The Imperial Warrior

1013 BC It was the annual harvest festival. The castle was filled with people, eager to give their offerings to the royalty. The bounty had been especially rich that year, making them foolish with joy. The king had ordered the palace to be prepared for the grand feast, which the entire kingdom was invited to. Even the servants were running around merrily, some even humming the royal tune while brandishing every room with silver and black; the colors of the imperial family. The stone walls of the castle were illuminated with candlelight and every window was opened to let the sunshine through. Laughter and mirth greeted every soul. The noble ladies had put on their most lavish dresses and adorned the most ornate jewelry. They painted their face with gold shimmer and their lips with red berry juice. Even the men trimmed their mustaches for the day. The less fortunate were given clothes and food. Happiness radiated through the market places. Sellers and hawkers demanding the highest prices and the people too euphoric to argue. It was a good day for everyone. Particularly for those looking to burn the place down. A dark-haired prince decorated his eyes with black kohl. He was wearing a thick black jacket with silver embroidery over a grey tunic. He lifted his sword and polished it. Its metal made from the dwarf mines of Alynthi and the edge sharp enough to cut through anything. Or anyone. The prince put it back into its scabbard and went to greet his family. The king insisted on presenting a united front whenever they received the people in the castle. The throne room was already built to suit the fantasies of the king, and today it was nothing less than the picture of absolute decadence. It was very structurally designed to showcase the throne of the king, made entirely out of black marble. People had already assembled below them, filling the room to the inch to get a glimpse of their beloved rulers. The family came out in an elegant procession. The king wearing a black metallic band on his head, the crown of the Alynthian kingdom. The other heads remained bare. The king raised his goblet and declared the feast to begin. Silver platters containing food of every type that grew in the kingdom were brought out by servants in white. Meat was imported from the city of Kavan and artfully plated for the citizens. Sweets prepared to the tastes of the princess were placed before them. Poets and virtuosi composed ballets for the royal family, rendering their astral beauty and onyx hair into the lines of history forever. "To the King!" Chalices with thick purple liquid were raised. "Long live the king." The prince murmured. Fireworks awaited them after the feast. The sky became a riot of rose gold, green and amber sparks. This was a new addition to the day and people stared at the sky in wonder. Their eyes remained glued on the gimmicks above them. The prince embraced his father, saluting him on the year's bounty. No one noticed him as he pulled out his sword and stabbed the king in the back. The queen soon followed suit. Their blood pooling around them, cursing the land forever. A cruel smile appeared on the prince as he glowed with an unholy light. He emptied his goblet on their bodies and lit a fire. The prince shone in the orange embers of the fire, relishing the power that had become his, before sauntering on to find his siblings. The last riches of a forgotten dynasty were incinerated into dust before the first rays could reach the kingdom of Alynthi.