Two years after Prince Heiko witnessed the death of his father during the 91st Battle of Tyton, and subsequently, the defeat of his kingdom, he was sent to the gates of the victor, armed with nothing but empty words and a command from his elder brother to form a treaty of peace. 

Two years after General Celestino Adesso released the arrow that felled the great king of Simo, he is presented with the youngest of his sons. Though barely a man at seventeen summers, the prince was far from wet behind the ears. In fact, his tactful yet brazen form of statecraft vaulted him far beyond his years. Coupled with his draconian mannerisms, and a knack for callous pleasure, it was only a matter of time before Celestino caught a whiff of something sinister. 

But Prince Heiko was no fool. He was betting heavily on that sharp nose. He wanted a sense of dubiety to gnaw at the general. He needed to create mistrust in his elder brother in order to build credence in himself. Because he knew of Celestino Adesso, and of the illustrious king he served. He knew they wouldn't trust him over his elder brother any more than they would trust a raincloud to bring sun. He knew that to those men, he wasn't honorable, and because of that, he was forced to play the games he was known for. The ones that conspired in the dead of night, the ones that spoke no words but shifted kingdoms. The ones that could obtain the allegiance of General Celestino. Little did the young prince know, however, allegiance was not all he would obtain. But no matter how much Heiko wanted to offer the man what he desired, he could not - not while bound to the gods. 

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Please accept this short chapter for today. I have some ice cream cake to eat for my sister's birthday :)! 


“When…” Cele exhaled. Surely, he must’ve just ascended it. 


“That makes him look like Prince Alfred,” Kaifin noted, bringing a fist to his own head to mimic the bun. 


“Or like a member of the clan,” Rudolf pointed out. 


Cele didn’t dare answer Kaifin, but the unanswered question allowed all three men to comfortably watch the prince interact with the chief. Any discomfort shown last night might as well have been an apparition. Prince Heiko possessed the poise and posture of a nobility confident in their prowess. He offered nods or smiles at Cuilin and the others as they continued to converse, but while he listened, he was not actively participating. Like such a thing was not necessary. 


“The master has always-” Kaifin abruptly stopped, stilling as he watched Cuilin coil an arm around Heiko’s waist. The very same way he did the night before. 


“Relax, Kaifin,” Rudolf sighed. “You’re acting like you’ve seen a wraith.” 


“He… Captain, no man should touch a Muse of Temperance like that.” The anger in Kaifin’s voice was ill-hidden. 


“The prince is allowing this for a reason, Kaifin. Surely, you’re-” 


“Likely because he is stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he knows he cannot offend the chief.” Kaifin interjected. 


Cele was both surprised and relieved that he was the one who said it, even despite the tale he orated the day before. He was also relieved that his feelings of apprehension over the sight were not unjustified. 


“I agree, Rudolf.” Cele looked over to the man, who did not look as confident as he sounded. “I think you have too much faith in him.” 


“If he is worried, he will speak up,” said the captain. “He would call for me. His voice can become very loud when he is afraid.” 


“When?” Cele asked, taken aback. “Is he afraid often?” 


“Do not worry, general. I can take care of my prince just fine.” 


Not well enough, Cele thought, thinking back to Cuilin pulling him against his will. If the general wasn’t there, he wondered what Heiko would have done. Surrounded by an entire Forest Clan, it wasn’t as if they could escape. And he may have been young and naive, but Cele doubted Heiko would’ve put all of them in jeopardy in such a way. The thought made his mouth taste sour. 


“We leave tonight,” he reminded himself in his mother tongue, looking away from Heiko as Cuilin’s hand fell to his thigh. For if he did not, there was not a doubt in the world that he would run the chief through with a paring knife, and the only thanks he would receive from it would be a glare from the prince. “Fucking brat.”


Wretched Sparks - Part 9