The prince sat on the throne quietly, his uncertain eyes drifting across the large room in search for some comfort. They found nothing except the cold, desolate walls and the unfriendly faces of ministers and palace guards. Not his guards, of course. And not his ministers. At least, not until the coronation, a dreaded ceremony that would make him king. That was in a matter of days, and all too soon, the throne he was sitting on would be his. The people in this room, the people outside the walls of this palace would be his responsibility. He couldn’t possibly be able to handle that. He was far too young, far too inexperienced.
The ministers could see that, of course. Through their eyes, he was just a boy wearing shoes that were far too big for him. Prince or not, he was barely nineteen, with a judgment clouded by rebellious thoughts. The country would not benefit from his rule, even though he was the sole heir to the throne. Of course, his ascend to the throne would have occurred much, much later if it hadn’t been for the untimely death of the king. Not that the old king was any better. The noble line had, as generations went by, become far less noble. And far less adept at ruling an empire.
This prince was proof of it, of course, with his odd eyes that trembled with uncertainty and a voice that quaked as he spoke. He had no air of authority, merely the arrogance of an adolescent. His decisions would prove to be unwise should he become king. And of course, if cornered, he would be easily swayed. Now, how awfully easy it would be for enemies to destroy the country. Perhaps they didn’t even have to. A little bribe, perhaps, would do the trick …
Of course, the prince knew that the ministers had little faith in him. He was determined to prove them wrong. However, he dreaded the thought of ruling an entire empire and he wanted nothing more than just to stay in his chambers with his wife and child. Up until now, that was all that mattered. His family. Beautiful Athanais, who was not of a noble line, but a woman of steel all the same. He had married her against his late father’s wishes, a decision that he had never regretted. His parents had every intention to pair him with a princess or at least a nobleman’s daughter, but the prince knew he couldn’t possibly love anyone more than he loved Athanais. And of course, young Phoebus. His heir, although he wished that the child wouldn’t have to inherit the throne … or the empire.
“Your Highness,” a voice spoke up, interrupting his reverie. The prince lifted his gaze to the wiry man kneeling before him. “Someone is here to see you. Says he won’t leave until he’s been let in.”
“Who is it?” the prince inquired with a raise of his brow. “Tell me, my good man.”
“I don’t know. He’s not of this country, I suppose. He dresses funny.”
The prince had no idea what he meant by funny, but let the visitor in anyway.
