I choose Power

EIGHT

Lazarre guides his horse between the trees, hot on the tail of a deer. The deer is incredibly fast, determined not to die, but Lazarre is more determined to kill it. He cannot go back home empty-handed today. Men of the highest rank in the kingdom fan out around him and his father, the king of Degolan rides side by side with him, in pursuit of the same game.

He has never particularly enjoyed hunting as a sport but it is one of the few things that give the Midnight King real joy and so he has fast learned to tolerate it, to even like it a little. During the Hunt is the only time that his father treats him like an equal, like a son, like he belongs. He and his father gun for the same quick-footed deer, their arrows drawn. When they both find an opening, a whistle announces the release of arrows. His red-tipped arrow and his father's blue-tipped one fly for the same deer and his arrow is the one that takes the deer first in the throat. It lets out a cry right before the king's arrow catches it in the eye and tumbles into the bush. The whole party rides hard for the spot and when they reach it, his father jumps down from his horse, wanting to check the animal for himself. When he is satisfied the deer is well and truly dead, he stands and looks back at Lazarre with a queer expression and Lazarre's heart falls.

"Your arrow felled him." He says and everyone including him holds his breath waiting for his reaction. With the Midnight King, one can never tell whether he would be furious to have kill stolen from him or proud to have his son best him. He is mercurial at best.

The king breaks into a wide maniacal grin and pats his son's horse's side so hard that the animal jumps and shies back. "Congratulations son!" And the whole company releases a breath, tremendously relieved chuckles echoing all round him along with their congratulations.

With the official first kill of The Hunt under his belt, he moves on with the rest of the Hunting company to chase and shoot a few more game and by the time they are done, it is high in the afternoon and he is famished.

On their way back with three dead deers and a variable array of other forest animals, he rides at the front of the procession with his father. They are almost to the castle when his father motions for the people around him to get out of hearing range. He bows his head and makes a move to follow them and stops in shock when his father addresses him.

"Not you, Lazarre." This is the first time his father has ever called him by his name, he had even assumed at some point that his father had somehow forgotten it and could not be bothered to ask about it anymore. And it is also the first time his father has ever requested for his company alone away from his esteemed council members and advicers that he never asks for advice.

He directs his horse back to his father's side and they walk in silence for a while.

"I'm working on something big." The king says suddenly and Lazarre startles and curses himself internally for the weakness. "Something that's going to change the fate of Degolan for all time." He glances sideways at him, analyzing him. Lazarre sits higher on his horse, his expression impassive, hoping his father is impressed with the man he is regarding and his heart fills with joy and pride. Finally. After spending all of his life trying to get his father's love and affection, his father is finally beginning to see his worth. He will surely never let him down. He knows better than to probe or make inquiries about these plans that will supposedly change Degolan for good and keeps his silence, awaiting his father to supply further information or not at his whim. The king gives a sort nod of approval and directs his stare forward.

"It is high time you got apprised of the developments, considering your significant part in it." He says. Lazarre is careful to keep the frown out of his face but it is the first he is hearing of his part in any plan. Why was he not told earlier? If his part is so significant, why was he kept in the dark all the while? A worm of unease slithers through his stomach but he sits nonchalantly on his horse and even manages an anticipatory grin.

"I am looking forward to hearing about it, Your Majesty." He says and his father nods, staring at nothing in particular with a faraway expression before glancing at him once again and pinning him with the force of his glare.

"After the banquet, join me in the meeting room." He says and kicks his horse and they accelerate away, leaving him in the dust. The rest of the company who had retreated fan out around him and even though they dare not probe, the curiosity in their gazes is more intoxicating than the strongest wine. It feeds his sense of self-importance and he cannot stop the smug grin he throws their way. Elder Orinam, the only person in the council that can claim any form of closeness to the king looks particularly irked by it. Without waiting for their inevitable questions, he kicks his horse and takes off after his father. The rest of the company meet one another's eyes, shrug and do the same.

When he reaches the castle, he removes his large bear hide cloak and throws it in the waiting arms of a servant and stalks away to his chambers. When he finally slams the door to his chambers shut against the treacherous world of the court, he heaves a sigh of relief and turns around. He stops mid-step, his jaw hanging down. Lovetta.

His father's ex-concubine lies on his bed beneath his spreads with a wide grin on her face and a come-hither smile on her lips. In her defense, she is young and very attractive and his father had only been interested in her for less than a year to her stinging shame. Her flame red hair is one that ballads would create a song about and her high firm breasts have driven more than its fair share of men in the castle to wanton abandon. But she was his father's concubine, to say the least.

"How did you get in my chambers?" He asks, irritation that he cannot control colouring his voice but she must be deaf and stupid because she only smiles coyly at him as she fingers the spreads away from her body to reveal her nakedness beneath.

Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it is not his utter indifference and total lack of a reaction to her body and her mouth puckers slightly in a frown. He admits her body is a work of art, just as everything else about her has been designed to be. High firm breasts taper down to a pinched waist and flare out over lush hips and long, long legs. His father picks his women well. And apparently this one had enjoyed the high life so thoroughly that she does not mind selling herself to the son of the man who discarded her as long as she can get her comforts.

"Get out." He says curtly, turning around and heading for his garderobe. He hears her drop her feet to the floor behind him.

"Does the young prince not like what he sees?" She purrs. He turns around to find her stalking towards him in all of her naked glory. He has the impression of being prey to a wizened hungry predator, and he does not like the feeling. She grips her own breasts in her hands and walks coyly to his front. "My prince cannot possibly dislike what he sees. So what is it? Is it someone else on your mind?" She asks as she reaches him. "I can make her disappear." She whispers to him, pressing her body into him. He shoves her firmly to the side and walks away from her, uncaring of her little indignant shriek.

"You reek of desperation, it is not a good scent. Get out of my room, I will not say it again." He says, walking to the door and opening it slightly.

Her pretty face screws up in anger, frustration and humiliation and she drops her hands from her breasts with a growl.

"So the rumours are true then." She says smugly. "You do not like women, my prince." She purrs, stalking back to him. "You prefer to fumble around with a manhood." Her eyes twinkle consprirationally and a wicked smile twists her lips so that she does not look the least pretty anymore. The old familiar feelings, the fear of being found out, the dread of what his father would do to him if he was found out, the desperation and urgency from the feeling of being cornered and on the run all press in on his chest and only years of stifling his feelings and his reactions for survival keeps him from lashing out at her and splitting those pretty but acidic lips of hers. Rather, his expression does not change at all. He is aware that this would not be his father's reaction in the least. His father would have backhanded her so hard some of her teeth would have fallen off and proceeded to beat her into silence. In fact, he has a feeling his father would be most proud if he gave in and killed the woman right here in this room but all he does is clench his fists beside him.

"Watch your words." He purrs back at her. "Or you are liable to lose that pretty little tongue of yours." He whispers into her ear and she shudders. He was going to make her put her clothes back on before going out but he needs to be alone so badly that he throws open the door, grabs her shoulder with a large hand and shoves her naked body through the open door and slams it closed on her. He spies her clothes dumped on a wide wooden table by the window and he grabs it, opens the door again and throws the clothes at her before bolting his door shut. He walks to his bed and collapses on it, closing his eyes. He has nothing to worry about from Lovetta. The rumours of his s****l preference has been going around in the castle for a long time and since everyone knows how much she tries to get him hooked with her, they will just assume her words are due to a recent stinging rejection and they would not be completely wrong. His s****l orientation has been his greatest secret till date, though he realizes that he did not do a good enough job of it if the rumors are anything to go by. But he draws the like at actually forcing himself to take a woman to bed simply to dispel a few rumours. However, as the only prince of Degolan, he has responsibilities including producing an heir to the throne and he has almost no freedom to his choice of partner. The elders say a secret cannot be kept forever, but he does wonder if he can at least keep this one just until his father passes away...

The earlier events of the day with his father bring him both pride and dread, thankfully erasing the unfortunate incident with Lovetta. He hopes that it is the beginning of his father finally beginning to bring him into confidence, to trust him with important things in the kingdom.

His clothes are filthy from the morning activity so he rings the bell for a servant who lays out a new shirt and breeches on his bed for him before cowering in a corner of his room, eyes downcast and waiting for his dismissal. He ignores her. The servants are terrified of the Midnight King and as such, extend the courtesy to him despite that he has never said a cruel thing to them, or anything at all to them in his recent years. It used to bother him and he had tried talking to one terrified servant or the other but be knows not what they have heard about him because their terror had only multiplied. He finds that he does not care enough to reassure them anymore.

When he is done putting on his clothes with the help of the servant, he dismisses her and walks to his window to look out at the kingdom. It sprawls out beyond his view, all the way to the mottled grey mountains that line the borders of Degolan, like giant indifferent watchers over the kingdom. Beyond the castle walls, nobles and dignitaries mill about, all going about their businesses quietly in the most orderly fashion. It takes some sacrifices to live close to the King, including never exhibiting any form of joy or elation in public that is not sanctioned by him but it does have its advantages too. The boring dutiful nobles do not interest him though, rather he stares faraway like he can pierce space and be able to see the oldest son and heir of Council member Choron, named Champa, where the young prince's heart lies. Champa is a slim, refined and incredibly beautiful man and he is sadly, absolutely in love with women. In fact, Lazarre has a good idea where he could be at the moment, anywhere to do with women and w****s. Champa is not a man to hide his numerous conquests but speaks proudly of them in the company of his friends. He absolutely loves and adores Lazarre solely for the political advantage he could curry in the process. Lazarre sighs. Sometimes he thinks he must be fickle and shallow to be attracted to such a person but it is not something he can simply reason away and so he watches from afar, longing for his caresses and not daring to take even a step closer. Because he knows exactly how Champa is going to feel about that, prince of the kingdom or not. Perhaps he should try harder with women, perhaps he just has not met the right one to level him out, because he is sick of the constant torment of wanting the wrong person. He brings back the memory of Lovetta's body and imagines them both tangled in the sheets, he getting lost in her body and waits for s****l heat to suffuse his bones but absolutely nothing happens to his body as expected.

The luncheon bell rings and he sighs again, his hands falling from the ledge to his sides. He takes a moment to collect himself and when he turns around, his expression is as cool as marble. When he strides out into the hallway to join his people, the only trace left on him is of their cruel, emotionless prince.

In the great dining hall, the feast is over the top with dozens of nobles lining the great long table, laughing at the king's jokes and ridiculing whoever the king chooses to torment today. Women dressed in black chatter quietly among themselves and nibble at their plates interspersed between men dressed in drab colours all looking to gain favour from the king. Lazarre sits at the head of the table to his father's left. The court is one of opportunists and boot-lickers and they eye his honorary seat beside the king with hungry envious eyes. If only they knew how empty the symbolic seat is. The king holds all power, and not even his son is allowed to have a say in the king's presence.  Delicacies made from the game brought back from the morning's emergency hunt are served on large trays with different types of sauces along with a wide array of side dishes. Whatever fault can be found Degolan, it is not with the kitchen staff for thy work tirelessly to serve meals of only the best caliber. The king will have nothing less.

He eats mechanically, spooning small chunks of roasted denizon into his mouth and keeping up the serious joy-sucking charade the people of Degolan know him by. Most of them steer clear of him because of his joyless visage and so he does not have to engage in pointless banter. His father tears into the leg of a rabbit enthusiastically beside him and guffaws at what one of his advicers is saying, turning to slap him hard on the back in 'camaradie'. He does his best not to wince or glare, and tactfully keeps his eyes off the dripping meat in his father's hands.

Once, when he had been much younger than this and much more foolish, he had abhorred eating meat of any kind. He rejected beef, fish, chicken and even had trouble taking eggs. The chef and kitchen servants who had then adored him had kept his aversion a secret and served him only fruits and delicious vegetative meals they took time to make specially for him. But then his father had found out. He had raged terribly, the entire castle shaking in his fury at having such a weak pathetic son. He had walked on a razors edge for days, trembling to his toes and waiting for his father to punish him cruelly and immediately like he usually does, but when time had passed and his father had done nothing, he should have known it meant that things would go even more horribly wrong. A week later, his father had gathered all of the kitchen staff and even the people that had ever shown him the slightest kindness in the courtyard. In front of the rest of the castle officials and the people of the kingdom, he had cut out all of their tongues for daring to keep a secret from him. After that, he had sent them into the streets with no belongings and a heavy warning to anyone with intentions of helping them. His own punishment had been in private. New chefs had prepared all sorts of meaty delicacies, overflowing on trays and the king had sat him down and made him eat up every morsel on the tray, despite his pleas and his cries. He had been sick for weeks after that but everyday, his plate of juicy saucy meat had arrived at the same time every day and he had been forced to finish them all up until he could finally eat meat without throwing it back up.

The meal passes torturously slow, courses after courses arriving until he is so full he cannot take another bite. His father talks and laughs beside him with abandon and he fears for a moment that it might have skipped his mind that he had said he should meet him in the meeting room. He has overheard that in other courts, one is allowed to be excused from the once they are done eating, or have pressing matters to attend to but that is not the case in Degolan. Here, nobody dares to stand before the King no matter how pressing the issue may be.

When his father finally stands, the entire table stands with him and he motions for them to sit back with a drunken motion of his hand.

"Sit, sit. It's a celebration. Enjoy!" He says magnanimously. Lazarre is surprised once again, he was not aware that there was anything to be celebrated and as far as the knows, today could be just the same as yesterday if not for The Hunt. The emergency Hunt. What has his father been up to?

The people cheer and Lazarre studies his father surreptitiously. Now that he thinks of it, he looks radiant, happier and more contented than he has seen him for a very long time. The people glance around at one another, equally confused as to what they are celebrating but none dare to utter the question.

"To Degolan!" He shouts and the people take up his cry. He turns to him. "Lazarre, come." He says and spins around to march out of the dining chamber, his numerous guards trailing his wake.

Lazarre stands and follows his father out of the room, ignoring the inquiring gazes and searching eyes around the table.

He finds his father in the meeting room seated on his large official throne. The bigger ceremonial throne sits in the throne room where he attends to larger masses of people. His father watches him enter with a big grin which immediately puts him ill at ease. He closes the door behind him anyway and strides to stand in front of his father.

"Sit. You'll make an old man's neck crick." His father says good-naturedly. His unease increases but he sits as commanded on one of the low stools lining the side of the large room.

"So, son, I have an assignment for you." The king says. He cannot help the incredulous tilt of his brows.

"Yes. I am sending you to Solaria." His father says and alarm shoots beneath his skin.

"Solaria." He says slowly. "Where the King Consort just died."

The king breaks into a wide grin. "Why do you think we are celebrating?"

His body breaks into goosebumps and he suddenly feels disconnected to this body. "Father, did you have anything to do with that?"

"We. What I do, I do for you and I." He says. When he sees that his son is not as ecstatic to have a homicidal maniac as a father as he had expected, his smile transforms abruptly into a frown. "Are you against that?"

Lazarre's survival instincts kick in and he shakes his head vigorously. "No, I am not."

"Good. Because I am not half done." He says, standing up, his earlier intoxicated state seemingly vanished. "You are going to marry the Princess Celeste and watch the royal family until the time is ripe."

"What?!" He forgets himself and yells, jumping up from his seat.

All traces of amusement flee his father's face and with a deadly expression, he stares his son down but for the first time ever, he stands his ground and father and son glare at each other across the short distance.

"You will go to Solaria, get married to Celeste in due time, and in the meantime, keep an eye on the queen and the princesses. Do you understand?" His father spells out again.

His blood roars in his ears and the floor seems like it has dropped away from his feet. "But, Father--"

"Enough!" The Midnight King roars. He stalks to his son, glaring at him right in the eye and even though Lazarre is now as tall as his father, he lacks his father's girth and commanding presence. His father sneers in his face. "Do you think I do not hear the rumors going on about you? My own son, preferring men?"

Lazarre's bravery drains right out of him and he flinches back as if struck. His father does not give him time to recover.

"I have chosen to look away from them but you continue to shame and disgrace me. So you're going to prove to me and to the world that you are not a failure, that you are a real man by marrying a proper woman." He declares.

Lazarre is speechless, reeling from having a moment he has feared ever since he was young descend upon him so suddenly, years of pent up fear and s****l frustration keeping him mute.

His father retreats and stomps back to the door, fuming.

"Get ready, and pack heavy. You will not be coming back for a while. I'll appraise you of the details of your mission later." And the Midnight King stalks out of the room, leaving him shaky and drained.

He collapses back into his chair and rests his head in his hands with a groan. It seems everything is going to change in Degolan. And somehow, he has found himself in the middle of it all. He will have to make it happen.