Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

How boring, thought the Emperor of Romelia, the Protector and Guardian of the West, as he sat slouched in his chair, one leg swung lazily over the other. His gaze drifted aimlessly around the study, bouncing from the tapestry on the far wall to the flickering candle beside him, anywhere but on his tutor, Frovius, who droned on with undisturbed enthusiasm. The old man’s voice was a relentless hum, a monotone river of words that Mesha had long since tuned out.

”Now, contrary to popular belief,” Frovius continued, squinting over the tops of his spectacles, ”during the Red Plague, the ruling House of Estius was not, in fact, completely extinguished in the male line. It seems some of their male relatives had taken up the church as their calling, and due to their noble blood, they were allowed an exemption from the standard penance requirements of the time. Meaning they were still eligible to have kids and so they cou—”

Mesha’s mind wandered even further, his eyes glazing over. Frovius had been going on for what felt like an eternity about the genealogies and intrigues of the previous ruling houses whose names were all that remained, as hollow and dusty as the books lining the walls of the study. The tutor’s passion for forgotten facts was unwavering, and yet the more Frovius rambled, the less Mesha found himself able to grasp any of it. He stifled a yawn, wondering how many years would pass before Frovius realized that the old names and dead bloodlines stirred no fire within him, even if those were that of his ancestors.

Mesha’s thoughts were interrupted by a damp, cool sensation on his hand. Glancing down, he saw his loyal hound, Hadrin, nudging his hand with a wet nose, a pair of amber eyes gazing up at him with quiet affection. Mesha couldn’t help but smile, his fingers running over the dog’s thick fur, scratching gently under his chin where Hadrin loved it most. The hound leaned into his hand, his tail thumping softly against the floor in contentment, which however caused the old tutor to notice his ward’s lack of attention.

”Your grace” came the sharp voice of his tutor, cutting through his brief moment of reprieve. Mesha’s head snapped up, catching Frovius’s raised eyebrow. ”Are you listening? Can you tell me what I was just saying about the House of Estius?”

Mesha cleared his throat, quickly hiding his hand by his side and hoping his lack of attention hadn’t been too obvious.

Mesha straightened, grasping for what little he remembered. ”After the Red Plague,” he began, hoping to sound convincing, ”the remaining relatives of House Estius—those in the church—refused the title. So it passed through the female line to a member that was married into... House Romelia, beginning our dynasty’s rule.”

He glanced at Frovius, hoping his answer would suffice. ”That’s how our hegemony as the ruling house started, isn’t it?” he added, trying to fill in any gaps, but mostly hoping the old tutor would be satisfied enough to move on.

Frovius let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. ”Almost, but not quite, Your Majesty,” he corrected, rubbing his temples. ”The throne first passed to House Paviogolous before it finally came to House Romelia, I believe that the ...”

Mesha didn’t wait to hear more. The words ”lesson is over” barely left his tutor’s lips before he leaped from his chair, landing lightly and striding quickly toward the door.

Mesha strode out of the dim study with Hadrin padding faithfully by his side, his loyal dog’s nails clicking softly on the marble floor. Just outside the door stood his two guards, who snapped to attention the moment they noticed him.

The first,was a guard on the older side named Alaric, who bore the weathered face and sturdy build of a man well into middle age and who knew for half his life war better than most. Originally he was a clibanarii officer in service of lord Marthio, who after many long years of service was given a small village to rule over and given the position of royal guard for the young emperor, mostly the late regent attempt into making sure that Mesha was sorrounded by men loyal to him..

Beside him stood his younger companion, Darius. Unlike Alaric, Darius’s face showed the vigor of youth, his features untouched by the weathering of war. Just shy of thirty, Darius was the bastard son of a noble, brought into the royal guard under Alaric’s recommendation.Of course the emperor had many more guards, but of course inside the palace two were deemed enough.

Alaric turned to Mesha with a slight smile. ”Lesson over, Your Majesty?”

Mesha nodded, relief in his expression. ”Yes, at last. I’d like to go to the garden.”

Pausing, Mesha glanced down at Hadrin, whose eager eyes followed his every movement. ”Alaric,” he continued, his voice lowering slightly, ”make sure Hadrin stays safe, won’t you? I don’t want him to meet the same fate as Merion.” Mesha’s gaze softened, a shadow of sadness crossing his eyes, still thinking that his black cat was mauled by wild animals in the royal garden

Alaric nodded solemnly, knowing better than the young boy ”Of course, Your Majesty. Hadrin will be watched over closely.May the gods burns me if something bad happens to him. Would Your Majesty like us to call for your friends to join you?”

Mesha shook his head, brushing a hand absently along Hadrin’s back. ”No,I’d rather keep this afternoon to myself.”

Alaric inclined his head respectfully. ”Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, stepping back into position beside Darius.

With that assurance, Alaric fell into step beside Mesha, while Darius followed a few paces behind, each keeping a silent watch as they escorted him toward the sunlight and greenery of the imperial gardens.

As Mesha and his guards passed through the grand halls, servants and courtiers alike stopped what they were doing to bow respectfully, warm smiles lighting up their faces as they greeted the young emperor. Mesha noticed the unusual brightness in their expressions and glanced up at his younger guard, Darius.

”Why is everyone so happy today?” Mesha asked, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

Darius leaned closer, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ”Your Majesty, news has just arrived that Lord Marthio, your grandfather, has defeated the rebels in battle.”

Mesha’s eyes widened with excitement. ”Is he coming back?”

Darius nodded, a touch of pride in his voice. ”Yes, Your Majesty. He’s already on his way back to the capital as we speak.”

A grin broke across Mesha’s face. ”Good! I want to hear stories from him again.”

Darius chuckled, his tone reassuring. ”I’m sure Lord Marthio will be more than happy to share them with you, Your Majesty.”

After a short walk through the palace halls, Mesha and his guards arrived at the expansive palace gardens, where a soft breeze rustled through lush green foliage, and vibrant flowers painted the grounds with bursts of color. Alaric and Darius stood back, keeping a watchful distance as Mesha unclipped the leash from Hadrin’s collar, freeing his eager companion.

With an excited bark, Hadrin sprang forward, his tail wagging as he bounded across the grass. Mesha laughed, picking up a small branch and tossing it across the lawn. Hadrin darted after it, paws pounding the ground, his nose low as he tracked the path of the stick. The emperor watched, his earlier restlessness forgotten, as the loyal dog retrieved the stick with boundless energy, trotting back with it clamped proudly in his mouth.

Mesha knelt, laughing as he scratched Hadrin’s ears before throwing the stick again.

Alaric watched the young emperor run through the garden with Hadrin, his face softened with a faint, almost wistful expression. To see Mesha laughing so freely, so blissfully unaware of the darker shadows that surrounded his life, stirred a mix of protectiveness and sorrow in the old guard’s heart.Perhaps it was because he had some brats of his own,so his fatherly insticts were taking over.

He’s too young to understand, Alaric thought, his jaw tightening. Too young to realize just how dangerous his position truly is.

If Mesha only knew how much was the cost of his rule and the bodies left in its wake, would he still laugh like that not having a care from the deaths of people he did not know? Or would he instead be horrified by it...

No, Alaric thought, feeling an ache in his chest. That innocence would vanish in an instant.

Darius elbowed Alaric gently, urgency lacing his whisper. ”Sir Alaric, we may need to move closer or leave . This isn’t good.”

As they made their way through the garden, Darius’s gaze shifted to the right, and his heart became heavier as he spotted Valeria, striding purposefully toward them, with her own guards.

As soon as her face came into view, Alaric recalled the orders from Lord Tyros: the Empress was not to be allowed near the boy for too long and most importantly be alone.

He remembered the words and found himself walking closer to the boy, heeding the temporary regent’s directive .