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Two years. It had been two years since Prince Darcy left his home to look for a solution to their growing monster problem. And after all that time, it was finally over. Riding in the back of a merchant's cart, he beamed knowing he would be home soon. The journey hadn't been easy; he'd started to fear that his quest was for naught. But then he found it. The strength he needed to save his kingdom.
The claymore was beautiful. Its white-silver blade was untarnished, and the red ruby that lay in the center of the guard shone like the sun. From the moment he first held it, he could feel the immense power it brought. He could feel the bolts of electricity flow through the blade and into his veins when he tested it on some monsters. It was exhilarating. Between him and his father, a powerful member of The Five, the aberrations accosting his people wouldn't stand a chance. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing his home would be safe soon.
His return to Whiteridge's capital was met with little fanfare, as he had come unannounced, his regal armor hidden by a common cloak. He always liked walking amongst his people like this, watching the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It was nice to take a step away from huge affairs of governance and pretend to be a passing traveler for a little while. But he did not linger today. No, today he walked straight past all his favorite spots in the square and marched right to the Obsidian Keep. A choice he would later come to regret.
After some cheerful reunions with the royal family's staff, he was told that he should wait in the drawing room while King Caelan was informed of his return. He paced its floor nervously, excited to see his father again, but desperately hoping his new plan could convince him to stop isolating Whiteridge. Since the monster raids began, the building of walls and barriers around their kingdom had begun cutting off their ties with the other kingdoms. Whiteridge was dependent on its relations with the other kingdoms, not only to survive, but to excel. Travelers and merchants brought so much life to the country, and to lose them would cost far more than they could recover from. It had already caused some strain on his father's relationship with the other members of the Five.
He frowned as he looked out the window to the city below. Certain districts had been badly damaged in the last raid, it seemed. He shook off the unease in his mind, and decided he wouldn't wait around any longer. His father was going to hear him out now. As he left the room and strode down the hall, a certain lesson he had been taught as a child came to mind; The people of Whiteridge are strong. We do not run.
"Darcy."
The voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts, and the prince looked up to see his father; broad and towering, looking back at him. To most people, his unchanged expression would signal apathy, but Darcy knew his father better than that. He could see the bit of light in his eyes; he was happy to see him.
"Father! I've returned at last!"
"I can see that. I'm glad to see you are unharmed."
He stepped forward and hugged the king, who gave a small chuckle and light pat on the back in return. He was relieved; he hadn't left on the best of terms.
"It's good to see you again, my boy."
"You as well, father. Though I enjoyed my time on the road, it's good to finally be home."
The king nodded. "The courtyards were very quiet without you to train in them everyday. But the groundskeepers certainly appreciated the less frequent damage to the hedges."
He scowled. "I only cut through the bushes once, and I apologized profusely."
His father shook his head and smiled. "You say that, but the almond shrubs actually flowered for the first time in years this spring."
The prince sighed. "Well, shrubbery aside, I am glad to say that my absence was well worth it."
"Is that so?" His father's expression evened out again. "Is that why you've chosen to return?"
"Of course! I said that I would find a way to save our people and I have." He reached to his side and unsheathed the pristine claymore. "With this, our monsters are as good as gone."
King Caelan's eyes widened as he looked down at the blade. The shock on his face quickly gave way to horror and fear. The prince grew nervous, but did not speak. He almost didn’t hear his father’s shaky whisper;
"What have you done?"
Darcy had never seen his father so shaken.
"What do you mean? Is everything alright?"
He paused, regaining his composure, before his expression steeled and he spoke again; "Darcy. The concern you show for your home is admirable, but this thing will not save you.”
His heart sank. "Father, I know it might not look like much, but this sword holds power! I've already seen what it's capable of; if we both face the hordes together, we can beat them back!"
His father's brow furrowed. "This sword holds no power for you. Hand it over."
And suddenly, he felt a jolt of panic shoot through his heart. He couldn't just hand over the sword, not after everything he'd been through! His grip on the handle tightened as he lowered it to his side, suddenly growing possessive over it.
"No. Our people need this. We need this."
"Give me the sword, Darcy. Now."
"Why can't you understand?! We can't just hide away behind our walls forever! We have to take action, we owe it to our people!"
" You don't understand, boy." Caelan spat. "Your foolishness will bring this kingdom to ruin. Hand it over, now. I won't ask again."
He felt his blood boil. "Two years! Two years I've been out there looking for a solution, all the while you've consigned yourself to cower away behind your walls! To damn your kingdom to die a slow, painful death instead of standing and fighting for it! I said it before I left, and I'll say it again; your stubbornness will be the end of us all!"
His words echoed down the marble hallway. He felt the beginnings of tears starting to sting his eyes, as they both stood in stunned, pained silence.
"Very well." His father's voice was low and cold. "If you will not surrender it willingly, I will take it from you." He reached to his side and unsheathed his broadsword, looking back at his son with a cold glare.
"Draw your blade."
Darcy couldn't breathe. His father was challenging him to a duel. Instead of listening to reason, he wanted to draw blood. His blood.
"...Father?" His voice was weak, and faltered.
"I said. Draw. Your. Blade."
He stared back at his father in shock. He was serious. "I...I can not do such a- "
He stepped out of the way just in time as King Caelan lunged at him, sword crashing down to the marble floor. He held up the claymore in a defensive stance and tried desperately to control the shaking in his arms.
"Please, I don't want to fight! Th-there must be some way we can-"
He parried another strike, flinching under the force of it. Before he had time to speak, his father was advancing on him. King Caelan was one of the greatest swordsmen that ever lived, and Darcy knew it. He had trained all his life to be able to best him one day, and though he had beaten him in a couple sparring matches in recent years, he couldn't possibly think he could beat him now.
The clashing of metal rang out above the growing storm outside.
"Stop this, please!"
"Surrender the blade!"
"I can't! I won't! You can't keep us trapped here!"
Another strong blow from his father was just barely deflected. He couldn't hold him back forever and they both knew it. He needed to run; get to a more advantageous position, then he might have a chance to-
He stepped too close. Darcy tried to maneuver around him, but caught the end of his father's upswing as a line of searing white pain cut across his face. He screamed and collapsed to the floor, hand clutching over his left eye, useless now. His eye. His father had taken his fucking eye. He could feel the blood pooling in his fingers and dripping to the floor. And as he screamed in agony, he heard a voice;
"He's going to kill you."
It was faint, but it was there. A foreign voice in the very back of his mind.
"All you wanted to do was help. And now you're going to pay for it with your life."
He gritted his teeth
"You're going to be murdered in cold blood by your own father."
If he had looked behind him, he might have seen his father reaching out to him in concern. He might have seen the desolate and horrified look on his face. But as he gripped the sword and let out a cry of rage, the only thing he saw was the bright crimson light that arced off his blade, as he turned and cut through his opponent.
King Caelan immediately stumbled back and dropped his weapon, having been cut across the chest. It took a moment for the rage to subside, before the prince realized what he had done. With his one working eye, he watched his father crumple to the ground, clutching at the grievous wound he had given him. His throat tightened as he lowered his sword and let out a sob.
"Father!" He rushed forward, but stopped when he saw his father flinch. He thought he was still going to attack him. He choked on his tears. "Please! I didn't want this! I never wanted this!"
The king let out a few labored breaths, and spoke in a thick, unsteady voice;
"Leave…" He let out a wet cough. "Leave and…never come back."
He wanted to speak, to say something, but nothing came to him as he felt his heart shatter. And as he turned and ran, he heard only three things; his feet against the marble, the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the thunder steadily growing louder outside.