Draken placed the small, red coronet upon his head. "How does it look?" he asked.
"Perfect," was the reply from a young servant with brown skin and shoulder-length black hair. Although he was in servitude, Arnan did not feel like he was some manner of a royal slave. He was almost treated like a prince himself but still, he was always wary of his official role.
Ever since Arnan had arrived, Draken had taken an instant liking to him. Despite his low upbringing and eventual capture all those years ago, he and the prince had become best friends. They were now inseparable meaning that wherever Draken went, he went and whatever Draken ate, he himself ate. Despite being a servant, life was bearable for Arnan.
Draken scratched his mop of dark, black hair. "I need to get this cut," he commented aloud, diverting his gaze to the red, silk curtains at the other end of the large. Draken briskly strolled to part them and to look at what lay beyond. "I don't want this. Any of this. Not really."
Arnan joined him on the balcony and put a hand on his shoulder. "Not this again!" he exclaimed, exasperatedly. "You're a prince that's next in line to the throne! What about ruling a nation doesn't appeal to you!"
Draken thought for a moment as he stared at the ancient black tower across the city which seemed to paint the horizon black. Children were running through the dirty streets, oblivious of how the city was built. The adults, instead, were bartering in the markets, in the brothels or busying themselves with work in order to try and forget how the city came to be. Even the history tomes appeared to have little knowledge of its founding.
"I don't want to rule a kingdom built on mass slavery, fire and death..." responded Draken. He believed this because he believed the tales told by the beggars, wet nurses and the sages - the city was built on a mass grave.
"You don't know that for sure though, do you?" questioned Arnan, dragging Draken from the balcony. "You need to stop listening to the beggars and the nurses. You're too old to believe them anymore."
Draken knew that Arnan was most probably right but the thought of their tale being true clung too tightly to him. "You're right. I don't know but I'm under the strong impression that the stories of a city are best told on her streets." There was no immediate response from Arnan, only a sigh. One look at his sombre face told him that he had won the debate for today.
"Well maybe when you're the king, you can change things, right?" asked Arnan.
"Not if she has anything to say about it," replied Draken. And anyway what could I possibly do to fix centuries worth of evil? he thought, despairingly.
"Your Highness!" exclaimed a man in red and white robes by the door.
Why doesn't he ever remember... Draken thought the old, Grand Sage looked silly in the long robes that had ensnared him but he dare not say it. "What is it?"
"My apologies, Draken," he continued, suddenly remembering how the prince liked to be addressed. "Your father is waiting!"
Draken felt his heart sink as he remembered. "I need to go, Arnan!" He sprinted out of the room so fast that his princely coronet was barely on his head, "I'm definitely going to be late!"
The long and unnecessarily winding passages had always annoyed Draken but this time they were especially irritating. Through the many halls and several kitchens of the palace, he bounded - it was the fastest way to reach the throne room. "Sorry!" he shouted as he knocked over a few loaves of bread and kicked a goose to the other side of the kitchen. Out of my way, please!
When he finally reached the throne room he was panting like a dog and his forehead was doused in sweat.
"Hurry up!" urged the Grand Sage, handing Draken a cloth to wipe his head, which he gratefully accepted.
Draken repositioned his coronet and didn't bother to ask how the old Grand Sage had arrived there so quickly. He stepped towards the enormous black doors and nodded at the guards on either side of it. With a few heaves, the bulking doors were pushed open.
"You're always late, brother..." came a voice from the other end of the room. Draken glanced at his sister's silhouette by the Throne of Fire, sighed and took in a deep breath. This part of the walk had always been the hardest.
It was hard for him to make out his father's figure on the huge, burning throne so far away but he uneasily crept forward. Draken had always thought that the torches lacing the red columns were far too small to see what lay beyond each one but he already knew of their dangers. Light was so scarce in the palace that he had learned to embrace the darkness.
The sound of scraping chains on the ground shattered his ears and made him walk a little faster. Even to this day, the giant, cavernous hall scared him but it was really the guards that he feared. Draken darted out of the way just in time to avoid a huge black claw from catching him.
The clamour of chains drew nearer and from either side of the aisle this time and he felt a scorching hot breath on his neck.
"Run little brother! The guards haven't been fed today!" jeered Venaessa.
Draken did not like his sister most of the time but he often listened to her for better or for worse and with that, he ran. As he scampered, numerous, great pairs of glowing eyes appeared from between the columns.
"Leave him!" shouted a thunderous voice that frightened Draken more so than the guards.
The glowing eyes slunk away to where they had come from and the sound of the heavy chains became distant.
"Get up!" shouted Venaessa standing over her brother whilst prodding his head with her boot.
"What do you-" Draken looked around and found himself lying on the floor in front of a step to his sister's bemusement, "But I-"
"Save your excuses!" came the resounding voice again, more disappointed than angry. "Your lack of conviction has been noticed by many. I have given you time to amend it but you haven't. My disappointment is immeasurable."
Draken hurriedly got up, his body feeling as though it was weighed down by stones. "Father, I'm-"
"I am your king!" he bellowed. "And as of this moment...you are no longer my son. You will make a fool of my family no longer! You will leave the palace in a week and go to the Bank of Narantis. I expect you to return with five million Gold. If you do not return within the year with everything in place, you will be stripped of your titles and your claim and you will be exiled."
"Yes, My King," replied Draken, meekly, as he tried to hold back his tears. Sometimes he felt as if his birth was the biggest disgrace he had bestowed upon his father and family.
"Now place it on the ground behind you," commanded the King.
Draken knew what he had to do. He did as he was told and cast his coronet behind him. He watched silently as streams of fire emerged from beyond the columns and engulfed his coronet and melted it.
"Once you return with the Gold, I will give you back your name, your coronet and your family. As for your servant... let us hope he can survive without you. Now, get out. Venaessa, go, see him out. We don't want the guards eating him before he even leaves."
Venaessa jumped down and pushed Draken back toward the black doors. "If you anger him again, I will kill you, brother," she said, calmly, "At least you nearly saw him. That's the furthest you've gotten in a while, is it not."
As much as it angered him, he knew his sister was right. It had been years since Draken had properly seen his father and the last time he did was at his mother's burial. The King hadn't always been like that, Draken had a few fond memories of his father but a decade ago they were erased.
As they continued walking down the aisle, the sound of the heavy chains and the glowing eyes became apparent again. This time Draken felt safe with his sister by his side and he did not know why. "You do know I'll come back, don't you? I won't let you run riot here."
"I hope you don't," replied his sister, chuckling, "I would prefer to have that Arnan boy to myself, you know. It would be so fun to have a puppet. A toy that would do whatever I wanted it to."
Draken turned to his sister just as the light of the torch illuminated her rosy complexion and saw her smirking. "If you touch him-"
"You'll what? What will you do, brother?" asked Venaessa, tightening her grip on Draken's left shoulder.
Draken didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. His twin had always been the stronger and smarter one when they were children and even now, at the age of seventeen.
"When I'm the queen, I'll have whoever I want when I want. I'll also get rid of all the torches in here so that when you come to wash my feet, the guards will have a chance of eating you as you scurry like a rat towards my throne," she added, her voice trailing off.
"That will never happen if I can help it."
His sister slowed her pace and pulled Draken a little closer to herself. "You do know this is the easiest and most simple task they could have given you. All you have to do is ask the old man. He'll tell you of all the cruel tasks our ancestors were given. If you can't even do this...well..."
They finally reached the doors in silence and Venaessa rapped it three times. A little light entered the throne room as the doors were slowly opened and they walked out. "I truly hope this is the last time I'll see you," she said ruffling his hair. "But we'll see."
Draken pushed his sister off of him and hurried along the corridor, ignoring the Grand Sage and Arnan, frustration and sadness in his heart. "I will be back and sooner than you think," he murmured.
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