Mustapha sat on his bed, unrecognizable without his knight armor. A rough stubble mars his jawline, the silver-streaked hair now seems untamed, reflecting the inner turmoil he is going through.
He unconsciously scratched a persistent itch on his left arm. He had been unconscious for days because of the shock of what he thought had happened. He never wanted to wake up to the damage his incompetence had caused. The blame was on him. If only he wasn't so weak. He knew of the grand mage's ambitions. It was well known to him, but he ignored it because part of him had wanted the king gone. Part of him wanted the kingdom saved. It was the part of him he trusted the most, and that part of him has cost the lives of so many innocent, and almost destroyed the kingdom.
At that moment, a quick knock came to his door, disrupting the heavy atmosphere in Mustapha's room and the door swung open with a hushed creak. Rosa, his oldest maid, rolled in a meal trolley into the room.
He got to his feet. "I won't be having meals this morning, Rosa" he said, picking up his belt from the side of the bed.
Rosa stopped. "You haven't been eating much these days, sir" she said, "Want me to fix you a bath?"
He wore the belt quickly.
"No, that won't be necessary" he said, sitting back on his bed and began wearing his boots.
"Did the palace call?" she asked,moving to the wardrobe and picking out a shirt.
"No, but I would like to meet the king"
She waited beside him as he was wearing his boots. When he was done, he stood up and she helped him put the shirt on.
She has been with him since she was 14, and now she was at the age where she expects grand children. Maybe he should have gotten married. Maybe he wouldn't feel so lost right now.
"I don't know what the problem is," she said, not looking up to his face as she buttoned his shirt. "But perhaps you will feel better if you unburden yourself to someone."
Mustapha managed a brief smile when Rosa glanced up, their eyes held each other, emotions unspoken.
"I'm sure things will be fine," he said, walking away from her. "I just need...a little time out"
He went to the otherside of his bed where he normally keeps his sword. He picked up the knight sword and felt totally disconnected from it. He stared at it for a moment then dropped it. He went down to the ground, and looked under the bed. The box was still there. He stretched and dragged it out. It has been decades since he last touched it but the dust collected were far less than expected. Rosa must have been cleaning it, even though he warned her not to touch it.
He opened the box to reveal a fine but simple sword. His very first blade. Way before he became a knight. His mother had personally crafted it herself when he had first awakened as a warrior.
He picked it up. It warmed his heart. It felt lighter than he remembered, and it's wooden pommell was chipped but it was still a very good sword.
He collected the scabbard with it's belt, closed the box and shoved it back under the bed.
"Tell little Tony to prepare a horse" Mustapha instructed Rosa without facing her.
He felt her gaze linger on him but he kept his back to her, picking up the necessities. Soon he heard her leave. He picked up his old leather satchel with a shoulder strap and poured them into it. He planned to take as much as possible.
As he made his way to the king, a persistent thought echoed within Mustapha.
'What if the king refuse to grant him his request?'
The thought bothered him greatly. He had sacrificed so much for the kingdom, and have never really asked for anything before but he knew that the king, unpredictable as he is, could actually say no. And if that happens, what will he do?
"The premier dragon's knight walks again" he heard the knight archer's voice say. "Never thought I would see you without armor, Old man."
Erik jumped down from atop the King's castle roof, startling a group of maids passing by. They turned and looked at him, then harder at Mustapha as if trying to force a recognition they think was there. Whether they finally recognized him or not, they didn't show. They just continued walking.
"They are new," Erik observed, his gaze following the departing maidens.
"Mhmm," Mustapha replied, then turned to Erik. "Where can I find the king?"
"His training chambers, I suppose" Erik stated "He has been spending more time there than anywhere else."
Mustapha nodded and walked past Erik without further words. Erik didn't try to stop him, or ask questions, and Mustapha was thankful for that.
He moved forward, briefly exchanging nods with fellow knights to ensure recognition. The distant sounds of blade training reached his ears as he neared the King's training chambers. On approaching the door, the two guards opened it without question, and he walked right through in.
Helene the witch was there. Also the priestess. They stood by the side watching the king as he practice like a warrior.
His form was good, and so was the strides and his hits, but they were slow and very predictable, and it is easy to see he was new to it.
He noticed Mustapha's presence and stopped. Mustapha took it as a clue to begin approaching.
"It's been awhile, Mustapha" the king said in near perfect tone though he was heaving in breaths.
He gave Mustapha a perfect diplomatic smile that made him feel he was glad to see him.
He is becoming comfortable with his role as king, Mustapha thought.
"I greet your majesty" he bowed.
"What's the matter?" he asked, patient, but Mustapha sensed he wanted to go back to his training.
"I humbly request a break as a knight of the kingdom, your majesty" Mustapha said, head bowed.
"For how long?" the king asked casually.
"---i don't know" replied Mustapha almost immediately but instantly regretted it. He should have given time. It would seem like he is running away, which he most likely is, and the king won't let him, not when the kingdom is lacking in elite frontliners.
If the king was thinking that he didn't show it. He calmly looked at the leader of the knights for a moment then said, "That's fine, you deserve it. Take your time."
As the king turned away, Mustapha grappled with conflicting emotions—uncertain whether to feel appreciated or discarded.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Mustapha uttered quietly, his expression revealing no emotions, a mask concealing the internal turmoil prompted by the unexpected response.
As Mustapha turned to leave, he observed the witch conjuring a spell. A ghostly, misty human form materialized and floated toward the king, merging into his body. Mustapha, uncertain of the purpose, didn't dwell on it. The king appeared to anticipate the spectral entity, and Mustapha, newly freed, found himself indifferent to their mysterious proceedings. He was free, and he hope to be as far away from the kingdom as possible. He fear he might never return but maybe that's for the best?
He scratched at the itchy spot on his arm again as he walked out of the king's training chambers for what he hoped to be the final time.
┌─────── ♕ ───────┐
The Drakorian royal castle spans six acres on the Mors hills, not including the gardens and the surrounding grounds. Its upper ward forming a stately quadrangle enclosed by the upper bailey wall hewn from pale limestone veined with silver. The officials' apartments run along the north of the ward, with a range of buildings along the east wall, and the private noble apartments and the King Cyrus Gate to the south, with the Edgar IV Tower in the south-west corner. The motte and the Round tower form the west edge of the ward. A bronze statue of Cyrus II on a rearing horseback sits beneath the Round tower.
Within this castle is the office of the kingdom's chief administrator, Jakob Hanlon. His office, though large, exudes a quiet grandeur. The well-arranged desk sits beneath a modest chandelier, casting a warm glow on polished wooden panels. Shelves adorned with dusted tomes line the walls, and a worn rug covers the stone floor. The air carries the faint scent of aged parchment and ink as Jakob, his monocle perched with precision over his right eye, diligently tends to his ledger, surrounded by the clinking of coins echoing in the room.
Life had been difficult the last couple of years but he was glad he didn't retire like he wanted to because the good old days are coming back. The coins coming in have been dwindling recently but something about the king has him believing it's only temporary, and at least it still comes in consistently.
A knock came at the door and the knights outside opened it for a heavy presence to step in.
Old Jakob looked up to see a giant of a woman standing before him, parchment in hand. He recognized her instantly and the reason why she came.
"The King said I should give you this" she said in her barbarian accent, handing him the parchment.
"Of course," he said, collecting it.
He opened the parchment and it was as he expected. Approval for the new knight's official armor and weapon. He saw the estimated cost and cussed silently.
"The dwarves are not all that, I assure you, young knight."
"Is that so?" Vojnka said, because she thought she was suppose to say something.
"I assure you it is!" he said, tone raised. "The king cares not where you get your attire, he just wants you to have one. I can get you a local blacksmith that will make you the best armor for a lot silver fewer. It don't have to be the damned dwarves!"
"The King plans on traveling with me though"
It was like something heavy hit him when she said that.
"...i guess that changes everything, no?" he gave a quick fake smile.
Vojnka watched as he begrudgingly stamp on the bottom left side of the parchment with a different seal to that of the dragon seal of the king on the right. Then he counted out the coins in silver, separating them from the mass he had on the table before proceeding to writing on the codex on the far left side of his table.
He was slow with the whole process and it was getting to her but she kept her control. She has not been feeling like herself this past couple of days. There are blanks in her memories and her patience has grown too thin. Maybe the toll of the lifestyle switch is worse than she thought, but she feels it's more dangerous than that. So dangerous that she fears to say anything about it to anyone, not even her sister. She keeps volunteering for any mission that will take her outside the city walls. Anything to keep her far away from her family, but now the king ordered her to take a few days rest for her journey to the kingdom of the dwarves, and the thought of going back home scares her beyond comprehension.
"Try not to spend everything if you could" the old one said, moving the coins towards her.
She brought out her new coin pouch and gathered the money into it.
The King have been ambitious lately and it seems he looks to take not just the Demon forest in it's entirety but also Elgwood with all the tribes in it. Perhaps she could ride along with the envoys leaving tomorrow morning, without the king knowing. It would affect their trip to the kingdom of the dwarves but perhaps he would understand.
Or perhaps he would have her executed and her family thrown out, or worse still, killed.
She tied the pouch to her person and turned to leave.
"Give this to the king for me, would you?" the man called, handing her a parchment.
She collected it and her eyes was quickly directed to the stamp that held it. It glowed, and seems to exude a presence but nothing threatening so she ignored it, and left the room. She has too much to worry about already.