Chapter 18

Years later

“Call my son, I want to speak with him,” the king said in a low croaky tone.

“Which of them, my king?” the priest asked as he bowed low.

“Octavius.”

The priest bowed and left King Philip’s presence. He stepped into the passage where Octavius stood with his wife Emilia by this side, beside them was Angus in his red cloak, the official archery uniform, the king’s court stood with them at the passage with heads bowed down. At the sight of the priest Octavius gently uncurled Emilia’s fingers from around his arm and approached the old man.

“How is he?” he asked the priest in a low voice.

“He wants to see you, my prince,” the priest responded. At the look of hesitation on Octavius’ face he added “It’s alright, my lord, the king is not contagious.”

Octavius nodded and let the priest lead him to the room. The room was darkened, the heavy curtains were drawn close, the atmosphere in room was heavy also very heavy as a result of the trapped smoke from the curative leaves burning in clay bowls at all corners of the room. They were meant to cure the king’s sickness but for years now the king remained invalid to the point where the whole kingdom feared his death was imminent. Octavius approached his father’s bed where the once healthy, robust man lay sweating against the thin sheets of the, his eyes were deep and lifeless, the skin of his face had sunken so deep the bones of his face almost burst through the thin flesh, his once healthy complexion was now white and pasty making him look like a shadow of his old self. Octavius resisted the urge to cry out at the sight of his father’s unhealthiness. His mother had died a few years back and since then his father’s health had taken a turn for the worst.

King Philip turned his head slightly to look at his son, even the effort of doing that cost him so much pain in his neck and chest. He looked at the son who was a perfect replica of what he once had been in his youth and sighed deeply, his chest heaving. He watched as Octavius neared his bed cautiously.

“Come, son, I don’t bite.”

Octavius came closer pulling a chair closer to his father’s sick bed to sit on. Up close the old man was worse, his hair was thinning dangerously and his lips were blue, his eyes were void of color.

“Father…”

King Philip looked beyond him and waved a weak hand in the direction of the priest, indicating that he allowed him and his son some privacy. The priest bowed and left quietly shutting the door behind himself.

“Son, I fear you have deceived me,” King Philip said in a small voice. He looked at Octavius with what was supposed to be an accusing glare but the lack of color in his eyes and skin on his face to give life to the expression made it difficult for Octavius to know if he was just ranting or if he meant what he said.

“How do you mean, father?”

King Philip coughed and a little bit of blood splattered out of his mouth. Octavius quickly reached for a piece of rag that was set by the edge of the bed and cleaned the blood off his father’s lips and clothes. He reached for the goblet that was on the bedside table, examined the content of it; a mixture of herbs and bitter wine that formed a thick liquid, and gave it to his father who swallowed noisily and with great effort.

King Philip pushed the goblet away gently when he had had his fill of the bitter drink and laid his head back on the piled up pillow behind him. He held his hand out to Octavius but as his son reached to take his hand he turned it over to show the back if his hand and the blackness underneath his nails and the cuticle which was also a dull black.

“You see this, son?” his voice came out a little clearer. “I don’t have much longer to live. This blackness is a sign that I am being cursed by the gods. Octavius, you have done something you were never supposed to do.”

Octavius’s heart beat fast for the first time in 14 years as he thought back to his encounters with Ashterah. Could she have taken her anger out on his father? It was unlikely. The gods were said to be fair and they punished only those who were directly connected to any act of disobedience and Ashterah had never made good on her promise all those years so why suddenly remember a singular act of disobedience after over a decade. He peered closely at his father and tried to read the dying man’s face but it was so impossible.

“As I laid here on this bed I remembered why I never wanted you to marry the princess of Intavia in the first place,” King Philip croaked. “One of the messengers of Robos told me about the prophesy of a divided kingdom, that kingdom is Camelorn. I tried to avoid it son, Amire has stronger army, more resources than Intavia,” he took his hand back for Octavius’ still grip. “My decision to forge an alliance with Amire and not Intavia had nothing to do with King Festus disregarding my invitation to my birthday feast.”

He tried to shift his body to the side but his cover slipped from his body leaving him cold and shivering. Octavius stood to help him, his mind churning as he wondered where his father was getting at. As he moved back he noticed the single tear that had slipped down his father’s cheek and real panic set it.

“Father, your words are very vague, if you want me to understand your words please speak clearly and make me understand,” he said through a tight throat as he sat back down.

“You are different, son. Very much different from the boy I use to know. What did you do to make me forget my plans to make a bond with the Amires? My decision to form an alliance with them was beyond army and economic resources, there was a lot more I was trying to avoid, trying to prevent so you will have a smooth reign but I am afraid that may not be possible. I just pray to the gods that you’ll have enough wisdom to maneuver your way out of the mess you have created.”

Octavius held himself still as he listened to his dying father. His mind churned with the possibility that his actions of twisting the arm of fate may have resulted in his father’s illness but even then he couldn’t help but think about how Ashterah and shrieked “ I curse you son of Camelorn”. If she had meant to punish him surely she would have done that without hurting those around him since he was the one who refused her.

King Philip coughed bringing him out of his thoughts. His father was looking at him with curiosity.

“Even your eyes are no longer the same. What have you done my son, why do you have those red rings around your eyes?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t had enough sleep since you fell sick”

“For 14 years Octavius your eyes has been like this and it has changed a lot about you. I am surprised no one else has noticed how insatiable you are. You wolf down every food on the table, stare at Emilia all day like a predator, yes you love her very much anyone can see that but you pull her into your chambers every minute to have sex with her and each time you come out still looking unsatisfied and even with all that you both are yet to provide an heir to the throne. Son something is wrong with you and my life is a sacrifice for whatever mistake it is you have made.”

“That’s not true father,” Octavius argued weakly but he couldn’t deny the truth in his father’s words. He shared his father’s disbelief that no one else noticed the change in him. Even Emilia who had noticed the thing about his eyes had never mentioned it again since the last time. He worried for himself but he worried for his wife a lot more because true to his father’s words he was insatiable especially when it came to his basic needs and Emilia, even though she was yet to make any compliant about his randiness, bore the brunt of his sudden sexual needs. She was the sweetest thing in his life and he suffered himself to abstain when his urges became too hard to curb because he feared he would cause her to fear and worry about him. And that was just one of it, he couldn’t seem to get his belly to fill up no matter how much he ate he was never satisfied, he wanted more of something he couldn’t identify, none of the things the royal staff cooked ever seemed to satisfy him.

With his concerns building a raging in his heart he spared a glance in his father’s direction and found the man asleep, his chest rising and falling with great effort. Octavius sighed, stood and pulled the bed covers to cover the frail man from the chest down to his toes then he went out of the room to face the small group of people who were waiting outside.

“How is he?” Angus asked him.

He shrugged “He is asleep now.” He looked up at Emilia and watched as she came close to him, taking his hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers and he squeezed back glad he had her by his side.

“Do you need anything?” she whispered softly.

What he needed he could not ask for. He didn’t want to appear to be a randy goat who would demand sex when his father was laying on his death bed so he shook his head at her question and mouthed nothing. Besides there was something he needed to do. Something his father had said had hit him hard in the heart.

“I need to be away for a moment,” he said aloud then looked down at Emilia “And I wish to be alone.”