Plight of the Perfect Prince

by Jason Paul Rice

  “When you left here two years ago, you were a boy. I can proudly say you’ve returned a man. Now, you don’t have to tell your King father that you didn’t always bear the royal standard and refused any preferential treatment. You certainly don’t have to tell him that you dressed and trained as a normal soldier without any royal favors. That is unless you want to get me killed. You could tell him you stayed with the officers and you were treated with the proper respect due to a prince. Tell him you got involved only when necessary, but you did get involved and tasted battle. Now if you feel the need to brag, so be it, but the fighting men know what you did, how you acted out there. It won’t be forgotten amongst the soldiers.”

  Ali-Steven told him, “I won’t be bragging to anyone. I did what was asked of me and I wanted to stay and fight even longer.”

  The General patted his horse’s neck and smiled. “I know. We all know. That’s why the King commanded me to make sure you get back to the Capitol.”

  Ali-Steven could see his home as their horses trotted toward the grassy hillside. He hadn’t seen the castle since two years ago when he had left to fight in the Goldenfield border war and Livingstone attacks. The alternating gray and black blocks captured the cerulean skyline and swallowed the sparse clouds and half the sun.

  “I made it no secret I have no desire to be back here. Hopefully, this will be a brief stay and we will fight together again,” Ali-Steven said, staring at the castle.

  “Look at me, Prince Ali-Steven.”

  The Prince looked into the fierce eyes of the General.

  Larrence Horsten said, “If anything should ever go awry around here, you will always have the backing of the border company. We have more power than any other unit of the royal force and I know others will follow us if we declared you our king. Simply send word and we will be here. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Ali-Steven nodded and confirmed, “I believe I do. I genuinely appreciate the gesture.”

  The General spoke in a stern voice, “It’s not a gesture. This is promised action. Your father never served his war duty for Donegal. Your twin brother didn’t fight alongside you, did he? Men will always fight for men who fight. Let them play their ruling games and if you get caught in the middle, remember, we are there for you.”

  “I thank you greatly, General Horsten.”

  Ali-Steven Wamhoff had the complete look of a prince. He was tall and handsome with close cut, fiery red hair and a powerful body. He had brown eyes with silver flecks and light freckles on his face and neck disappeared into his gold-tinted gorget.

  His younger brother, Ali-Ryen, galloped up to him on a small palfrey. The eleven-year-old sported a wide grin as he reined up on his horse.

  He said, “Ali-Steven, you look bigger than when you left. Father wants to see you in his painting room. General, my father says to enter through the northern entrance and you will be shown to your visiting quarters. The King said he will see you at supper, General Horsten.”

  “I thank you, my young Prince,” said the General.

  Ali-Ryen’s horse started to wander away as the boy was having trouble controlling the feisty animal. Horsten looked at Ali-Steven. “Remember my words. My Prince.”

  The General lowered his head for an informal bow, heeled his horse and trotted away.

  His brother came back and asked, “So how was it? How many of those Goldenfield dogs did you kill?”

  The young boy had a bloodthirsty look on his face that Ali-Steven didn’t like.

  “It’s not as fun as you would think. You have to understand these are normal people, same as us. We were taught to believe that we are better than everyone else all our lives. These people were born in Goldenfield and they were taught to believe that Donegal is wrong in all our beliefs. We are taught to believe that our enemies are evil, but we are all the same. We just fight under a different banner. It’s not as much fun after you realize that. What’s new around here?”

  The smile was wiped away from Ali-Ryen’s face as they trotted toward the southern entrance of the castle.

  Ali-Ryen said, “Not very much is new around here. I’m taller than Tersen now, and twice as strong.”

  Ali-Steven’s younger brother looked a great deal like him. He had been blessed with the red hair of a true Wamhoff, although his shaggy look was very different than Ali-Steven’s.

  The brothers tied up their horses and walked into the castle to meet their father. Ali-Steven stared at the walls of the hallway. They featured a series of paintings touting his father’s courageous efforts in battle. He shook his head in disgust. He knew his father had stretched the truth with stories, but this was downright egregious. The twelve works led to the Painting Room, which had become one of the busiest rooms in the castle.

  His father was sitting in a red chair while a sculptor chiseled the King’s bust in stone. His pudgy twin brother, Ali-Stanley, avoided eye contact with Ali-Steven. He and Ali-Ryen sat down next to Ali-Stanley on a long, padded couch. Neither twin acknowledged the other.

  His father, King Ali-Baster, didn’t turn to look at his sons as he was facing the sculptor. He called out, “Ali-Steven, it’s good to have you back in the Capitol. Playing at war can often be fun, but we have a realm to rule.”

  Playing at war? You haven’t a clue as to what war is like.

  His father kept his head still and spoke, “I have been teaching Ali-Stanley about how to be a proper king, and now it’s time for you to learn. I wanted to gather all my Prince sons to mark a special occasion.”

  Ali-Stanley asked, “What about Prince Tersen, shouldn’t we send for him too?”

  The King responded in a disgusted tone, “Absolutely not. Don’t ever call him my Prince son again. Tersen should have been sent away to his death many moons ago. He’s not privy to these meetings as he will never stand a chance to be King of Donegal. He’s an embarrassment that we may never shed. Your mother’s soft heart is the only reason the albino is still around.”

  Ali-Steven heard a sniffling sound and peeked over his shoulder at the open door. His younger, ivory-skinned brother stood there with tears streaming down his face. Thirteen-year-old Tersen turned and ran away.

  King Ali-Baster continued, “Now, as I was saying, I’ve gathered all of you to announce that I have chosen a single heir to end all the confusion, conjecture and speculation that’s running rampant right now.”

  Ali-Stanley spoke up, “I thought you said we were going to co-rule. I thought you said...”

  His father cut him off, “You can’t have two kings, especially the likes of you two. You’ll never agree on anything. There can only be one supreme ruler and that man is going to be Ali-Steven.”

  A huge smile came over Ali-Steven’s face and he looked at Ali-Stanley, who had tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t even want to be king, but he couldn’t entertain the thought of his conniving brother securing the throne.

  The King continued, “This is no slight toward you Ali-Stanley but you don’t carry the same accolades as your brother.”

  Ali-Stanley spoke in a trembling voice, “Neither do you, father. Should I have someone create false paintings for me?”

  Ali-Baster’s face got redder than usual and he finally looked over at his sons. “Watch it, boy. You don’t want to get bit by the fox, I can tell you that. In fact, you can run along now and start your crying. We all know that’s what you are going to do, so be off already.”

  Ali-Stanley ran out of the room and the King turned his attention back to the man hammering away on a huge block of limestone.

  Ali-Baster said, “I’m not gifting you this kingdom; you deserve it. You now have the backing of the royal army. That means a great deal for a King. I never got to serve my duty because of the severe injury to my arm, but I do command the respect of our soldiers. I know they would do anything for me.”

  None of the soldiers have a speck of respect for you, nor do they believe your fake stories about being too hurt to go to battle.

 
; Ali-Steven had thwarted all the royal comforts that would have been thrown at him for being a Prince. He had donned the same layers of boiled leather and old mail without a discernable surcoat or Wamhoff markings. He looked exactly the same as the common soldiers. He had blended in with the low born who didn’t recognize the Prince because most men at war had never seen anyone from the royal family. This helped Ali-Steven hear what the citizens truly thought about their King and the results weren’t very favorable for Ali-Baster.

  Several squires started to shuffle in the door with various pieces of the King’s gleaming red and gray patterned armor. The King stood up from his chair in only his underclothes and held his arms out as the sculptor feverishly hammered away on the stone. The squires began to fit the King in his extremely tight armor.

  The early returns from the sculptor showed a mighty king’s face with a tight jaw, prominent chin and strong facial features.

  However, Ali-Steven looked at an obese man being stuffed into a suit of armor that didn’t match the carved bust. His father had ghostly pale skin with red rashes over most of his body, several chins that shook when he spoke and a big, round red face. With a belly like a kettle and unusually short arms, the only thing fearsome about the king was his crown.

  His father said, “My son, I have a plan in order to teach you to be the best king ever, besides me, of course. You already know battle so you need to learn how to keep your citizens down before they rise up against you. And I can show you how to throw a good feast and which brothels are the best to visit. You know, the important things.”

  The King laughed as a servant handed him a goblet of wine that Ali-Baster grabbed greedily and shoved the young man away. He guzzled the purple liquid, then threw the golden drinking vessel at the servant. The young man fumbled with the goblet before it fell to the ground. He snatched it up and hastily exited the room, avoiding an awkward kick from the king, who nearly fell down from the missed attempt. The surrounding squires had to use all their strength to keep the plump Ali-Baster upright.

  The King stood up straight and pushed the squires away. He glowered at Ali-Steven.

  “In all seriousness, I have the most qualified men in the realm lined up to teach you about everything a king needs to know. They will teach you how to manage coin, which families to be wary of, what foreign entities could come crashing our shores and how to enhance the royal reputation.”

  “Yes, father,” Ali-Steven responded.

  Ali-Baster said, “You’re damn right, ‘yes, father’. I just named you the next king to take my place, it better be ‘yes, father’ to everything, at least until one of us dies.”

  Ali-Steven responded softly, “Yes, father.”

  “Alright then, we’ll meet outside the rookery at four bells for the parade,” the King ordered.

  ‘Yes, father.”

  THE PARADE WAS UNLIKE anything Ali-Steven could have imagined. It had been designated to celebrate the return of the men who had fought in the border conflict, but it had turned into a parade of nobles. There were a few soldiers from the war mixed in, but most of the men were like his father and only wore armor at these showy events, never on a battlefield.

  Most of these men wouldn’t last more than a day on the war front. This is a travesty for all those brave men who risked their lives for these fakes. And there’s my father leading the way.

  The royal family rode together in a small pack. Ali-Steven rode alongside his father and Ali-Ryen, while Tersen and Ali-Stanley lagged behind. The two boys were having a terrible time trying to control their horses and snickers started to spread through the people lined up on each side of the road. He looked back at the long procession of fancy coaches carrying members of the King and Queen’s sizable court. The gross spectacle filled the northern end of the heart of Falconhurst with citizens of every station flooding in to see the show. He peered into the screaming audience and locked eyes with her. Everything went silent. He panicked and thought about how he could fight through the crowd to see her.

  Her beauty was evident from a great distance, and magically increased as he got closer to her. Their eyes remained locked as the girl held up a wreath of flowers. She reached back and heaved the circlet into the middle of the parade. Ali-Steven saw the flying flowers headed his way but it appeared as if they would land short. He gripped the reins with his right hand and dipped down on the side of his horse and swiped his left hand through the air. The wreath felt like it hit his finger and fell to the ground so he pulled his hand up and was surprised to see a gorgeous bouquet of assorted flowers hooked around his pinkie. A mighty smile came over the young warrior’s face and he turned his attention back to the lovely temptress. He turned as far around as possible to keep looking at this lovely creature until he almost fell off his horse and had to face forward again. He peeked back again until he couldn’t see her any longer, but his smile remained.

  He had never seen a more amazing girl, although she seemed to be part of the peasant class. Her features were burned into his memory.

  The girl had a dark appearance with glowing green eyes and bright white teeth. Her petite body and tall height made her more visible in the crowd. Ali-Steven shook his head as he gave the notion more thought.

  He realized their love could never be because of their class difference and tried to forget about the mystery girl. Ali-Steven barely slept that night as visions of the young woman’s face kept him tossing and turning in bed.

  The next day, his father ordered him to attend the King’s Close Council meeting. Seven men were sitting around a rectangular table with the King at the head, and Ali-Steven took his place at his father’s right-hand side.

  Ali-Steven hated these meetings and listened as his father spoke, “As you can plainly see, my son has returned from that mess along the border. He didn’t exactly claim victory for Donegal, but he is seasoned in battle at least. I’ve officially named him the heir to the throne of this great kingdom. I’ll be relying on some of you to teach my son about the inner workings of Falconhurst.

  The men started to congratulate Ali-Steven but the King stopped them. “Alright, enough of that now. He’s not king yet, I still am. What words do our birds bring us today?”

  His top advisor, known as the Falconer, was named Lord Marlow Sumpkin. The obese man said, “It pains me to report that the royal treasury is beginning to run bare once again. Should I contact another foreign lender to take out another loan?”

  “No.” The King snapped back. “Contact two or three if we are running that low. Try for the longest repayment period that they will accept.”

  Ali-Steven couldn’t understand this strategy and spoke up, “Why don’t we take some gold? We need a military campaign so we don’t have to pay back the money.”

  The King laughed and everyone else quickly joined in. His father said, “That’s not how it works, boy. Good thing I pulled you out of that silly conflict so we can teach you the workings of the world. If we could easily invade a kingdom and steal all of its gold, we would have done that a thousand times over. War’s expensive, bargaining isn’t. The first secret I will teach you is that you never need to repay all the money you borrow. Amazingly, sometimes kingdoms collapse and you get to keep everything. Now, when you need to pay someone back, you just borrow more. Nobody dies and nobody gets hurt.”

  Ali-Steven asked, “Won’t you run out of banks to borrow from?”

  Marlowe Sumpkin answered, “You pay some back so you can borrow again and you’d be surprised at how many banks are eager to give us money, they send it by the boatload. This is how all kingdoms are run.”

  “Then whom do we lend to?” Ali-Steven wanted to know.

  “What do you mean?” Lord Raymund Attice asked.

  “Lord Marlowe said that all kingdoms are the same, so if other kingdoms are lending, whom do we lend to?” Ali-Steven asked.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll start to understand how things work soon enough,” the King said.

  Ali-Steven Wamhoff tri
ed to pay attention in the meeting but his mind kept shifting back to thoughts and images of the beauty from the parade.

  He listened as Lord Terrents Wedgeword asked, “Do you know who you are going to marry the heir of the realm to?”

  Ali-Steven moved to the edge of his chair as his father answered. “Not quite sure yet. I have my pick of the realm. You hear that, boy? Better be careful not to anger me or your wife will look worse than a hairy hog.”

  His father chuckled, prompting the rest of the council to burst into laughter. The Close Council was supposed to challenge the King’s decisions and provide fair counsel, but Ali-Steven could tell everyone in this room only stoked the King’s self-confidence. The council members had looked at Ali-Steven like he was mad when he had disagreed with his father earlier in the meeting. He realized these sycophants would never dream of second-guessing his father. He was troubled by the fact that his future bride sat in the hands of his father and he had basically no say in the matter.

  The meeting ended and Ali-Steven got his horse and rode around the poorer areas of the Capitol in search of the face he had become infatuated with. He rode for most of the day and gave up around dusk to return to the King’s Castle for supper.

  He looked for her every day around Falconhurst for about a week. He described the girl in vivid detail to a man he assumed he could trust, who said he thought her family lived in Amber Meadows. The Prince of Donegal galloped toward Amber Meadows and slowed down as he came upon rows of houses on either side of the road. The living quarters looked cozy but he had no idea which house she lived in, and he felt ready to give up. Suddenly, a wooden door swung open and there she was, even more alluring than he remembered. The girl walked out onto the street and Ali-Steven approached her on his horse. Everyone bowed or curtsied and uttered the phrase, “Your highness.”

  Ali-Steven had forgotten that he was sporting his royal attire and riding on a dressed horse. He jumped down and rushed over to the young woman and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Rilah Termenson, my Prince.”