Thread: Prince of Slaves - The_Fifth Master & Rawr Kitten

Deep, heaving breaths. Panting, even and almost laboured. Peppered with the huffing of a horse, or another voice that joined his. Price Kalfor was riding, and riding hard. Not a woman, but his horse, and carrying a large stick, pointed at someone doing precisely the same thing. The field of battle was a great place to test strength, stamina and determination. And a place to bitch slap the competition when you're damned sure you'll win. And tell everyone, twice, how great you were. LOUDLY. It garnered him no friends, no admirers or even swooning maidens. Which pissed off his father no end. King Filip had one son. One heir. And needless to say, he wasn't impressed with the one he had to rely on. So, there was something he could do. It seemed drastic, but it might work. Might help Kalfor become a better son, a better husband, a better King. His musings were interrupted with a superior and haughty sigh. THAT, it came, fully and completely self-absorbed, was NOT a touch. He reined in his horse and removed his helmet. Medium length raven black hair, piercing green eyes the colour of spring leaves, and he must have been 6' 4 if he had been a foot. And in that moment, every year of 18. Or really, just shy of his birthday. I need a decision. Now. He breathed hard and deep, like he was building up for something. And soon enough... there it was. FATHER! he cried. He's CHEATING! Hugh of Glee had come to joust. An honest, fair knight who had seen battle and the field in half as many years as the scoundrel Prince Kalfor had lived. Were it not that he came with his Liege Lord, the King of Makish, nothing would have prevented him from threatening the peace with this neighboring land. But by his honor would he have challenged the pup to a duel. Instead he sat his mount and lifted his helm. His countenance dark. The King of Makish sat quietly strumming his fingers on the arm of the throne next to Prince Kalfor's father. He remained neutral in this the jousting field. Several contests today won by the Prince for want of a man unable to keep seated on his mount moments before the crash of the lance. It was not his field and by the look of those loyal to the king each time the boy stroked a victory they grew more sullen. It seemed the Prince might be a favorite among some of the peasants but those that held the power in the land held their tongues. Not willing to challenge the up and rising king, yet unwilling to move a hand against him while they still could. Loyalty to his father perhaps. Or fear of reprisal. There had been rumors that the boy had often been called the sledge hammer of torture. No simple task to win so great a title of fear from your own people. King Filip leaned forward, nodding at the King of Makish and finally stood to look at the lists. They had been far too chewed up with the horse hooves and it was near dark. Kalfor, his voice rang out strong and true. This match is not yours. He inwardly cringed at what was about to come. But he spoke truth. The green eyes flashed in anger at the covered dais. His nostrils flared angrily and the look was enough to melt the metal caps on the sconces. But to flout the King was akin to treason. So Kalfor held his tongue and nodded once. He would grudgingly concede. But only because otherwise, he might die. But for nothing else. No other reason. None. Without saying much, more a Lord loyal to King Filip shouted, Long Live the King!! Long live Prince Kalfor!! It was more or less a cue and it rallied those lords that were ready to shout obscenities. A milder form and truer to the nature of things for everyone sake. The chorus rose up among them. The first part of the cheer eagerly shouted the last seemed to lose its momentum and petered out even among the peasants watching. The King of Makish pounded his fist on the arm of the throne as did those of his council in the custom of his court. He stayed seated allowing the honor to go to King Filip. It gave him a better view of the lords that cheered and those that did not. His own aide, a scholar and traveler some said a slaver marked the throng well, deciding who were friend and foe. Finally the Makish King stood and with a slight nod of the head to Filip spoke, Youth and wisdom, a mighty combination were they in the same body, He chuckled. We were young once as well. Filip sighed heavily. I agree, he said and stood up and carefully. After his 18th birthday, once he celebrated within the castle walls, he would be an official successor to the throne. And he was simply not ready. Not at all. Everything in preparation? he asked. There was a small glance in the direction of his son, finally dismounting and his squires cringing beneath the onslaught. Please tell me that you understood the full implications? Hugh of Glee turned his mount. Disgusted at the shameful behavior, he cantered the animal to the stables where he squire waited. The King of Makish watched attempting to understand how Filip had let the boy have so much of his head and then allow him to take the throne. Insane. It would be a war no one wanted but everyone would have to choose sides. Much like Hugh of Glee a joust without purpose or honor. The Makish King said nothing while his aide moved among the Lords.