, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke from torches and hearths alike. One month had passed since the violent street brawl that had claimed lives and threatened the fragile balance of power between the Calluetes inheritance and Mondragon inheritances.

The streets, has no echoing laughter, commerce, chatting people and playing children. It is the avenues of suspicion, anger, and fear. Each corner seemed to whisper threats, every shadow a potential danger, and every citizen carried in their heart the knowledge that a single spark could ignite the fires of vengeance anew.

Inside the grand hall of the Prince’s palace, the atmosphere was no less heavy. Queen Elenora, a woman whose health had been in decline for weeks, lay propped on pillows of velvet and silk, the candlelight flickering across her pale, lined face. Her breathing was shallow, each inhalation a fragile thread binding her to the living world. Her eyes, though clouded with fatigue, still gleamed with the intelligence and authority that had guided Therona for decades. Beside her, attendants whispered softly, keeping silent watch, while guards lingered in the corners, alert to any sign of disturbance with in the palace.

Prince Escalus stood at the side of her bed, his expression taut, a mixture of concern for her health and anxiety for the city she governed in tandem with him.

The queen had summoned him here urgently, insisting on speaking before her strength ebbed completely. Her voice, though weak, carried an urgent authority that demanded attention.

“My son,” she began, her tone trembling yet unwavering, “the hatred that festers between Mondragon and Calluetes… it is a poison that seeps into every corner of this city. The streets, once filled with merchants and children’s laughter, are now avenues of blood and fear. The lives lost cannot be restored, yet more will follow if this enmity continues unchecked.”

Escalus leaned closer, catching her hand, feeling the fragile pulse that spoke more of time than health.

“Mother,” he said, voice measured, “I have sent guards to patrol the streets, and I have summoned both heads of the families to the palace repeatedly. Yet they resist, each believing pride stronger than reason.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of strength and clarity cutting through the haze of illness. “Pride is a weapon, Escalus,” she said softly.

"But it can also be guided, or shattered. You must command, not negotiate. They are loyal to their families, yes, but the city is loyal to you, and through your authority, hatred can be restrained… if not ended.” She coughed, a harsh rattle that shook her fragile frame, then continued, voice softer but no less urgent. “Listen well. You must act decisively, before more blood stains these streets. Before Romeo or Fernando fall, before another life is lost for the sake of old grudges.”

Escalus bowed his head, the weight of responsibility pressing upon him. The young prince had already witnessed far too much violence, his advisors growing increasingly concerned that unchecked feud would engulf not only the noble houses but the city at large. He understood the stakes, a single misstep, a single act of vengeance, could unravel all order, plunging the city into chaos.

“Mother,” he said carefully, “I will command them. I will demand a ceasefire, a truce, and an oath under my authority. But you know as well as I do… stubborn pride cannot be bent without force or consequence. They may see only insult in my words, and resistance may spark again before reconciliation is achieved.”

Queen Elenora’s gaze sharpened, piercing through her weakness with the clarity of foresight.

“Force alone will not save Therona, Escalus. You must bind reason to authority, and fear to respect. Let them see that hatred no longer serves them, and let loyalty to the city outweigh loyalty to grudges. Otherwise, my son… streets will run red, and Therona will be unrecognizable to those who survive.”

The gravity of her words sank deep into Escalus' heart. He had already begun to envision the path forward, summoning both Mondragon and Calluete royal family establishing a formal meeting within the palace, invoking his authority as Prince, and issuing a decree that would compel them to swear peace, or face consequences beyond personal grief.

Yet even as he considered the strategy, the shadow of uncertainty loomed. How would Fernando respond? How would Lord Calluete temper his fury at perceived insults? How would Romeo, impulsive and impassioned, act in the face of commands that threatened to bind him against his own desires?

The queen, sensing his hesitation, pressed her hand to his arm, faint warmth against the cold resolve of duty.

“You cannot delay, Escalus. Delay is the enemy of peace. Do not think only of the next few hours, or the next few days. Think of decades, of the generations yet to live in this city. The time for words has passed. Command, enforce, and let the families understand that loyalty to life and city outweighs loyalty to pride.”

She coughed again, weaker this time, her body trembling beneath the weight of age and illness.

Escalus knelt beside her, gently holding her hand, a silent vow passing between them. The dying queen had entrusted him with more than authority, she had entrusted him with the moral compass of Therona, the delicate balance between justice and mercy, and the duty to prevent history from repeating itself.

Outside the palace, the streets remained shadowed with tension. Children dared not play, merchants spoke in hushed tones, and the echo of past brawls lingered like a ghost.

Escalus knew that the lives of those citizens, the fragile peace of the city, rested upon his ability to act swiftly. He had to draw the Mondragons and Calluetes into the palace, confront them directly, and demand adherence to law and reason, or risk a renewal of violence that could consume them all.

Queen Elenora’s voice, though faint, continued to guide him. “Remember, my son,” she whispered, “the greatest battles are not fought with swords, but with authority, wisdom, and courage. Control the hatred before it consumes you all. Let your decree be the shield for those who cannot defend themselves.”

Escalus rose, determination settling upon his shoulders like a mantle. He looked down at his mother, noting the fragility of her frame, the pale resolve of her eyes, and the knowledge that her time in this world was short.

“I swear it,” he said firmly. “I will act, and Therona will not suffer further at the hands of pride. Streets once filled with blood shall know peace, or I will bear the blame for failing to enforce it.”

The queen’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Then go, my son. Go before it is too late. Let duty guide you, let wisdom temper your authority, and let courage dictate action. The city watches, the families resist, but the future of Therona is in your hands.”

As dawn began to break across the city, spilling light onto cobblestones still damp with the memories of past violence, Escalus prepared to summon the heads of both Mondragons and Calluetes to the palace.

The dying queen’s counsel weighed heavily upon him, a moral and political mandate intertwined, act decisively, prevent further bloodshed, and forge the fragile beginnings of peace. The streets, once filled with blood, awaited the hand of authority to transform them into avenues of hope, guidance, and the distant promise of reconciliation.

And so, Prince Escalus stepped into the morning light, determination in his stride, aware that Therona’s fate, and perhaps the lives of countless people, rested entirely upon his command, his judgment, and the courage to confront the ancient hatred that had long haunted the city.