Chapter 3: Noblesse Oblige

"Father, it's nothing, I swear! If you'd only take a proper look, you would see that—"

"That is Your Majesty in the presence of other nobles!" the prince's father hissed, the cats at his side flinching at the sudden outburst.

"As you can all clearly see, an assassination attempt was made on my son!" the king declared, firmly presenting the small cut on his son's paw.

"I have told you again and again that we are too lenient, too merciful as rulers of the Wynds! Now the vermin have outlived their fear of us and seek us harm!"

"Father, please," the prince pleaded again. "I cornered the rat, and it simply defended itself. This all happened because I was playing with it, and then—"

The prince backed down, noticing the king's blazing glare.

"The boy is right. There's barely a scratch on him. You could mistake the blood for a speck of dirt from where I am standing."

Relieved that his father's displeased gaze had found a new target, King Earnshaw stepped toward the noble until their whiskers brushed against each other.

"Is this treason I hear, Duke Linton? Clearly, you heard me call out this attempt on my son's life. Or are you questioning the validity of my assessment?"

The Bombay's eyes remained glued to the floor. Terrified, the duke scoured his mind for the correct combination of words to escape the Lord's notice.

"No," he simply replied. "Everything you have said is correct, your Majesty."

Breathing freely again, the Duke watched as his Lord began addressing the assembly.

"Then are all the houses in agreement that this cowardly act of treachery calls for an answer befitting the crime?"

No cat dared speak. Instead, hapless eyes made their rounds, each hoping another would voice their thoughts. Unsuccessfully.

"Good," King Earnshaw concluded.

"Gather your troops, then. I want every capable tabby and tomcat ready at sunrise. Make certain it is so, Duke Lockwood."

The assembly looked toward the Prussian Blue, who simply bowed at the request of his liege. With the meeting concluded, the dukes returned to their realms, preparing for the slaughter to come.

Alone, the young prince found his courage once more.

"Father, I beg of you. 'Tis but a scratch."

King Earnshaw placed his paw upon his son's wound.

"Heathcliff, my boy," he began in a solemn tone. "Being a king means making the right decisions. My age has not clouded my vision yet. But rats live short lives. You grew up with them fearing you ever since you were a kitten. But that is only because I made it so, and my father before me. One day, you will need to do the same."

Shocked, Heathcliff pulled his paw away.

"But the rats are harmless! They die easily after a few swipes or a precise bite! This is no purge, but a massacre!"

The king's eyes sharpened.

"You have yet to see the things for what they are. The vermin are weak, but they outnumber us many times over. If the spark of revolution were to ignite within them, we would fail our ancient duty to our two-legged servants. Heed my words, Heathcliff. You too will have to become a protector of the Wynds. It is our duty and your fate."