Future King

"Your… son??"

Arthur sat down, trembling, as the King sat next to him.

"I…"

He was struggling to process every implication of this revelation.

"I—I don't…"

"It's okay, son, take your time."

"Don't call me that!" Arthur cried, surprising even himself. "I can't be your son! I have a father, a father who loves me and who has raised me since—since—"

He couldn't finish.

Mother…

He clenched his teeth, a grimace deforming his face.

The King stayed silent, patient, waiting for his son to break the ice.

"Does that mean…my mother…was—is—"

"Let's not talk about that, Arthur," said the King. "Your mother is a fine woman."

"Then did you—"

"No," the King replied, firmly. "I would never."

"But you would have an affair with a married woman."

Arthur wasn't dumb. The full implications of what the King was saying were laid bare before him, just like his—

No, I mustn't think like that.

"I have had many affairs," said the King, a tone of solemn regret edging his words. "It is my vice, and one which I lack the strength to fight. Blame me for that, not your mother."

"Unless you—you know—you both share the blame."

Is this what she meant by 'I'm sorry?'

"That's fair."

The King said nothing more in defense of either of them. He knew that the emotions Arthur was experiencing weren't the kind that mere words could appease, and unfortunately, neither was there was no action that could do so.

Arthur looked up at his father, his eyes red and full of anger.

"Did you bring me all the way here just to destroy my relationship with my mother?"

The King sighed.

"No, Arthur," he said. "In fact, I brought you hear because there's something even more important which we must discuss."

"What could possibly be more—"

"Your inheritance."

The room was silent for a couple seconds. Arthur's thoughts, once consumed by anger, were now racing in directions he could never have anticipated.

If he—no—he couldn't want—

He must mean some other inheritance.

This is probably a formality before he publicly declares his heir.

If he's telling me beforehand, he's probably explaining why it isn't a direct family member; that rules out Vivianne Loche, who's the other one? The one living abroad?

Morgan. That's the name. Morgan Lafayette.

It's probably her. He has probably already let Vivianne know—

"Yes, that inheritance."

The King's voice was low and firm, completely different from when he had announced that Arthur was his son. Despite having never spoken with his father before, Arthur was sure that he was being completely serious.

"You're telling us—your actual descendants—that you're going to choose Morgan, your niece, aren't you?"

"No, my son." The words brought up ire in Arthur, but what the King said next erased any other thought from his mind:

"I fully intend for you, Arthur Trevena…no, Arthur Pendragon, to inherit the crown of Britannia."

No.

This has to be a joke.

All of this…my mother—it's a ruse. A royal joke for a perverse king's amusement.

The King could see Arthur's disbelief written on his face.

If this kid is going to inherit my throne, he's going to have to learn how to hide his emotions, thought the King. Though, I suppose I can't blame him. This is a lot to process.

"Arthur," he said, "I'm sorry to be placing such a burden on you all at once. However, this day was inevitable. Circumstances demand that you take up your position as my heir as soon as possible."

At this, Arthur looked up.

"What…" he cleared his throat. "What circumstances, King Uther?"

"Please, call me Father."

"What circumstances, King Uther?"

The message of Arthur's words was not lost on the King.

I guess he isn't ready to accept me just yet.

The King sighed, reclining in his seat.

"How much have you been paying attention to global politics?"

Arthur tried to recall everything he could, but it was still likely less than his father expected.

"I know we're in a pretty precarious position," he finally said. "I know we're one of the three magic superpowers, but we're at the bottom of the list. The only reason we haven't been taken over yet is because of the Absolute."

The King nodded gravely.

"That's more or less the gist of it," he admitted. "We've been able to hold on for the last hundred years due to the Ravensleigh Grimoire. It still contains many secrets, but even those aren't enough to keep the dogs off our scent. The Maldives Incident… if it weren't for the appearance of the Absolute, the Peoples' Empire likely would've begun moving against our kingdom en masse."

The Absolute, thought Arthur. That freakishly strong magician.

The one who made flying slag look like motes of dust, the one who crushed an invading armada like they were paper dolls.

The one who saved my life.

The only thing inspiring fear in our enemies, and the only thing keeping us safe.

The best among Britannia's Ultimate magicians, and maybe the best in the world.

"What do you know about the Absolute?" he asked, cautiously.

"Good question," his father replied. "Not as much as I'd like to. MI5 claims he appeared to their division in the Maldives that day and offered his support, but none of them were able to identify him. Apparently, he used some sort of recognition-prevention magic. I'm not sure if I fully believe them, however. Spies are notorious liars."

Arthur recalled the feeling of looking at the strange man, how it felt as if his eyes were seeing but his brain couldn't understand, and wondered how MI5 decided to trust someone who could do that.

"Shortly afterwards, we lost contact with him," the King continued. "There have been incidents across Britannia in which we suspect he had involvement, but nothing can be confirmed."

"What about his power?" asked Arthur. "When I saw him in the Maldives, it looked like he was using Instinctive Magic, except he was using it with a precision and skill I've never seen before."

The King smiled.

Kid's got good intuition.

"Our agents reported the same thing," he replied. "Of course, before we discuss any more, I should mention that anything we've spoken about or will speak about is highly classified, not to leave this room unless you're given my explicit permission."

Arthur nodded.

"We do believe he uses instinctive magic. However, as you said, the level of control he has over his spells is unbelievable. Not even our highest-ranked Master or Ultimate magicians could replicate it, and MI7 has been running experiments over the past three years to do so. No luck, none whatsoever."

"Does he have some sort of special power?"

"That's what we think, but we can't imagine what it might be. According to current magical theory, such control should be impossible. However…"

The King paused, seeming unsure of himself for the first time since the start of their conversation.

"However?"

"However…" he continued, "we don't actually need to know who the Absolute is or how is power works. We can use him as-is, and that's more than enough."

"Use him? How?"

The King stared Arthur down, making his son squirm in his seat.

"We can take his name. Present someone else, someone strong, as the 'Absolute.' We can even fake a demonstration of power to persuade the world that this really is the Absolute—they won't believe us, of course, not fully—but even a sliver of doubt is enough to stave off our destruction."

"What about the real Absolute?"

"He's obviously content with hiding his name and face," the King replied. "We think that he'll be fine with someone else assuming his title. It also gives him an advantage, the ability to be in two places at once, as it were… we don't foresee him causing trouble."

"But what if the Kingdom is attacked, and the Absolute comes to our defense when our fake isn't there? Wouldn't that immediately raise suspicion?"

"It would, but we have an advantage: we control the media. We can claim whatever we want. But, you're right, we should avoid inconsistencies whenever possible. Our choice for the stooge was greatly impacted by that logic, but it also was very convenient for the Kingdom."

The King looked knowingly at Arthur, who was initially confused but quickly put the pieces together.

"I was there when he first appeared," said Arthur quietly, "and I'm also the illegitimate son of the King, now the Crown Prince."

"You've caught onto my scheme," his father replied with a twinkle in his eye. "You may have a bit of my blood in your veins yet."

Arthur glared at the King.

"I absolutely despise you," he said, "and I despise how logical this approach is."

"But you'll go along with it, won't you, my boy?"

Arthur sighed deeply, letting out a guttural scream as he did so, clutching his head in his hands.

"I'm not a powerful magician."

"We'll fix that. Will you do it?"

Arthur was filled with immense self-hatred at the words forming on his lips.

"Alright."

***

"How's it going at the Academy, Caspian?"

"Fine, Uncle."

His uncle sighed, the sound barely audible on the other end of the phone call. Amidst the gentle hum of the town outside the window and the fan in his dorm room, Caspian almost missed it.

"You know you don't have to call me Uncle, my boy. You're my son, as far as I'm concerned."

Caspian didn't know how to respond, so he allowed his end of the line to fade into silence. That wasn't good enough for his uncle, however.

"Is it because of what happened?"

It was, but Caspian wasn't about to admit to that.

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint. Are you getting along with your fellow students? Have any ladies caught your eye?"

"Is this your idea of a father-son talk?"

"Struck a nerve, have I?"

"..."

"Oh? Is there actually a woman who has coaxed you out of your shell?"

"I seem to have caught the attention of the di Cadenza heiress, that's all."

The silence, for once, came from his uncle's side of the call.

"Jessamine di Cadenza, eh? What are you going to do about it?"

"It's not like that," Caspian replied, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I think she sees me as a political tool, or an anomaly to be understood. There's no romance going on. Though, maybe..."

"...maybe?"

"...maybe it would be fun to engineer a romance and then break it down, just to see how she reacts."

Another sigh came across the line.

"Caspian, I wish you wouldn't joke around like that. I'm getting old, my heart can't take the stress anymore."

Caspian chuckled.

"You got it, Uncle. Sorry."

I'm only partially joking, though...

...but that can wait.