The Fugitive Prince

by Daniel Arndt

  “You know, you look like a princess.”

  Cass reddened. She jokingly jabbed Valente in the chest.

  “Slow down there, fancy pants. I’m here for your money.”

  Cass and Valente shared a laugh as their cart passed the archway into the castle courtyard.

  The escort captain helped Valente and Cass off the cart.

  “Here we are. The steward will be here shortly and he will clean you up for your audience. You will need to-”

  The stone clapped under hasted footsteps. A man with a brilliant and eccentric hat bustled towards the cart. His even more fantastic mustache bounced to keep its groomed form. The captain threw out an arm to help steady the man as he panted for breath. Beads of sweat dazzled on his forehead as evidence of his effort. The man recomposed and wildly gestured to the main double doors of the castle swung open. The guards posted outside it awkwardly moved aside from the unexpectedly opening doors. The steward caught his breath.

  “Captain. He demands the audience now!”

  The fancifully dressed man stepped up to Valente and glanced up and down. His frantic face spun into a displeased frown.

  “You’re him aren’t you? Oh dear. By Yo’s grand beard. You are unkempt.”

  The steward wiped the rain of perspiration from his brow.

  “Shor have infinite mercy. Come now. The king insists on seeing you.”

  Valente was stunned. Cass stepped up behind him and nudged him forward with a small shove. Valente turned around as Cass softly spoke.

  “Val… this is what you’ve been waiting for. Go on. I’ll be waiting for you… I’m won’t run.”

  The steward rubbed his impatient mustache before lightly pulling on Valente’s arm.

  “Yes. Yes. You can see her afterward. Please, we mustn’t keep the king waiting!”

  Valente took a moment and looked into Cass’s bright eyes. The hazel-green were no longer filled with any doubt or worry. A brilliant glimmer beyond the base determination he had seen before resided there, and he knew he had it too. It was hope. It was love.

  Valente walked to the opened gate and the fumbling steward that led him towards it. The guards curiously watched the prince walk into the castle. Their eyes were not like the Liosians: judging him as though he were a lost and unwanted child. They flickered with hope and respect. Elegant drapes and fantastic sculptures of unknown ages emboldened the entrance halls. Valente’s heart pumped this time not of fear, desperation, or effort that it had grown to know but of excitement and wonder that it had always hoped for. The steward panted outside of a large pair of carved silver doors. Etched into the metal was the brilliant Royal Tharian Crest. Stationed in front of the door, two soldiers dressed in blue and white stood tall and stoic. They stood frozen with pride. The steward hurried and gave many nods to the men as he rested against a stone depiction. The guards sprung to life and pushed against the door. The chamber within slowly opened up. Its glorious construct called out to Valente. His body moved and stepped past the royal guards. His feet landed on the brilliant violet carpet rich in color and prestige. Around him, the silver laden pillars held tradition and stories in each carved figure upon them. Flowing from the walls, the long crests and banners brightly portrayed the honor and families of the Tharian throne. The royal chamber was nothing less than awe-inspiring. Each of the grand sights tingled warmly with a sense of familiarity. Valente’s eyes lost themselves in the welcoming gallery. Valente swallowed. His vision aligned to the man standing behind the Golden Throne.

  The man stared in silence through the grand window, yet his aura filled the empty chamber. A silver and platinum crown encircled the man’s darkened black crop of hair. A Tharian crown shimmered in the window’s light as he turned to face Valente. The prince looked into the man’s eyes. The king’s blue eyes matching his own. He stared at the prince. The piercing blue melted through the anxiety Valente had. He knew those eyes. He had missed them for so long. Valente took a step over the purple carpet. The man stepped forward from behind the throne. A tear of joy fell from his cheek as he spoke. His rich voice filled the royal hall.

  “Welcome home, Son.”