Chapter Text
Deckard never really felt anything.
Oh, yes. He did feel something when he was little. Childish emotions, you see. His temper was something to be reckoned with when he was but a babe and nothing else but the calm tones of his mother, or the soothing tones of the little princess would calm his nerves. But as he grew, it was like he was devoid of emotions, like he was one of those mindless corpses he had seen his mother control in the Richards Estate.
This didn’t change when his mother’s words finally echoed in his mind to push further. Nothing truly changed when he drained his father’s soul from his body while the man tried to cling to him, when he watched the most powerful divinity in the world disappear, or when he sat on the cold throne of the Empire.
Nothing changed.
Yet this emptiness was what caused him for a want of change, and he knew he could have it with that one princess of Lebovny that he had grown with. Brisney Lebanon, one of the last remaining members of the royal family of Lebovny, was the only person who could bring a smile on his face and bring warmth to his chest.
Or so he thought.
***
The smell of ash and blood penetrated the chaotic gardens of the Palace of Lebovny. Screams echoed as metals clashed against one another, men fighting men because of greed and power. Deckard walked through it all, his mana shoving men away, uncaring if they were of Belgoat or of Lebovny. All that mattered to him was the thirteen-year-old princess inside the rounded palace.
He entered the red-stained floors and walls of the small palace and glanced his surroundings. He was in the Eastern Wing, which irked him. He had been informed that Brisney was in her deceased mother’s Western Wing of the Palace. Deckard scowled, lifting his fingers and throwing mana to a bunch of knights who were headed his way, lashing out his irritation on them.
His mother had told him he could have everything he could possible want. No minor mishap by some old geezer from the Tower was going to stop that. He would make sure that Rosel would hear of this from himself.
As he was about to find his way to the western section of the palace, a dash of colour caught his ruby eyes. A strange and unique hair color.
Pink.
Deckard paused, his guards stopping behind him, as he looked at the direction of where he had seen the pink hair.
There was only one woman in the entirety of Riker who was popularly attributed to that hair colour.
Yereninovica Susuvia Lebovny.
The Crown Princess of Lebovny and Brisney’s aunt.
Despite his wish to rush to Brisney, Deckard raised his brow.
Princess Yereninovica wasn’t something new to the gossiping folk of the continent. Despite being hailed as a great beauty in her prime years, she never chose to marry, grief stricken by the death of her sister and brother-in-law, as well as a friend who had been injured in one of the several battles with Belgoat.
She had taken her duties as a crown princess well, handling the political affairs while her father raged on the kidnapping of his pregnant daughter, ignoring the fact that had nit not been for his greed, none of this would have ever happened.
The princess was considered a mystery, as she never really let out anything about herself. One thing that was known though was her love for her family, and how she took in her only niece when her sister died in the year past to the plague haunting Lebovny.
Her love of family. Deckard stepped forward to the direction of the crown princess who was now hiding behind one of the pillars upon seeing the palace she had once known as her home crowded with Belgoat men. She’d lead me to Brisney.
Deckard held onto the pillar and looked up at the woman, who then looked down upon noticing his presence.
She was shorter than his mother. Her skin was as pale as snow, pairing with the yellow dress she wore. Her pink hair was in a loose bun, a simple crown on her head. But most importantly, what stopped Deckard were her blue eyes, eyes that resembled so much of Brisney.
But these eyes were frightened, instead of cheerful.
Deckard, despite being merely at the age of twelve, had brought fear to the hearts of many. With his cruel ways and his black magic, none dared to go against him, none dared to meet his face.
But this woman.
With those eyes that he felt he could have known, it was different.
“… Greetings, Princess Yereninovica.” He bowed his head, face devoid of anything, not showing any of his thoughts. “Please lead us to where Princess Brisney is.”
He was a boy with manners, after all. Besides, it would not do to bring harm to one of Brisney’s remaining relatives.
“…” the woman was silent, pale and trembling. Deckard then realized that this must have been her first time seeing so much bloodshed, recalling that the princess had spent her time inside the walls of her family’s palace.
Deckard clicked his tongue, impatient like others around his age. “It would not do well to waste my time, Your Highness. Lead us to where Princess Brisney is and this bloodshed will end.”
There was a continued silence from the woman. Deckard was tempted to lash out more of his divinity on her when she startled him by kneeling to him. This time, it was now her who was looking up at him.
“… Take me instead.” She whispered, “Please, not Brisney. She’s the only one I have left. Please, have mercy.”
Deckard scoffed. “I do not wish to bring offense, Your Highness, but I have no use of you. I came here for one thing and one thing only.”
Then, as if his words triggered a fiery response, those blue eyes brightened, as if the sky had been illuminated by lightning on a clear day.
“I may be powerless right now, but it would do you well not to treat my niece as an object that one can possess. Besides,” a smug look came to her face, “even if you turn this palace upside down and raze it to the ground, you won’t find her here.”
Deckard clenched his teeth as he glared at the woman in front of him.
Brisney had escaped.
The sight of those determined blue eyes irked him, yet at the same time…
“Very well, then.” His younger voice declared. “Take the Princess.” He turned and returned to the now subdued and red field, ignoring the corpses his mana feasted on.
“After all, Brisney wouldn’t want anything to happen to her aunt now, would she?” he turned in time to see the pale realization of the remaining royal in Livney.
The woman resisted with all she had, but in the end was weak against the hardened men of Belgoat. Still though, everything about her reminded him a bit of Brisney. He also admired how she was willing to sacrifice herself for her niece, a child who wasn’t even her own. Deckard, for a moment, wondered if his mother would have done the same thing for him, if his father –
Deckard scoffed. Dead men tell no tales. He thought as he watched a guard lift the now weakened woman to his horse. He got on his own, Ruid, a mighty white steed that had once belonged to his father. He had always seen the old man leave the palace grounds but didn’t really know where he went.
A lover, perhaps? Deckard almost laughed at the thought when it popped into his mind. There’s no way that stoic man could possibly have one.
“Troops of Belgoat!” he shouted as he opened a portal with the wave of his hand. “Retreat!”
The last thing he saw and hear were the burning annex of the small palace and the pained screams of a woman.
***
“Deckard…”
***
When the blinding light of the portal finally faded, Deckard breathed the fresh air of the countryside. His eyes scanned his men, noting of injuries and anything out of the ordinary when the worried tone of one man caught his attention and he turned his head.
“Princess?” the knight asked, lightly shaking the unconscious woman leaning on his armored chest. “Your Highness, are you alright?”
There was a still silence that lasted for a few moments before the knight’s tone became more panicked and some knights got off their horses to help. Deckard grit his teeth as he got off Ruid as well.
“You idiot, what did you do?!” he barked at the worried knight who looked up at him in panic and confusion.
“Your Majesty, I swear I did nothing wrong! When we entered the portal she began to scream, but I don’t know why.” He then returned his focus to assist the still princess down his hose with some knights. “Next thing I know, she’s like this. I swear on my honor, Your Majesty.”
“Your honor means nothing to me if you cost us all our efforts.” Deckard snarled at the man and waved for Rosel to approach them. He sighed in exasperation as he motioned for one knight to use the banner as a sheet for the princess to lie on. The banner means nothing for him anyway. He was no son of his father, and he was sure the man could be turning on his resting place if he ever saw this sight.
Deckard crossed his arms as he watched Rosel do his work, the mana surrounding them. Everything was quiet at first until the silence was interrupted by the screams of the unconscious woman, and even that startled Deckard.
“Rosel!” he barked, wincing as he held his poor ear. “What the Lamordi –“
“I... don’t know, Your Majesty.” The solemn old man responded, “I did nothing but a mere scan of her body.”
Deckard scratched his nape. “Well, this is all becoming very vexing now, is it?”
He clicked his tongue as Rosel tried his best to wake the princess up but to no avail. First, Brisney was goen. Second, we got the wrong princess. Third, this? What else? That man crawling out of the basement? Deckard almost laughed. Almost.
To soothe his anger, he flicked his wrist and instantly, dark mana pooled out and slammed the knight against a nearby tree. Nothing was said. For everyone knew that even a minor mishap could trigger the wrath of the young emperor who was capable of killing even his own father.
“Urgh…” all of their attention went to the source of the sound.
The princess was now awakening, her hair in disarray and clothes rumpled, but even then, she looked beautiful and Deckard noticed his men’s gawking. He rolled his eyes and used his mana to swat them at the back of their hands, flinching when the princess suddenly cried out in pain.
“Rosel.” He commanded, tired, and wanting nothing else than a warm bath and some wine.
Immediately, the head wizard lifted the edges of his sleeve to do his magic on the princess, but again, the princess cried out in pain.
“Enough!” Deckard shouted, stomping towards the weeping woman who looked up at him with a hazy gaze. “What on earth is the matter with you? Stop screaming or I’ll kill you. You may be a hostage but you’re worthless to me.”
His words caused a slight tremble to emerge from the woman’s body. Yet, there was a resolute gaze there, “Kill me and you won’t get Brisney.” She panted, perhaps still pained from whatever Deckard doesn’t know.
Deckard rolled his eyes once again. “I don’t need you to get her. I can scour the entire continent if I wanted to.”
The lack of response from the princess made him give out a smug smile. “You have no power here, Your Highness. You’re nothing more than a replaceable bargaining chip.” He nodded to a different knight. “You, there. The princess will be riding with you this time. I don’t want to stay in this road forever. Rosel, make a portal to the palace.”
***
“The announcement of Princess Yereninovica’s capture has been sent to every part of the continent, Your Majesty.” Perrik informed him. “It will only be a matter of time before Princess Brisney hears of it and comes to you.”
Deckard looked up from his book to the greying knight and aide.
The man had been one of his father’s most loyal men, and when he had heard the death of his monarch, Perrik was about to retire but Deckard wouldn’t let him. Despite the event that had happened, Perrik had been one of the men he had grown with, and was even the man who had taught him the way of the sword. Even if the old man resented him for the death of Erudian Belgoat, the knight was first and foremost loyal to Belgoat.
Perhaps he thought he could contain me by remaining by my side. Deckard huffed, unamused by his mentor’s possible thoughts. He’s wrong, unfortunately.
“How is the princess doing?”
“For now, I have placed her in Bellrock Palace. The maids that had served Princesses Tezevia and Brisney has also been sent there.”
“Has she awoken?”
“No, Your Majesty. She is still unconscious. Sir Rosel is still in Bellrock doing an inspection.”
Deckard hummed, then sent Perrik away.
Once he was alone, Deckard threw the book to the large desk and flopped against the large chair.
All of these had belonged to his father.
Deckard clicked his tongue. He never really got on well with his father, which made it easier to get rid of him. His emperor of a father was more concerned with his duties and everyone in the empire knew the only reason why he married his mother and had him was because it was one of those said duties to the crown and to the empire.
There had been the annual birthday gifts and greetings, balls and all those pomp and circumstances. But other than that? Nothing.
Oh, he did try to make him go to the Temple. Deckard could almost laugh when he recalled the fierce shouting his mother gave his father that day.
Almost.
His ruby-red eyes went to the large window behind the chair and he turned fully, gazing at the small palace across the large central gardens of the Imperial Palace.
While it hadn’t been Brisney, he at least took home a princess of Lebovny.
A knock on his study door disrupted him from his thoughts and his mother entered. He let out a huff as she sat on one of the chairs before his desk.
Here goes another lecture. He placed his chin on his clenched fist, ready to block her voice out from his ears.
“I came back from the south to hear that the emperor has carried out a mission I had not agreed to, has kidnapped the heir to the Lebovny Kingdom, and said princess has been unconscious for two weeks. You have been a very busy monarch, indeed. Should I congratulate you? Do you wish to be praised for your efforts?”
“Enough, Mother.” He huffed, “I don’t want to hear your nagging.”
Immediately, the dark eyes of the empress regent shined and there was a suffocating presence in the room. Deckard lifted his hand, conjuring a mana shield from his mother as a wave of mana was about to reach him.
His mother clicked her tongue as Deckard continued to give her a passive reaction.
“You will learn to give me some respect, boy. You are my son, and you will treat me with the dignity and respect that a monarch and a parent deserves.”
Deckard let out a sardonic laugh at her words, amused at the squinted look she had. “You’re not the empress, you’re the empress dowager. I should really work on that regency thing. Also, you really want me to treat you like a monarch and a parent?” Deckard pointed downwards and his mother followed it. “Mother, please don’t forget where Father is right now.”
His mother looked at him, startled and horrified.
Ah, Deckard thought, she perhaps thought I wouldn’t turn against her.
But Deckard was tired of it. Tired of her. All his life, he had done nothing but listen to her go on and on about Judetta and Lamordi like an obsessed woman, and even pushed him to kill his own father. He had now done the reason and purpose why his mother conceived him, and now it was his turn to fulfil his desires.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I managed to defeat the most powerful divine man in the world, someone even you couldn’t defeat if you wanted to.” Deckard tilted his head to his mother. “Do you really think you would be a challenge for me, Mother?”
It would have been a ridiculous sight if they had been normal people. A child threatening a grown woman, his own mother. But then again, Deckard never really considered Soleia Elard to be a true mother. If anything, she was a mentor.
Well, she did more than Father, at least.
“Princess Yereninovica has not woken for a day, as you said. Perhaps Rosel is becoming senile as his skills grow weaker by the day. Go attend to the Princess, Mother. Please make no mistakes, you know how I dislike them.”
He leant back on his chair, picking up his book once again and ignored his mother who continued to look at him in shock. Eventually, she turned and left the room, leaving Deckard alone in the silence he had made for himself.
***
“… you’re so precious.”
***
“Mana maladjustment.”
Deckard lifted a brow at the words from Rosel and his eyes went to his silent mother standing beside the old man. His mother sighed and continued her mentor’s findings to her own son.
“It’s a rare… illness, let’s say for the lack of a better word. It’s usually found amongst children, and they don’t last for more than five years. It’s terminal. Their bodies are fragile, unable to adjust to the mana that surrounds them.” His mother explained, quietly and Deckard knows their last conversation still lingers in his mother’s mind.
Deckard shoved away those thoughts and puffed out a breath. “Clearly the princess is no longer a child, though. She’s what? Thirty something?”
“Thirty-one.” The empress regent supplemented.
“Right, thirty-one.” Deckard waved his hand, unbothered. “Clearly she doesn’t have this mana maladjustment if she’s able to live this long.”
“Perhaps, but then, Your Majesty, Lebovny isn’t really mana concentrated as Azekien and Belgoat.” Rosel stepped forward. “While mana does surround us every day, there are usually places that have a smaller concentration. The Cezanne Mountain Ranges protect Lebovny from the mana of both Belgoat and Azekien, also, Lebovny has Raulus as their patron god. Divinity is prominent there compared to mana.”
The mention of divinity somehow irked him.
Divinity.
A power granted from the gods themselves to humans, and most of all, an ability passed down by blood within the Belgoat family. It was something that the Empire of Belgoat prided itself with, the emperor who was a descendant of the god, Raulus.
Deckard glanced and played with his fingers, watching his skin circle one another in contemplation.
He was a descendant of the said god, the son of the man who was said to be the most potent in divinity. But those are all nothing now. Not with how he embraced a different power, how he killed his own father.
“Deckard….”
Deckard closed his eyes.
“How irritating.” He muttered. His ruby eyes went back to his two mentors. “Well then? Is there a cure for this?”
Rosel shrugged. “Not a cure, per say. Mana Sensitivity could be dealt with, but this is a severe form of that. Mana Maladjustment isn’t something so easily removed by mana itself.” His eyes glimmered as his eyes focused on Deckard and the young monarch frowned, not liking where the conversation was heading. “The only way to sustain the princess’ life for now is to have a constant source of divinity.”
Deckard grit his teeth.
Divinity again.
It’s always divinity.
“You’re my son.”
I’m not.
Deckard waved the two away, his eyes glaring at the desk, the study, anything that belonged to his father.
“Summon the priests then. I have no time to be spending some time with some weak princess who can’t even wake up.”
And when the silence enveloped him once again, the silence he placed upon himself, it was suffocating. He glared at the symbol hanging over the fireplace, a symbol of red and silver. Deckard threw some mana to it, expecting it to burn. But instead, the generations worth of divinity lying there from his ancestor protected the emperor’s symbol and it remained spotless.
How vexing. But what’s even more vexing, he stood and kicked the wooden desk, eyes glaring at small palace across his window, is that you’re bothering me.
***
“Deckard, you have to help people.”
***
Deckard let out an annoyed sigh as he walked the imperial gardens at night. Lately, memories of the old man had been bothering him. True, Erudian Belgoat wasn’t the father everyone could have wanted, and Deckard hardly recognizes him as ‘father,’ even if the word spilled out his mouth whenever he tried to call the old man’s attention, still he was a constant presence in the palace he had considered home.
‘Considered’ is a key term. What else did he have to consider ‘home’ after all?
Immediately, his eyes went to the small castle just some meters away from where he was now standing.
Bellrock Palace.
It was where he spent time during his childhood playing with Brisney, and where he met the kind gaze of the deceased Princess Tezevia. Those warm and blue eyes of the mother and daughter pair welcomed him every time despite being the son of their kidnapper, the man who killed their husband and father. And now it was being resided by another relative who was the result of a kidnapping as well.
“The Princess has still not woken from her sleep.”
Deckard hesitantly walked to the direction of the palace.
His mother and Rosel had told him that her body was having difficulty in getting used to the mana around her. With the imperial palace grounds being protected by mana stones and having wizards walk around, of course the woman would be weakened. Was her body finally preparing for its last moments?
“I have an aunt back in Lebovny, Mother says.”
“Really?” Deckard hummed, watching the pretty princess make him a flower crown out of pink roses.
“Yes!” she giggled, “Mother says she’s so beautiful she’s like the pink roses here in the gardens!”
Deckard’s fingers touched the pink roses of the gardens as he approached. He recalled what the older woman looked like. Light pink hair, blue eyes, and skin as white as snow. She might no longer be the beauty described, but it lingered still.
He stepped into the small palace grounds, the grounds tensing in attention at the sight of him and the night maids bowed as he climbed the steps to where he knew was Princess Tezevia’s room, a room he was familiar with as he played with Brisney with the toys his father had provided for the child princess.
Marianne Levasilla appeared from the dark hallway and bowed before he had the opportunity to open the sleeping princess’ door. It was clear she was abruptly awakened by the news of his presence in the palace she managed as her hair was unusually down, her nightgown covered only by a grey robe.
“Your Majesty, what brings you here to Bellrock Palace?”
“I don’t think I need to inform you whenever I enter a palace I own.”
The head maid tensed and Deckard turned the gold knob on the door.
The room was dark. Deckard never came here in the evening. His mother always ordered a maid to take him when she realized where he was. She never did like the fact that he spent some time with the royals from Lebovny, but
Father didn’t mind…
Deckard frowned at his ridiculous thoughts and entered the room, his long night robe gliding against the wood and carpeted floor. Immediately, he was bombarded of memories of childish laughter, of an indulging smile, of a motherly touch on his cheek, and sad weeping on the bed.
His eyes went to where the princess should be and of course, she remained still, as still as the dead.
Then his happy-filled memories turned sour as he recalled another still figure who lay at his feet, body drained of divinity and surrounded by black mana.
Deckard jumped from his dark thoughts as a whimper emerged from the bed and his red eyes returned to where the princess was, shifting in her bed.
She’s awake? He frowned and approached the bed, ignoring Marianne Levasilla’s urgent whispers of it being inappropriate, as he lifted the curtains and watched.
The woman was sweating, as if feverish, and her breathing was filled with difficulty. Her hands clawed and scratched her sheets as her skin turned paler and paler.
“Their bodies are fragile, unable to adjust to the mana that surrounds them.”
Mana. Deckard realized with a start that his mere presence brought pain to the other monarch. In his startled state, he lowered his mana, containing it until the whimpers and cries from the princess stopped and a relieved sigh emerged from her dry lips.
Deckard was confused momentarily before he felt it.
And was revolted by it.
Divinity.
He was releasing divinity.
Anger filled his bones as the mere reminder of the reason of his existence emerged but before he could unleash his mana, a voice halted him. Deckard’s red gaze went back to the bed where blue eyes, awake but asleep at the same time, was trained on him.
“Deckard…”
His eyes widened.
“Deckard…”
The corner of his lips lowered into a scowl. “How dare you–“
“You…” she interrupted him, gasping for breath even in her sleep, “You had such a sad childhood…”
Her words felt like there was a hand on his throat, making him unable to speak.
Her eyes were lowering and it seemed like she was fighting to keep it open with how slow and constant they were opening and closing.
“Why did… they make you the villain?” she muttered in her sleep and Deckard furrowed his brows in confusion, “You only wanted…. You wanted… love…”
Then, she raised her left hand and the gesture was so familiar that Deckard’s body moved in instinct. His head lowered and the soft fingers grazed his cheek.
“If only… he showed it… more… then… he…” the hand fell from his cheek but Deckard immediately caught it. Then, he felt it.
Divinity leaving his body to go to her.
“The only way to sustain the princess’ life for now is to have a constant source of divinity.”
He frowned. He didn’t know her body was desperate for something… something…
Marianne Levasilla placed a chair beside the bed, the same chair Princess Tezevia would sit against the window. Deckard sat on it, his hand still holding the cold left of the princess.
He remained there until dawn came and those blue eyes opened once again.
***
Breakfast was awkward to say the least. The woman peeked at the teenager once in a while in hesitation before going back to her breakfast, though it remained uneaten while Deckard ignored her glances and continued to eat his eggs and bacon.
It was only when his plate was empty did he final speak with the royal.
“You haven’t eaten in three days, Your Highness. Some breakfast would do you some good.”
The princess flinched at the sound of his voice before slowly slicing some egg and taking it in her mouth.
“I guess as I am here, I should be the one informing you.” Those blue eyes returned to him, “It would seem you have mana maladjustment.”
Confused, the princess tilted her head to the side. “I believe I am unfamiliar with the term, Your Majesty.”
Deckard shrugged. “I was as well before it was introduced to me by Rosel and my mother.” He leaned against the chair, eyes not leaving the woman whose body was still taking his divinity. He didn’t know what to do with that for now, but he will deal with that fact later. “Basically, your body is having a hard time adjusting to the mana of the land. It’s a miracle you’re alive, though. Usually, people with this case only lasts for five years.”
Immediately, the princess stopped eating and paled. “F, Five years…?”
Deckard hummed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, though. I mean, you’re no longer the age of five, are you?” he snorted at his own jest, poor as it was. “I still think it’s not mana maladjustment. You’re too old for it anyway.”
The silence that followed made him look to where the princess was and he noticed the horror engulfing her features.
“What’s the matter?” Deckard sighed, “Ah, well, I guess it is a bit of a shock when you hear you have a terminal disease.” He stood and looked down at her. “Also, don’t address me so casually again.”
“What…?”
Deckard rolled his eyes and gestured for her to finish eating. “Come on, old lady. You’re going to meet someone.”
***
“Greetings, Your Highness.” The brunette bowed. “I am Diego Schumart. Archbishop of the Temple of Raulus.”
“Ah.” The princess bowed hesitantly, “H, Hello…”
Deckard huffed and stepped forward. “Your body is sensitive to mana. Just a little hint of it is enough to make you feel pain, if you would recall. To counter that, you need to have a constant source of divinity. Diego here is enough for that.”
“Is that so…” the princess muttered before bowing her head, “Thank you for your consideration.”
Deckard rolled his eyes as he made his way to leave Bellrock Palace. “I’m not doing this for you, Princess. I’m doing this for myself. Brisney would have no doubt heard of you being taken by now.”
“Still,” the princess continued as he kept walking down the stairs, “you did say I was worthless to you, and that you were going to kill me.”
Deckard didn’t respond to that as the cold and warmth on his cheek lingered.
***
“Oh.” A startled gasp was heard and Deckard turned his little head to see a radiant sky. “Prince Deckard, what are you doing over there?” the lady bent so that she could be at his level on the ground.
Deckard knows this woman. She was the princess in the small palace.
As she wiped his tears away, her red hair turned pink but the kind and loving smile remained.
***
Deckard opened his eyes, the blinding lights from the sun entering his room rudely through the windows without his permission.
“…”
He lifted his bedsheet and covered himself with it, circling around himself, wanting to feel the same warmth he had felt days ago on his cheek.
But nothing worked.
***
“What is the meaning of this?”
Deckard turned his head and saw his mother, her face aghast as her eyes rested on him.
“I can’t sense mana.”
Deckard sighed and rubbed his head. “I still have mana, Mother. I just lowered it.”
“May I ask why?”
“No, you may not.” Deckard muttered and continued his walk towards his study. But his mother persistently followed him into the room.
“Deckard, you will answer me. I am your mother!”
Deckard paused in front of the desk filled with papers, Perrik awkwardly looking down at the floor as the mother and son duo stared at each other.
“… Is that so?” he muttered lowly and continued his way to sit on the emperor’s chair, picking up documents a boy his age shouldn’t have to do. “Then, Mother, see yourself out.”
“Deckard-!”
“Perrik,” he muttered, reading the nonsense laws he knew he would reject. “please see to it that my mother leaves my study. I have so many tasks to do and she’s interrupting me.”
“… Yes, Your Majesty.” The aide muttered as he walked towards the empress regent and escorted her outside, despite the numerous protests from her.
Deckard sighed once he was alone once again and looked at his hands. At his will, blue and white divinity emerged from his hands. It was familiar to his body at a young age, but now its appearance was so alien to him.
“You do it like this, Deckard.”
He clenched his fists and the swirls of white and blue disappeared. Deckard was only doing this because Princess Yereninovica was someone Brisney treasured dearly, one of the few remaining relatives she had left. He knew she was bound to show up soon and he would have her by his side once again.
His eyes went to the small palace in the middle of the imperial palace grounds. It was an oddly shaped palace, shaped to suit the culture of Lebovny. His father, despite his intentions, wanted to at least make his hostage feel safe and familiar, surrounding her with things from her native land and servants with Lebovnyan descent.
Deckard placed his cheek on his raised fist, the same cheek that was touched sweetly by two princesses. One was gone, one remained. And although they were the same, there was something different about them, and he couldn’t place a finger on what it was.
When Perrik returned, Deckard let out a spur of the moment command.
“Summon the princess.”
He wanted to laugh at the shocked face Perrik showed him, which soon morphed into fear. No doubt the aide thought he would harm the princess, the same thing he did with those who irked and disobeyed him.
“I… Princess Yereninovica is… uh,” the aide tired to come up with an excuse to protect the royal but Deckard huffed.
“Don’t worry, Perrik. I’m not going to do anything to her. I just want to talk.”
With those words, his aide…, his father’s aide, left his study to fetch the princess himself, perhaps wanting to ensure her safety and Deckard wanted to roll his eyes. Really, Perrik would never change.
He knew that one of the reasons the man hadn’t left his side was because he had some small hope that he would see clarity, and that he was his father’s son through and through, become the man his father hoped he would be one day.
They’re all the same. Deckard stamped his seal of rejection to the paper from some fumbling noble in the east who wanted to make some port. Expectations, expectations.
He didn’t realize he had immersed himself with a legislation for wizard empowerment until the door opened and the princess entered the room, wearing a loose dress he was very much familiar with.
Deckard rubbed his temple. “Perrik, ensure that the Princess will get a weekly budget.”
“Ah, there is no need for–“
“It would not do me any well if people see you walking around in your sister’s old clothes.” Deckard grumbled as he made some editing on the legislation. “Although I am not a good man, I’d like to be polite enough to give a woman a simple object such as clothes.”
“Well,” the princess began hesitantly, sitting on one of the two sofas in the study as Perrik handed her some tea with a small smile, “you’re hardly a man.”
Immediately, Perrik’s smile disappeared and Deckard stopped his writing. He lifted his head to look at her with narrowed eyes.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Brisney told me you’re a year younger, yes? Which means you’re only twelve. Hardly a teenager.” She frowned, “You shouldn’t be doing these things. You should be out there,” she waved her hand to the closed windows, “training with a sword and fighting horses.” A sad look then enveloped her elegant features. “Not cooped up in here, working… I mean…”
Perrik fidgeted beside her as Deckard continued to look at the woman, brow raised at her.
“… You are aware of what I have done to assume this position?”
He then saw the fear engulf those blue eyes and he looked down.
“Thank you for your suggestions, but that isn’t the reason I summoned you here, Princess.”
“I’m aware.” She said both hesitantly and sheepishly, “I just wanted to tell you my thoughts.”
“I see.” He muttered, his mind running a thousand miles with her words.
“Well, then, why did you summon me, Your Majesty?”
His mind then stopped, unable to come up with an answer.
Again, he found himself in a position where he could not find a last word with her.
However, he found that he didn’t mind as well.
Instead, he sent some divinity her way.
***
“How do you live like this?”
“What?” Deckard gave her a complexed look, his brows furrowed together and his mouth set in a frown. He stared at the woman dressed in yellow, her hair in an elegant up-do, and her hands on her hips. Beside her was Perrik who looked at the royal with a frightened yet amused expression.
“Honestly!” the princess then turned and headed for his chair, and he was about to ask her what he was doing, anger threatening at his throat as she approached his chair but instead of sitting on it, she ignored and passed by it, heading for the window instead.
“Hey-“ his voice was once again ignored in favor of her pushing the windows open and letting in a stream of fresh air enter the suffocating room.
“There!” the princess exclaimed as she rested her palms on the window sill. She turned back to him, her face brighter than ever. “Isn’t that much better, Deckard?”
He should scold her, and it would have been amusing to be a part of a scene where a mere child scolds a woman who was nearly twice his age, but he didn’t. He couldn’t as the garden air swarmed through his lungs and the scent of roses engulfed him whole.
Deckard watched in a daze as the blue eyes resembled those of the sky, and for the first time, he didn’t compare her to Princess Tezevia or to Brisney. She was someone else to him now.
Someone who could call him by his name so freely.
“Well?” a blinding smile, brighter than those damned sunrises that would interrupt his slumber, was given to him. “Isn’t it?”
Deckard nodded mutely and went back to work.
A sigh emerged behind him. “Shouldn’t this be illegal? This is practically child labor!”
Deckard couldn’t resist the smile on growing on his face.
Another bout of divinity was sent to her.
***
“You’ve been spending time with that Lebovnyan Princess.” His mother spoke during dinner one evening. “It’s good to see she’s up and about.”
Deckard halted his eating to meet his mother’s dark gaze. “Yes, it is.”
“However,” here she goes, “I don’t think it is appropriate for a hostage to come and go in the Imperial Palace as she wishes.”
He let out an annoyed sigh. “She doesn’t come and go as she wishes, I am the one who requested for her to come to me.”
His mother raised one of her sharp brows. “Is that so? And why is it that our emperor demands- ah no, requests for the princess to come to him?” she raises a glass of wine. “What good would it bring for you? Does she help with anything?” she let out a small giggle, amused at the thought.
Deckard blinked at her before looking down at his steak, slicing it, “Actually, she does more help than you, Mother.”
A stunned silence followed after his words.
***
“Look what I found!” Deckard lifted his gaze from the book on Belgoatian laws. In the princess’ hands was a white and maroon leather-bound book with a clasp. “It’s a journal!”
They were in the library. Actually, he was in the library first but he found it suffocating as well and called for the princess’ presence. He could see Perrik getting amused day by day with his unusual request but at the end of it, he would see a small smile on the older man’s face.
“Yes.” Deckard nodded as he went back to reading a particular article about the wizards. “It’s a tradition for emperors to write journals once they have ascended the throne.”
“And have you begun this tradition?”
“I’m a little busy at the moment.” He remarked, a slow smile on his face as the woman began to laugh.
“You better get started, then.” She sat on the chair across from him, a reminiscent look on her face, “It would be nice to read your parents’ thoughts, don’t you think?”
Deckard grunted. “I don’t think I’m in the position to respond that question.”
The princess huffed at him and opened the journal, letting out a small gasp in moments after doing so.
“What?” Deckard frowned, “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She smiled sadly, her fingers caressing the first page of the journal. “Just something sweet.”
Deckard rolled his eyes. No doubt she found a journal of one of those amorous emperor’s in the past.
“Feel free to make it a romantic novel if you wish.”
“Hmm.” She merely hummed in response, “I can tell it’s already a wonderful love story already.”
Deckard rolled his eyes once again and went back to his reading. He had to prepare for an upcoming council meeting and he needed to balance out the scale for divinity and mana users.
***
“Deckard.”
A deep and solemn voice came to him.
“I know you’ll do extraordinary things.”
***
“Where is she?” Deckard frowned.
He has been waiting for more than thirty minutes by now. Deckard knew the distance from Bellrock to the Main palace usually took her fifteen minutes at the least, and sometimes it was past that as she would stop to pick some flowers in the garden to ‘liven up his study,’ as she would say.
The princess has been living in Belgoat for almost a year now. There had been no response from Brisney as of yet, and he was convinced that in some way, Princess Yereninovica has been sending letters to her in secret, assuring her niece that she was fine in Belgoat though he was still unsure of this.
Lebovny’s king had been demanding over and over again to have his remaining daughter be returned but those letters were immediately thrown into the flames. Though, he did let the princess write to her father once a month. She had insisted that he was too young to go to war as he fixed his collar one morning as she said it looked as if, ‘it was choking him.’
In a way, he found comfort he had never done in Princess Yereninovica. Not even her own sister did those little things for him. Princess Tezevia, although kind and comforting to him, also kept her distance from him in a small way.
And as Deckard continued to be… be babied by the pink princess, he also constantly forgot about why she was even there in the first place, the presence and nagging of his mother the only reason he recalled Brisney even.
Without a choice as Perrik went to get her as usual, he stood up from his place and went outside his study. He was about to approach the stairs from the second floor that would lead him to the first when he heard her voice. Perplexed, he followed the sound and stopped when he realized where he was heading. Biting his lower lip, he hid behind the corner of one room, glaring at the portrait of his grandfather who looked down at him with an impassive yet smug look.
“-very handsome, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty was known for that, other than his abilities.”
“Ah, that’s right. Divinity. I always forget about that even though Deckard gives it to me by the hour. Haa, I’m jealous.”
Deckard almost let out a snort at her honesty. But still, he wondered why they had stopped here.
“Was he a good emperor?”
Deckard listened.
“… Yes, he was, Your Highness.”
“I could tell from the sound of your voice that you must miss him very much. Did you grow together?”
“Yes, Your Highness. My father used to be his father’s aide and knight, as well.”
“Ah, and you did the same thing to him and now you’re doing it for his son.” Her voice then let out a teasing tone, “Better hurry and find a wife, Perrik. Deckard is getting lonely and needs a Perrik when you’re old.”
A laugh emerged from his knight, something he had not heard ever since he had been introduced to the man when his father was still alive.
“I’ll get to that soon, but I believe I’m healthy still, so there’s no rush.”
“You’re almost forty!”
“Ah,” the knight chuckled, “time does slip so quickly.”
“Hmm, yes, it does.” A wave of silence engulfed them as Deckard waited for what was next. Her words were enough to make him falter.
“Was he a good father?”
A lump on his throat made him want to choke out loud, his mind became a haze as he heard the question.
Was Erudian Lu Soledo Belgoat a good father?
“… He tried his best, Your Highness.”
Deckard wanted to curse at the response. ‘His best’? If that was his father’s ‘best,’ then his father wasn’t someone praise-worthy at all then. Deckard wanted to laugh. Was his father even a ‘father’?
Most of their conversations didn’t even circulate about him or about Deckard. It was always about his duty as a prince, his duty as a Belgoat, duties, duties, duties, those damned duties and expectations.
“I see.” Deckard glanced at the silver vase at the other end of the hall to see the reflection of her touching the painting of his father. Her voice adapted a solemn tone, as if she was mourning for him. “You know, when I re– heard of his death,… it broke my heart.”
Deckard clenched his fists as his brow furrowed. He didn’t recall the princess meeting his father. Lebovny and Belgoat were on shaky relations with one another, he doubted they had even shared a room.
“I beg your pardon?” Perrik voiced out both of their confusions. “I didn’t know Her Highness met with His Majesty.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t meet him.” The princess corrected him, “I just knew of him and he…” There was a pause, she didn’t continue where she left off. “I just… found it sad. He would now have been… Thirty-seven?”
“Thirty-nine, Your Highness.”
“Thirty-nine.” She repeated. “You say he did his best, right? And they say Deckard… Deckard… defeated him.”
“Yes… Your Highness.”
“You say he was the most powerful man alive in Riker with the powers of divinity.” she continued, “I’m sure… when Deckard faced him that day… he couldn’t… he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t find it in him to fight his own son.”
“Deckard…” his father’s eyes widened and his mouth trembled, “what…”
“How could he?” the princess’ voice, which had soothed him always despite it disturbing him in times of reading, echoed in his head, “He did his best to be a father. And so, in a way, he loved Deckard, he loved his son, and couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, and in the end, gave up.”
“Deckard…” the bloodied hand clung to his slacks, “De… ckard…”
Deckard observed as her fingers landed on the area where his chest could have been, and instantly, it brought him back to the image of black mana seeping from the white uniform of his father’s chest. The sight he had already seen many times somehow revolted him now, and he let out a choke as he slumped downwards to the floor.
“Deckard?!” smooth and warm hands caressed his face and arms. “Deckard, gods, what’s the matter? Deckard!”
By then, he had realized that tears were pooling around his eyes streamed down his cheeks like a river. Deckard never did this before, and it felt painful but at the same time, it was so freeing. It felt as if some weight had been lifted.
As he looked up at the blue eyes that were worried for him, he crawled to her chest and embraced her and felt so, so warm when her arms encircled around him.