It was a beautiful morning when he eagerly woke up. The birds happily chirping, the warm sunlight peeking through the tall drapes of his room, and he couldn't have been any more excited. Because today was the young duke's birthday. After a long winter, the young duke has been waiting patiently and quietly. He had never told his father of his wishes nor his desires. He gave upon himself that his father shall surprise him with the best of presents. One truly fit for the best of boys like him.
The young duke hopped off his bed and ran towards his washroom. He combed his hair, he brushed his teeth, yet he couldn't stop smiling. Even if it was difficult choosing his outfit, he did not care. Because today was the young duke's birthday.
He rushed through his chambers and into the bright royal halls where his maids personally greeted him. His lazy-worn shoes tapped on the clear and rich floors, showing a reflection of his cheerful face.
"Today is my birthday!" he exclaimed. "It's my birthday! My birthday is today!"
The maids, lined upon the hall, smiled in response. They tried to slow him down and wipe the foam from his mouth but to no avail. The young duke wanted to see his gift immediately.
"Woah, woah!" someone bumped in front of him. "Not so fast, young master."
"Mister Van!" the young duke jumped around with joy. "Do you know what today is?"
"I don't think I've forgotten, young master. I believe none of us has."
"Is my father done preparing my present?"
"Present?" Van let out a small laugh. "We haven't yet prepared your breakfast. Nothing of your schedule has changed, young master, there is another event you must attend."
"But…my present?"
"It can wait. It will always be waiting for you."
"Promise." the young duke frowned. "Last year you said the same thing."
"I promise, young master, your present will be given to you once we are all done. You must trust me, your father hasn't forgotten."
The young duke averted his eyes.
Van gestured his hand. "Take care of the boy, he looks awful."
The maids pulled the young duke back into his room. He glanced back at Van, steadily smiling through his usual black suit. The young duke couldn't tell if he was lying. He had lied last year on his birthday and the year before that. It made the young duke sad about himself. If it was about the way he walked, the way he looked, or maybe the way he talked? The young duke always tries to be on his best behavior but his father pays no mind.
The young duke raised his arms as the maids redressed his clothes. Today was also a special day for this father and it just happened to align with his birthday. The young duke feels like his father cares more about his image to the public than rather his son.
The young duke pulled away. "I don't want to wear that."
"My duke, you must," the maid persisted, her voice growing with irritation. "Everything you do will represent the attitude of his kingdom."
"But I don't wanna wear it."
The maid pulled his arm back. "Whether you like it or not, it is tradition. Do you even understand the position you're in? You are the duke, so please act appropriately."
The young duke pouted his face into the mirror. He thought his new clothes looked ridiculous, too tight and layered whenever he moved around. They tucked his shirt and boots, finally fitting the clothes on his body. The young duke tried picking at his collar as they smacked his hand away.
"Make your way into the dining hall," the other maid said. "You're going to have to stand around, so eat your fill."
The young duke walked outside his room, finally escaping that grueling fitting session. The servants and maids bowed their heads while he walked by. The young duke didn't expect any of them to hand him a present by surprise. He just wanted something other than leftover money from the treasury. At least a present that could mean something to him.
"My duke." a guard bowed his head as the young duke entered the dining hall. He walked behind before pulling the young duke to his seat.
The table was filled with every food imaginable. The thick cuts of succulent meat, servings of unappetizing vegetables, assortment of fruits picked fresh from the garden, and the sweetest pastries from the city. It was already obvious what the young duke would indulge in first.
"That's quite an appetite," the guard said. "You should slow down. I hear that sugar is awful in the mornings. Your stomach would be upset."
He shook his head. "The maid said I could eat whatever I like."
The guard laughed. "Very well."
The young duke handed him a cake with his hands, slathered and messy with frosting.
The guard smiled in response. "You are too generous, my duke."
He frowned. Even if the guard had looked scary on the outside, they were always so nice to him. The guards were clad in dark armor and bore a heavy broadsword, sometimes with a shield. They were the most menacing knights the young duke had ever seen but had the kindest of hearts. He would remember swinging on their arms as they were practically twice his height.
Then footsteps were heard down the hall. The door opened as the maids bowed their heads in advance. A man with black garments and a fluttering dark cape that flowed with his every step. His slicked gray hair and trimmed beard defined more just than his stern face. Flanked beside him were three guards and one courtier. This man was old but he stood intimidating even among the guards around him. This man was the young duke's father.
The king opened his arms. "My boy!"
"Father!" he hopped off his seat and hugged the king. "Do you know what today is?"
"Other than this tiresome event," the king wiped the boy's face. "How could I ever forget?"
"Then my present," he jumped around. "Have you prepared my present?"
"Present—ah, yes of course." the king snapped his fingers. "Bring the boy his present."
The courtier looked with confusion. "My lord?"
"Just bring him that sword."
"My lord, are you sure?" the courtier said quietly. "That sword is—"
"Bring it here."
The courtier quickly bowed as a guard accompanied him away.
The young duke couldn't contain his excitement. "You brought me a sword!"
"Yes, I have," the king patted his head. "A special sword just for you."
The guard behind him turned apprehensive, as if they knew what type of weapon he was talking about. But the young duke didn't care. It's been so long that he was given a present that was other than just gold coins. And it just happened to be a sword when he was the most anticipated for.
A few minutes later the courtier returned carrying a long case with special locks as if they were trying to keep whatever was inside completely contained. He cleared the table and placed the case gently upon the surface. The clicks from the locks undoing made the young duke even jump for excitement.
When the case had opened, he thought all there was to see was darkness. But that was the blade itself. It wasn't a sword, rather a bladed rapier that narrowed to the tip of the blade. The handle was elegantly forged like black vines wrapping around the cross guard. The young duke wasn't sure but he felt like there was some sort of aura that emanated from the weapon, calling his name to touch it. The young duke felt as if he was having a conversation with the sword, even if it was able to speak to him.
The young duke reached for the handle.
"Stop!" a guard intervened, grabbing his hand. "Don't touch it!"
The young duke shook off the guard's grip, angry that someone would steal his present. It was the same guard that stood behind his chair when he ate mounds of pastries.
"Who do you think you are?" the king said. "You would refuse my child his own present for his birthday?"
"My lord, you—" the guard hesitated. "You intend to give him the dark blade?"
"And if I am?"
"That blade is unholy and cursed. Whoever would wield that blade would be killed or taken by their own hands. There is not one person that lives when they touch that damned sword."
"He's right, my lord," the courtier pleaded nervously. "This blade cannot be wielded, even by the finest swordsman. It was a miracle that we had contained the blade before anybody else of Falden could be hurt."
"How amusing," the king folded his arms. "Are you saying my boy is incapable of a sword that's been built by superstition?"
"My lord, even our highest ranking of mages cannot decipher this type of magic. It's something—extraordinary that exceeds our perception of mana."
The guard closed the case. "I refuse this gift for the duke, for the sake of his life, and the promise of his prosperity."
"But I accept!" the young duke shouted. "I accept his gift in the honor of my birthday!"
The king bellowed in a deep laughter, making everyone else feel a sense of discomfort.
"Thank you, father! I always wanted to learn the ways of a sword!"
The king smiled. "Have the blade ready in his name. Anybody who wishes to oppose my order, will have their head on display."
The courtier moved reluctantly, following the king's order as a guard followed him. The rest continued to follow the king and his son to the royal courtyard.
"Where are they taking my sword?" the young duke asked. "Could I not hold it at least once?"
"Not yet," his father said. "Your mana control is more blunt than anyone I've ever seen. At the age of nine, you should have already sorted that out."
"But…I'm eleven."
The king coldly glanced at his son. "Yes, you are eleven. But do not worry, my boy, the blade will be given to you once you pass all of your lessons. I've personally hired the most professional instructors throughout Falden. There is not a chance you will ever fail!"
The young duke grumbled under his breath. He always hated training, especially when other people he didn't know would tell him what to do. He's had so much fun running around with the guards, he would rather prefer that than endure another month of training. And mana? He's tired of it. Training mana especially was more exhausting than anything physical that he's had to face. But if it meant working towards that birthday sword, then he would at least put some effort nowadays.
They stopped before the steps into the royal courtyard. It must have been a few hours into the morning, due to the light winds and the gleaming sun over the castle towers. There were many guards already present, standing in their post along with others on the second floor just standing over.
The courtyard was somewhere the young duke loved to run around. He'd dip his hands into the fountains and roll over the beautiful flowers in the garden. Despite being reprimanded many times, he was the duke and they couldn't argue against his authority. The guards would even carry him around so he could watch the horizon at their height.
Then just at the end, walking up the steps, was a large group of people. The young duke realized this must be the crowned royal of Wilmere, the Gray family. The king and his queen, and their young daughter were accompanied by a row of armed guards. But these weren't any guards that the young duke was familiar with. It was like every guard was more unique than the last, like knights and mages alike banded together.
These knights weren't wearing the same dark armor like the guards of Falden. They wore armor and clothing that felt suited to their class. There were warriors, with heavy metal and gleaming swords. A lone mage, wearing a thick cloak and held a magical staff. And a couple of others that wore a hood, covering their face but the young duke could make out the daggers at their belt.
"The Roundtable," Van hissed, popping beside him. "I can't believe that fool brought all of them."
"Van," the king stared ahead. "How many of our Dark Knights could kill them all?"
"My lord, the Roundtable isn't something to be underestimated."
"I said, how many?"
"Five Roundtable Knights…this would be a hard estimate, but at least twenty Dark Knights would be killed in the fight."
"And how many do we have now?"
"At this moment, only eight."
"Eight," the king scoffed. "Tell them to stay vigilant."
Van bowed his head.
The king of Wilmere stopped just at the end of the steps, presenting his line of combat. His wife and daughter hid behind the Knights as he stood proudly in front.
There was a silence as looks were exchanged. The young duke could feel hundreds of eyes staring right through him as he stood beside his father. He wondered if any of his guards felt uneasy like him. He was only a small kid whenever he met the king of Wilmere again. He recalled it wasn't a pleasant experience.
Then the two kings walked towards the center just before the flowing fountain of water. Their talk was small and too quiet for the young duke to hear. They would shake hands, laugh, and glance towards their family. After minutes of waiting, the Falden king waved at his son to come.
The young duke walked forward, trying to imitate his father in a way. After awkwardly messing his stride and stumbling, he made it behind his father.
"Hello, boy," the king of Wilmere said. "Lex, was it?"
The young duke bowed his head, surprised that someone had called him by his real name.
His father patted him on the back roughly. "It isn't common for you to be so quiet, boy, show some formality."
"King of Wilmere," the young duke shouted proudly. "It is the best of my pleasure to meet you again!"
The king of Wilmere laughed. "Yes, yes, it's great meeting you, young Lex. But I believe you haven't had the chance to meet Alice, my daughter."
A girl peeked behind him. Her light blonde hair was braided in a laurel, a royal fashion, and she wore clothing similar to the uniform of the Roundtable Knights. Her sparkling grey eyes were curious, as if she was studying the young duke.
"My name is Alice Gray," she bowed her head softly. "Princess of the Wilmere kingdom, daughter of Alexander Gray."
Alexander gestured his hand. "Shall we?"
The young duke's father adjusted his coat. "Well, you have convinced me that you haven't come here for conflict despite bringing your brigade of the Roundtable. Then yes, call your herald and we shall talk."
The two kings walked away, leaving the two alone. The guards continued to stand behind the young duke's father as a few Roundtable Knights did the same for Alexander. More people came into view which the young duke assumed was just more talking that he shouldn't care about.
"I'm Alice," she reached out her hand. "What about you?"
"Lex." he shook it. "Lex Korbren."
"How old are you?"
"Eleven."
"I'm thirteen."
The young duke didn't know how to respond to that.
And neither could Alice add anything after.
"I like swimming in here," the young duke pointed to the fountain. "It's cold but the guards let me do what I want."
"Does your father ever get mad at you for that?"
The young duke frowned. "No, not really."
"What about your mother?"
"My mother," he looked away. "She's not allowed to see me."
"Hey, kid," someone leaned over Alice. "You're not saying anything weird to her, are you?"
It was one of the Roundtable Knights. She had dark red hair and her eyes couldn't have been more fierce. It was like staring into an open flame. She wore a sword on her back and bore the Gray's family crest. Something about this made the young duke feel envious.
She studied the young duke. "You know, for the duke of Falden, you're awfully small. Are you sure they're feeding you right?"
Alice punched her shoulder. "Don't be mean, Tess!"
"Well, excuse me princess, but have you forgotten who they are? Or do I have to remind you again?"
The young duke did not know what to say.
"Hey, kid, do you wanna hear stories about your father? How about some rumors about you, and man, they are hilarious."
"That's enough," a stern voice said. A guard had appeared behind the young duke without him even knowing.
"Woah, a Dark Knight," Tess grinned. "I was wondering when I could meet one of you guys."
The guard remained still, his face hidden behind the shadows of his helmet.
"Is that real darksteel armor?" Tess continued. "Here, let me feel your chest, I'm great at telling them apart—"
"You can't touch them," the young duke stopped her. "Only I can."
"Only I can?" she laughed. "How old is this kid?"
The guard inched forward.
"Alright, alright." she surrendered with a smile. "Let's not ruin the relationship between Wilmere and Falden, okay?"
After being scolded by Alice, who looked half her age, Tess agreed to let the young duke spend his time alone with Alice. It was a mutual agreement between the guard and her which the young duke did not understand. He didn't know either if they were friendly or not, but he hated it whenever the guards would turn hostile. The feeling and sight of anger always made him scared. He wasn't necessarily the one to be inclined about violence.
"Sorry about that," Alice watched Tess continue to bother another guard. "The Roundtable isn't mean like her but my father insisted that she stays. I know her younger brother and he's way nicer."
The young duke was not listening to Alice. He was zoning out, staring at the combined crowd between his people and Wilmere. His father was nowhere to be seen as the guards stood their ground against the Roundtable. This was his birthday yet none of this was even celebrated towards him. Today was only about his father.
"Are you listening to me?" Alice snapped him back. "You've been picking your nails a lot."
The young duke shifted his seat. They were sitting away from the crowd on a bench. It's more quiet given the crowd had become livelier as they became comfortable. Their smiles and laughter wasn't even directed towards the special day for the young duke.
"I—" Alice hesitated. "I didn't expect you to be younger than me. I'm not trying to be mean either."
The young duke picked at his nails again.
"But, there are rumors about you and your father. About Falden. It spreads so quickly, even I know about it. That means…Wilmere knows about it."
"What do they say?"
"Are you sure?" she grimaced. "Have you not heard them yourself?"
"I think I know some of them."
The young duke was lying. He knew all of them. If they had spread to Wilmere, then it was only logical that all of Falden would have already heard it. The young duke was the first to overhear them over his own maids and courtiers speaking his name.
They talked about how he's a failure. Someone like him was destined for so much greatness yet he's been failing at everything. The young duke won't learn the kingdom's politics, he doesn't understand how to control his mana, and he just does whatever he wants under his father's title. Nobody could tell him otherwise, because who would ever argue against the duke of Falden?
His mother was a concubine, only used to breed mana-sensitive children like him yet he's having trouble meeting that expectation.
The amount of expenses they've tried to shape him into the perfect successor never worked. Because the young duke felt like none of it mattered. He's been trapped alone in this empty kingdom with only himself and his servants, it's rare that anyone else comes to visit. And even if they do, they always ask the same questions. That probably explains why he's so nervous around Alice, another royal that's around his age. He didn't even want to be friends with her. The guards were enough to keep him company around the castle.
"I don't believe in any of them," Alice said. "And you shouldn't either."
The young duke suddenly grew attentive.
"I think you're pretty cool, rebelling against your father. And guess what, I'm doing the same thing! I wanna be an adventurer like Tess but my father will never let me."
"An adventurer?"
"You know, people who sign up to explore the lands? Fight beasts and travel through the unknown? Have you ever gone outside your palace?"
"No," the young duke frowned. "I can't leave. They don't let me."
Alice looked around wearily. "They keep you here?"
The young duke didn't want to answer.
"Hey, lovebirds," a familiar voice came between them. "What're we talking about?"
"Tess?" Alice pushed her away. "I thought you were with my father."
"Nah, he says he doesn't need me." Tess looked at Lex and smiled. "You know, King Alexander once contemplated about having his daughter…and the son of Falden…I think you know where I'm going with this—"
"What—stop!" Alice pushed her again. "You know I'm going to make sure your brother knows all about this!"
"I could hardly care what you say to him about me. Maybe you should go marry him if you like him that much."
The young duke watched them fight away into the distance. He wanted to contemplate what Alice had said but then, his mind could hardly bother something like that anymore. He stood off the bench and figured he would spend the rest of the day in his room. He wasn't even needed here. Whatever his father would discuss with the king of Wilmere, had nothing to concern him.
Even walking back into his room through this crowd, he still can't drown away the murmurs as he walks past people. As much as how intriguing the Roundtable Knights were to him, meeting Tess sort of destroyed that feeling. And even so, they probably thought the same about him. The young duke wasn't even a figure anymore, he felt like he had become an attraction. An exhibition of his own failures for display so everybody could see.
Somebody stood in front of him. "Jack Mercer, pleased to meet you."
The young duke looked up. He must have been part of the Roundtable. He was tall and had his long blonde hair gathered into a ponytail. His face could have passed as a beauty model. He would have been strikingly handsome if it wasn't for that annoying smirk across his face.
"What, you're not gonna shake my hand?"
The young duke grudgingly shook the man's hand.
"You know," he firmly gripped his hand. "You've become quite the celebrity back in Wilmere."
The young duke felt something swelling in his chest.
Jack glanced around, watching the Dark Knights surrounding him in the background. He released his grip on the young duke's hand before anything could escalate.
"Do you wanna see my spear?" he said. "It's a magical artifact, I can—"
The young duke walked past him.
Jack froze, a tired look washed across his face. "I will never understand children."
The young duke wanted to at least say goodbye to Alice. She was the only person that was nice to him not because he was the duke of Falden, but because he was just being himself. The young duke was tired of being chained below his father, being glued to the title of the duke, and having to bear the weight of his own expectations. He wanted to run as far away as possible but they would never let him. Behind the wall of his vigorous training curriculum, was set only for his imagination.
The young duke waved off the maids that bowed as he walked through the silent, depressing halls. He was too tired to even feel happy anymore. Maybe his father would celebrate his birthday later in the day. What if he was needed during the courtyard? The young duke hardly doubts that. When was the last time he was ever needed?
"Boy?" a familiar voice stopped in front of him. "Where are you going?"
The young duke looked up. It was the woman that he hated. He had never learned her name, in spite of the harsh training that she forced him to endure. This woman always organized the schedule for his day. His tiresome hours of controlling mana, the strain of physical endurance, and the boring lessons of his father's politics.
"Do you understand what today is?" she scolded him. "Where is your father? Why aren't you with him?"
The young duke averted his eyes away, again deciding to blatantly ignore the woman in front of him.
"Are you running off again? You do this every year."
"Leave me."
"Return to your father," she demanded. "You're embarrassing him by the minute."
"Leave me," the young duke said again. "Now."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Leave me!" the young duke shouted even louder. "Move out of my way!"
The woman recoiled her scowl and stood aside for the young duke.
This didn't make him feel any better. He never liked the feeling of anger. It was already obvious what the maids that he passed by were thinking. This entire facade was a joke to him. His father's shadow was already consuming enough, he never wanted anyone else to have the same feeling. The young duke never meant to impress anyone neither would he ever will.
Sometimes, he wished he could see his mother. What would his mother think, he thought, was his mother even aware of his existence? If so, would she be proud of him? Or pity his name just like everyone else. She was sent away and forgotten like an object. Even after asking about the young duke's mother, they talk like she had never existed. It broke the young duke's heart, knowing his mother likely hated him too.
He opened the chambers into his room and closed it behind him. He angrily unbuttoned his tight clothing, ripping a few threads in the process, and threw it away across the room. Why was he crying? He was in his room, the only place in this forsaken castle where he could find peace yet the air inside felt even more suffocating. He was never really comfortable anywhere he went. Looking into the mirror again, he couldn't be more disappointed. Was this what everyone else saw when they looked at him?
Then he climbed onto his bed, stubbing his toe.
The young duke looked under. It was the same case that his father had gifted to him. His birthday present. The feeling of excitement ignited again. He quickly hauled the heavy case onto his bed and clicked off the locks and lifted it open.
And there it was, waiting for him and calling his name just like last time. The dark and supposed cursed blade which they had said.
It didn't look cursed to him, the young duke thought, it was just a birthday present.
The young duke felt the blade along his fingers. The steel was warm, as if it was newly forged despite being trapped in this case. He felt the two of them shared a similarity. They were both imprisoned by their own makers and denied the freedom they deserved.
He reached for the handle and grabbed it. That was the last thing the young duke could ever remember.