Chapter 3: The Inventory
861 Words
The festival was tomorrow, and everything was set. The decorations were absolutely beautiful-brilliant colors draped across the palace walls, market stalls, and streetlights. Foods and drinks had already been prepared, in abundance.
I knew this because I had spent the day with my father, inspecting the kingdom's preparations. It was part of my education-learning how business was run. Every servant in charge of a role gave a full account of their expenses.
The ceremony was to take place on the open field just across from the palace-so vast that vehicles had to transport goods and people across it. A whole city could gather there.
After the final inspection, my father and I sat at the back of the royal carriage.
"Father," I said, my voice serious.
"Yes?"
"Can you please take me to see the inventory?"
He sighed-as though he'd been expecting this request. He knew me well. He knew I was still restless, still thinking about the visitors who had threatened him. Us. The entire kingdom.
He tapped the glass panel.
"Take us to the inventory," he instructed the driver.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I felt the carriage swerve left and continue forward. I was filled with mixed emotions-curiosity, concern, even excitement.
After about five minutes, the carriage slowed and came to a halt.
"We've arrived at the inventory, Your Majesty," the driver announced, stepping out to open the door.
I followed my father out, stepping onto the gravel.
Before us stood an old, shabby, but towering building. Armed guards stood around the area. They straightened at attention as soon as they saw the royal crest on the carriage.
An elderly man-likely in his late sixties or early seventies-hurried toward us and bowed.
"Your Majesty, what brings you here?" he asked, clearly surprised.
"It's been a long time since I visited. Just came to see how you're all faring."
"It's good to see you, Your Majesty." The man's gaze shifted to me.
"Ah! This is my first son, Desmond," my father said. "I brought him here to teach him more about the kingdom's history."
The man bowed again, respectfully.
"This is Sir Juan-a retired warrior, and now a skilled blacksmith," my father explained.
I returned the greeting with a polite bow. It felt right, even if I wasn't sure it was proper. My mother raised us not to behave like pampered royals. She wasn't born into royalty, but she carried its grace with pride.
"Come on, show us around," my father said.
Juan led the way into the inventory building, while the guards and carriage driver remained outside.
Inside, I was in awe. Weapons I had only heard of in stories or seen sketched in dusty books surrounded us-cannons, spears, ammo tanks, old shotguns and rifles, swords, shields, armor once worn in real battles, and crates of explosives. The air smelled of rust, oil, and age.
As I moved through the aisles, I overheard Juan speaking with my father.
"How are the Festival de Esperanza preparations coming?"
"Quite well," my father said. "Everyone's putting in their best to make it a memorable one."
"I never thought you'd come back here," Juan said, frowning slightly.
"I'm sorry I stayed away," my father replied. "But this place gives me... memories I'd rather forget. My father cared more about preparing for a war that never came... than for his own family."
"He was trying to protect the kingdom-and you were part of that."
"And look where that protection left us-drowning in debt. Paying for weapons we didn't need, from people we should never have trusted."
"Where's the war machine he was building?" my father added bitterly.
That's when I spoke up-perhaps too boldly.
"Why don't we sell some of these weapons? Maybe we could pay those men off."
Both men turned to look at me. I instantly regretted interrupting-but I had to try. I couldn't stand by and watch that threat grow unchecked.
"The men are still visiting?" Juan asked, surprised.
My father nodded solemnly.
"I'm sorry, boy," Juan said gently. "Most of these weapons are outdated-fifty years behind the rest of the world. Selling them wouldn't bring much."
"And I've already sold many," my father added. "The Head of Security feared we'd be defenseless, so we kept only what we might still use."
"And the present king isn't investing in weapons," Juan said, ashamed.
"That's because there isn't going to be a war," my father snapped.
Juan flinched, then bowed deeply and walked away.
It was the first time I'd seen my father truly lose his temper. His calm had cracked. He was angry... and in pain.
"Are you okay, Father?" I asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately.
This was the man I had always looked up to. Strong, wise, kind. Always smiling. Always sure.
But now... he looked tired. Beaten. And no one could help him.
Not even me.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
We had just stepped outside the inventory building, heading toward the carriage, when a palace guard -Christopher, one of our most trusted guard- sprinted toward us.
He stopped and bowed sharply. "Your Majesty!"
"Go on. Speak," my father said.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty... It's about your son. Damien...
- Writer
