Five generations of royalty had come to this. Not Alphonse the Conqueror, not Alphonse the Great or Just. But Alphonse the Useless.
“Hm,” Prince Alphonse tilted his head at the mock tapestry spread before him. Whoever the artist was had made a noble effort to spite the heir to the throne. On a giant Hessian tarp was a caricature of himself, breeches at his ankles exposing his butt to the viewer, his Useless epithet written above his laughing face. City guards had found it strung up on the south-side castle wall, so that travelers would see the sign from miles away and reconsider their choice in visiting the Kingdom of Argentou.
Too bad Alphonse was well beloved among his countrymen. This would only take a tiny chip out of his massive ego, and the fucker would get his head on a spike.
“They couldn’t even get my nose right. Is my nose really that large?” Alphonse touched the bridge of his nose and regarded his courtiers with an outrageous expression. “I could accept someone who wasn’t a part of the Queen’s court to grossly misconstrue my likeness. But lowborn peasants cannot write or read.” His eyes narrowed down at them. “One of you must have done this.”
He caught the distant sound of snickering from the crowd below the dais. Four young bedmates from his youth were gleaming at the mock tapestry on the floor. They were once peasants but had risen to higher stations since they had pleased Alphonse for a time.
It was coming to an end now.
Alphonse needed to only make a simple gesture, and his guards swept through the crowd until they reached the two men and women.
Alphonse’s tone was blasé. “It is a criminal offense to laugh at your future King, punishable by death in fact.” Alphonse found their changes in disposition so amusing. Gone were the snickers replaced by babyish sobbing and faces blank with fear and rage. He couldn’t help but grin. “But I don’t feel like killing today. There’s already been plenty of bloodshed in this war.” Alphonse addressed the guards at their backs. “Put them in the cells. Let them think on it for a few years.”
“You’re mad.” One of the women spat, aggressively fighting her fate every step of the way. “No one in this room likes you!”
“Forgive her, my Liege. Unhand us please!” The taller of the men called out as the group was dragged away into a nearby door, which lead down into the subterranean bowels of the castle.
The throne room went silent. Something about it twisted Alphonse’s gut. The stark faces before him were as unfeeling as stone statuettes. Others, however, contained thinly veiled emotions he couldn’t name.
They were angry on his behalf. What else could the Queen’s court feel for their future King?
The tapestry glared back at Alphonse with vicious ridicule.
No one in this room likes you.
Lies. All of it.
With a delightful little clap, the tension in the throne room shattered. Then the clapping multiplied until the Queen’s entire court was cheering Alphonse on. Alphonse was so touched by the display that he stood from the throne, smiling and nodded at them affectionately.
“Don’t listen to those traitorous bastards, my liege.” Came a feminine voice.
A man wild with excitement screamed. “Make an example of them.”
“Whoever insults you, insults Argentou.” The Magister stepped forward, his dark robes swaying. There was an intense fire in his gaze as he looked upon Alphonse. His voice was laced with firm determination. “We will find the culprit of this mocking tapestry and bring him to you, my Liege.”
“Wonderful, Magnus.” Alphonse felt the blood fizzle in his veins. Newfound trust in his courtiers excited him. It called for a celebratory hunt. Alphonse regarded the crowd. “We will put his head at the front gates as a warning. No one calls me the Useless unless they have a death wish. Take your leave.”
The courtiers filtered out of the Throne room in whispers. Alphonse spied his Knight stationed at the side of the dais, his dark face lank with boredom. “Lancel, give me my crossbow.”
There was visible hesitation when Lancel placed a gauntleted hand on the crossbow strung on his back. “What are you planning, my Liege?”
“I’m in the mood to shoot some targets. Right in this room.”
“The game is called running man, not slow man, you little weasel.” Alphonse shot at the page boy’s heels, missing his polished black shoes by an inch, but it was enough to make the boy move. “Faster!”
Three page boys held straw dummies above their heads and ran in a circuit on the tiled floor before the dais. Alphonse was a confident shot; if he missed the targets on the straw dummies heads once or twice, the arrow had hit another straw part instead. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his Mother’s face as she’d walk in and he’d not damaged a single thing in the throne room. At least, not at first glance.
The Magister, Lancel and two other guards stood in line behind Alphonse, watching in awe as the game played out. Alphonse made the boys run faster and faster until they couldn’t any longer, panting on the floor with strands of hay stuck in their hair.
The grand doors to the hall were thrown open, and the Queen of Argentou airily strode down the red carpet, not even blinking an eye at the sight before her. “Good game?”
“Yes, Mother.” Alphonse said, aiming his next shot. With surprised shrieks, the boys rushed to get back on their feet. “Did we win?”
The six-year war had come about when a neighboring King threatened Alphonse’s mother over her sovereignty and a piece of land. Vinbéliard was a province of the Argentinian Kingdom, but the king claimed Vinbéliard was his Kingdom.
When the Queen came to Alphonse’s side, the radiant look on his mother’s face told him the bastard King must’ve been killed. Her voice was haughty, as if he’d just asked her a foolish question. “Of course, my charming one. Did you expect defeat?”
“I saw our men, their faces were droopy.” Groups of men had returned over the past week, quiet and solemn in their barracks. Usually they were routy men. Alphonse shot and reloaded, his lip curling. “Smelled like shit too.”
The Queen gave a resigned sigh. “That is what war does to them, my love.”
“Fuck that. I’d rather hunt my game and foray into the forest. We are closer to heaven than those stinking peasants and aren’t we fortunate for it.”
His next shot ripped a scream from one of the page boys. It was the same one who Alphonse had warned, but now the boy was on the floor, crying as he clutched his arrow embedded shoulder.
“You see?” Alphonse threw his hands into the air. “That’s what happens when you don’t run fast enough.”
The Queen’s voice boomed throughout the hall. “Get the physician and clean up this mess.”
The remaining page boys excused themselves and the injured boy was carried away by a guard. For a moment, Alphonse could’ve sworn the boy was glaring at him, but the Queen turned his cheek to face her. Her tone turned serious. “Our bloodline was God chosen. I’ve taught you as much as I can about ruling, but when you become King, you will have to make sacrifices for our country. Otherwise, you’ll run it into the ground.” Her eyes strayed to the crossbow at his side. “That’s your last crossbow.”
It felt like a punch to the face. Alphonse blinked. “What?”
“We need to save the remaining supply of weaponry we have left. The war has disrupted the supply chain.” The Queen didn’t care for the rest of their conversation and made for the stairwell which lead to the War room.
Alphonse frowned, grasping her shoulder. “Why not buy more weapons? That solves the problem.”
“Magnus,” The Queen waved Alphonse’s hand away and turned to Magnus. “Why don’t you explain it to him? I have to speak with the Master of War.”
Without a glance Alphonse’s way, the Queen left. Why was she disregarding him so easily? And to drop such horrible news on him and expect to accept it without asking why? Alphonse cursed under his breath.
“My Liege, your mother’s mind is occupied with stress. Don’t let her… reaction affect you.” Magnus came to his side, his face grave. “We have no gold left. The war has drained us dry.”
Alphonse couldn’t fathom it. A Kingdom with no gold? When he’d awoken that morning, and the servant laid out his clothes, they appeared duller than their usual sumptuous material. He hadn’t accounted for it being because they were poor. Poor as the serfs that farmed nearby land. Alphonse’s breath came in short, panicked breaths, and his heart felt as if it would combust. To be on the same level as peasants—
Alphonse collapsed on the throne, crossbow left forgotten on the ground. If he couldn’t waste another arrow in his crossbow, how was he going to hunt? Alphonse loved many things; parties, fashion, and fucking. But he lived to hunt. That was what lit the fire in his heart.
“I cannot rise to the throne like this,” Alphonse said.
“Yes, it is unfortunate.” There was an off note in Magnus’s voice before he continued. “But in a great time of weakness like this, there is an opportunity for you to make things right.”
Alphonse looked at him despondently. “Does it involve hunting?”
“You need to win the affection of your countrymen and not make them tremble with fear.”
Alphonse scoffed. “I do not make them tremble with fear. They do as I ask.”
“They do as you ask because they fear you. And fear only inspires animosity and fabricated trust.” Magnus leaned down far enough that part of his groomed beard touched Alphonse’s ear. He spoke in a low voice. “Whoever made that tapestry is fanning the flames of an uprising. Not everyone can read as you say, but the image of you is enough to translate their meaning. The guards found peasants and merchants laughing at it, chanting how useless you were. You are more vulnerable than ever before, your mother is frailing, a six-year war has drained the Kingdom’s coffers dry, and your countrymen are hostile. You have been content inside this castle believing everyone loves you, and yet you have barely stepped outside these walls to earn their affection.”
Alphonse’s head was spinning. Not everyone was going to like a monarch, as his mother once told him. But open hostility behind his back would kill him, and history would remember him as Alphonse the Useless.
No one in this room likes you.
The newfound trust that had filled his heart began draining out, replaced by an unbearable pressure. Alphonse had never cared about what people thought of him until this moment.
Magnus continued. “I know you love hunting, and that is a noble trait. What if you could earn the people’s affection by hunting down a beast? I’ve heard rumors of a beast that lurks in the southern region of Frénne. Superstitious folk have deemed it to be the Serpent King of legend. If killed, its ashes can turn anything into gold.”
Alphonse had never heard of such a legend, but this gave him an opening. He could be the hero of his own tale. Slay the beast terrorizing his people, and they will thank him and be richer for it. Everyone would prosper, not just himself, and venturing outside the castle walls into the wild would present Alphonse game the likes of which he’d never seen before.
Magnus was only one of the few people in the realm who studied magic, and magic was still largely unknown. But Magnus had proven that magic could be harnessed to aid the people, providing a cure for the blight that had swept the country some years ago.
Alphonse rose from his throne and clapped Magnus on the shoulder, a grin stretching his face. “Magnus, I’m a man of science. You made a cure that stopped the blight. I trust your judgment. If such a thing can advance our kingdom, I want it in my possession.”
