The Bastard Prince

Prologue It is a well-known fact that King Stefan of Kantarina kept slaves in his dungeon for his pleasure. He kept them in chains and they lived like dogs in squalor and misery. They only took a bath and ate nice food on the nights he required their services. He sired many sons with his slaves, many of which he killed accept one. “I see one of your slave w****s is pregnant with your child,” his most trusted oracle told him as she stood in his throne room. The throne room was a splendour to behold. As much as he was evil, and a tyrant of a ruler. King Stefan’s wealth was known far and wide. His gold was like the sands in the ocean, they said. Stefan stared at her with an evil snarl pulling at his mouth. “They’ll feed his body to my hounds. Now, tell me about my heir. Will he be strong as his father?” he asked, smoothing his meaty hand over his queen’s belly. She was nine months pregnant and ready to pop. The oracle turned to the queen. “He’ll be strong, stronger than a thousand men.” King Stefan stood up clapping his hands. Those in attendance had no choice but to clap along with him. “He’s the son of a king. I’ll have nothing less.” “And your other son,” the oracle spoke again. “What about him? He’ll die the minute he screams his lungs out for the first time. Don’t worry about him,” he said, dropping into his gold throne as if he wasn’t talking about killing his son. “You can’t kill him. He is the protector of your kingdom. Without him your kingdom will fall,” she said, her voice echoing around the room, sending chills down everyone’s spine. “What nonsense you speak!” King Stefan thundered. The entire room gasped with shock, and some people shifted uncomfortably. The king’s temper was legendary. Many men have died because he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. His favourite way to kill a man was to throw him off the high battlements of his castle. But his oracle didn’t even flinch, standing there in front of him showing no fear. “If he is not born with a crescent moon birthmark on his hip, you can throw me off the battlements and leave me for the crows,” she said, turning to walk out of the room. Her attendants rushed behind her. “Come back here you evil witch!!!” King Stefan shouted, but she kept walking. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… That night, the king’s wife went into labour. A thunder storm ripped through the sky, and water poured down pelting the castle walls. King Stefan paced the length of the hallway outside his wife’s bedroom. He ignored her laboured breathing and weak screams. All he waited for was his son. “You Majesty…you Majesty…” the master of the dungeons called. The hunchback who kept his slaves barely alive, and clean enough to f**k, rushed to him. “He’s born, your Majesty…he’s born,” he said, coming to a stop next to Stefan. The king turned to him, but stopped as he heard the piercing cry of his heir – his son…the future king of Kantarina. “What should I do with him?” the hunchback asked. Kill him… The words hovered over his lips. But the oracle’s words filled his mind. “You can’t kill him. He is the protector of your kingdom. Without him your kingdom will fall.” “If he is not born with a crescent moon birthmark on his hip, you can throw me off the battlements and leave me for the crows.” She has never been wrong in her predictions. Anger clenched his jaw, and he cursed the witch a thousand times. His eyes turned longingly to the room where his son had just been born. But he knew he had to see for himself that crescent moon, even though he hated the fact that he was not going to see his heir first. “Take me to him,” he said, walking down the hallway at a fast clip. In the dungeon, King Stefan stared down at the tiny boy clutched protectively in his mother’s arms. She stared up at him with fear and hate in her eyes. “Show me,” he demanded. She turned to the baby, removing the rags she wrapped him in to reveal the crescent moon birthmark. King Stefan stared at it. Rage filled his whole being, making him tremble. He roared, and stormed out of the dungeon. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… The bastard prince grew up knowing his father hated him with all of his might. He lived with his mother in the dungeon, and the hunchback who took pity on him and taught him how to read and write. They gave him the name Karic, while his father called him dog. King Stefan went on to have more sons. He had Phillip, his first son, David, his second, Micah, Ronald and Matthew. And they lived to make Karic’s life a living hell. “Hold him down,” Ronald shouted as he pummelled him in the back with his little fist. Ronald was ten. Phillip laughed, pinning Karic down. They were both fifteen and matched in strength. The royal guards laughed as they watched the scrawny boy from the dungeons being beaten by the princes. Someone kicked him in the face, knocking the lights out of him. Darkness washed over him, and he didn’t feel any pain anymore. Until he was woken up by icy water hitting his face. “Wake up,” a rough voice said above. He lay there not wanting to suffer another beating. “Wake up or I’ll throw you into the well.” That got his attention. Karic looked up into the kindest eyes he'd ever seen. The stable master stared down at him, waiting. Karic sat up, grimacing as pain shot through him with every move he made. “You’ll die if you don’t fight back. The weakest stallion doesn’t survive the test of time…nature doesn’t allow that. You need to fight to live in this world,” he said. “I don’t know how,” Karic said, not looking at the stable master, feeling ashamed. The stable master went silent for a while. “Get up,” he said Karic did as he was told. His body wobbled from the beating he got. “Go and come back in the morning. You clean my stables and I’ll teach you how to fight.” Karic ambled away. “Do you hear boy!” the stable master shouted after him in a commanding voice. Karic stopped dead at the command. “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “Yes master.” …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Under the stable master, the bastard prince learned the ways of life. He learned how to fight. He grew strong so that his father noticed and added him as a foot soldier to his army. His position in the army meant he could get a decent place to live – a cottage a little way from his father’s castle. He even had a few coins in his pocket, and he could provide for his mother, who still lived as a slave. “I vow to save her one day,” he said as he leaned on his favourite horse. He called him thunder, because he was big and vicious – but he seemed not to mind him. “And you think your father will let you,” the stable master asked. “I’ll do anything for him if he gives her to me,” Karic said. The stable master snatched him by the arm and turned him around roughly. “Don’t show a man like your father your heart. He will strip you of everything you love and laugh while you bleed to death. You hear me boy!” “Yes master,” Karic said and went on his way. But he was only human, and his father was very cunning at finding out anyone’s weakness. On the day that he discovered his weakness, Karic didn’t even see it coming.