Clarity

The meal went by without much fanfare, and hardly any talking. The Sire acted as he had all day, dismissive and bored. Nerrel ate enthusiastically, peering at Stella throughout the meal. Schon had sat next to the young girl, and did her best to match Nerrel’s gaze with her own hostile looks. Fulcher ate slowly, unsure of how to act properly at this royal table.

I shouldn’t eat too much. Especially if I’m to start building up muscles in this body, he thought.

“You’re going to love the Midrealm, Princess Stella,” Nerrel declared through a mouthful of pork. “Lot’s of trees and flowers and stuff, whatever you girls like.” He broke into a chuckle.

Oh shoot, Stella is leaving in the morning. I forgot all about that. Fulcher thought. He began to panic, not wanting the poor girl sent off with this gross man to be married off to his son. I’ve got to keep them here longer.

“Lord Nerrel,” he began. “I was wondering if tomorrow you could show me more of the trade you do. I’d like to learn as much as I can.” He forced out a smile. The Sire rolled his eyes some, sipping wine. Nerrel burped quickly, rubbing his stomach.

“Ah, as much as I would love to keep eating from your royal chefs, I must return to the Midlands. If I am gone for too long the people get restless. Their ideals poke into their bleeding little hearts and they start acting out.” He suckled his finger for a moment before reaching into a pile of pastries, pulling one out of the middle to settle it on his plate. Schon’s face contorted in disgust, and she slowly removed a similar pastry from her own plate.

“I’m sure one more day won’t-” Fulcher began.

“Enough,” the Sire said. “The Lord leaves in the morning. Do not strain the relationship between our houses because you want to keep your sister here longer.” Fulcher winced, glaring at Dilyniant.

He really doesn’t care at all. It’s all power plays and political movement, he thought.

At that moment a guard burst into the great hall, out of breath. The Sire looked at him with a mix of curiosity and anger at his entrance.

“Speak. This had better be worth your interruption,” the King said.

“Sire, there was an attack on the beast pens,” the guard wheezed, “The slaves got away, all of them. We have men out looking for who did it.”

Nerrel froze, pulling a bone from his mouth.

“The beast pens?” he asked, turning his gaze towards Fulcher. “Why, I do believe I saw the Prince there just before I left. It couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

The King stood, slamming his hands onto the table in frustration.

"What? By the stables? And down to the beast pens? I will not have him tarnishing our family name further. Guards, escort Fulcher and his ‘wife’ to their chambers and keep them there until I see it fit to remove them! If he is so desperate to keep the company of beasts then he will be locked like one!” He shouted.

Schon stood slowly, making her way out of the hall and towards their rooms as Fulcher backed up.

No, no wait, this is all wrong. I… His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find another one of the keep guards looking down at him.

“Come, My Lord. Please do not resist,” the guard said sternly. Fulcher hung his head low and began to walk with the guard towards his chambers when the King spoke again.

“And kill that wolf! He clearly has not earned the right to keep it!” Dilyniant sneered. Stella began to cry loudly as Fulcher was pulled from the hall by the guard.

“No! Don’t you hurt him! He’s mine!” Fulcher shouted. A second guard joined the first in grabbing his arm, dragging him towards his chambers. He did his best to struggle, but there was not much he could do against the armored guards. They tossed him into his chambers, shifting further down the hallway to keep watch. Fulcher scrambled up to find Schon in her doorway, arms crossed.

“Looks like we’re both prisoners now,” she said, her eyes dragging up and down his form.

It’s fine, Arrow is fine. He’s in town somewhere, probably running around or sleeping under a roof or something. He’s fast, they won’t catch him. Fulcher did his best to calm himself. Schon looked on with a disapproving stare before she shifted deeper into her chambers, out of sight. Fulcher moved to the bed, laying on it and staring up.

I can’t change anything like this. I’m a prisoner even when I am free. Son to a tyrant, nothing more than a novelty until he dies. I should run. I should… The thought crossed his mind in that moment. Dilyniant was a tyrant king. It would likely be easy to drum up support for Fulcher should he turn against him.

If I want to help the most amount of people possible, I have a moral obligation to end that fool’s reign. For all of humanity.