“Oh, that must be my husband.” The kind wife excused herself from the table and waltzed to main entrance.
The young boy, her guest, listened carefully as he sipped the porridge she had served him. The thundering hoofs of a single rider could clearly be heard through the opened windows. He could make out the wife’s greeting to her husband as another set of footsteps followed hers, in the uneven pace of a pounding heartbeat.
“All of these kingdoms have gone mad, accusing one another of preposterous affairs, starting needless wars! The power has all gone to their heads!” A gruff voice echoed down the cold, gray hallway, just at the entrance of the dining room.
The boy set down his spoon, cleaned his nose, and sat up straight to present himself to the master of the household who he knew to be the Good Mage. Rumors of the Good Mage’s great power were well known in both the Eastern and Western Kingdoms. Each side sought his guidance in times of crisis.
“Both Occidens and Oriens have requested my assistance, and—” He stopped, having caught sight of the young boy at his table.
The boy ogled at him as if he were a mysterious beast. He had always pictured the Good Mage to be a kindly man with golden cherub locks, bright eyes, and a warm smile. Instead, he was staring at a monstrously tall man whose broad shoulders were a stage to a thick, black drapes, and whose hair was even darker. A long scar crippled the face of the Good Mage from his right temple to his stubbled chin, and he glared at the boy through two black, beady eyes. “Who is this?” The mage turned to his wife with a questioning squint.
“Dear, this is—”
“You have told my wife that you are a runaway.” The Good Mage directed the statement to the boy in question this time.
The boy only managed to stand from the table and clear his throat before being cut off by the snappy mage.
“Why would you lie to her so candidly? And after she offered you food and shelter?” The mage’s harsh tone turned sour, as if it were he himself who had been fooled. Though, that would be impossible given his incredibly powerful intuition. “Go on, boy, tell her the truth. You are the impending King of the East, Prince Oriens VI. How dare you deceive my wife, in my good home? Have you no idea who I am?”
The wife gasped, staring wide eyed at the boy who was visibly shaking in his boots. “You are…Prince Oriens VI? Is this true?”
“Please, Good Mage, the only untruth I have told your kind wife is of my name. I truly have run off from my crown, seeking your shelter.”
“And why would you do that, silly boy? How unpleasant the life of a royal must be!” The Mage remarked in a snarky tone.
“My father wished for me to lead an army toward the west by three days time.” The young boy rebuked with strength, causing the mage and his wife to stare awestruck. “My father demanded me, his only son, at the age of eight and with absolutely no military experience, to guide an army of men into war. If I declined, he threatened to behead me himself.”
The wife gasped, sickened horror in her eyes which softened in pity for the boy. The husband sighed, shaking his weary head. “First Occidens threatens his daughter to be his child-bride, and now Oriens threatens his son to be his child-general.”
“What is this about King Occidens?” the wife returned her full attention to her husband.
The Good Mage fell into grim silence, turning to his wife before stating, “Queen Septentrio has fallen ill and died. There was nothing I could do.”
His wife caught a stunned gasp in her hands, shaking her head at the dreadful news, her gut heavy with sorrow.
“On her deathbed, she had her husband promise not to marry anyone less beautiful than she. As he said ‘Aye,’ she spirit perished. The Western King believed there was no one to match the timeless beauty of his late wife, that is, until his gaze rested on his young daughter.”
The soft grief in the wife’s eyes slowly melted into complete disgust as her husband went on. “What of the girl? Are they preparing wedding bells as we speak?”
The Good Mage faced the runaway prince with a disgusted grimace. “Like you, her father threatened to behead her if she did not comply.” The boy gulped in sympathetic remorse, squeezing his palms tightly behind him. “Fortunately, she managed to slip away.”
“How?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss that.” The mage grumbled as he took the seat next to the young boy. “Oriens VI, your middle name is Landon, correct?” The boy nodded. “Then, Landon, I will allow you to live under my protection. So long as you stay on my grounds, my magic shall keep you hidden from wandering eyes. But I ask you something in return.” The Good Mage leaned in to glare at the young boy, his voice grave. “It is a very important task.”
Landon nodded his head eagerly, knowing he was in no position to turn down the Good Mage’s request.
“You must care for the flock of doves that roost on the top of my furthest tower. That tower, too, is where you shall call home until the day this ludicrous war has concluded. Then, without complaint, you must go back to your Kingdom, where I am sure they would be desperate for their runaway Prince’s return.”
Landon puckered his face in disgust; he was never very fond of birds. He thought them to be mindless, dull, and their offensive smell reminded him of rotting paper. Back in his kingdom, he and his sisters would chase the daft pigeons into the thickets, and watch as they scattered through the treetops.
“Are we in agreement, young Landon?” The snippy mage questioned again, dragging the boy’s porridge to his side and gobbling it up in a famished manner.
The boy turned to seek permission from the wife. She smiled tenderly at him. “Alright, Good Mage,” he swallowed hard at the weighty lump in his throat, tugging at the sleeve of his coat. “I will be forever in your debt.”
The Good Mage smiled for the first time today at Landon’s willing compliance. “There’s a good lad.”
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