14. Aurelio
She’s even cuter when she’s loopy! Unfair!
I can’t stop grinning like an idiot as I walk out of Ophelia’s house. With her hair a mess and her face rosy red, Alessia was the cutest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. She mumbled to herself in her sleep, too—gibberish, of course, nothing of substance—but it has my heart drumming in my chest, even minutes afterward. She acts so tough, but in reality, she’s an adorable human being with an ocean of feelings that happens to have god-tier strength in spite of her soft heart.
In other words, she’s perfect, and I hope nothing changes about her, ever. I must be the luckiest man alive to have been married to a woman who is perfect for me.
“How is she doing?”
Ophelia’s voice stops me in my tracks. I look up to see her smiling warmly at me. I return the expression.
“She’s doing amazing, as usual. She just needs rest.”
“Good. I was worried she pushed herself too hard for our sakes,” Ophelia says, a few of the wrinkles in her forehead disappearing. “I would never forgive myself if the Queen of Celestia injured herself on our behalf.”
I shake my head. “She overextended herself a bit, but nothing serious. She’ll just take a nap and wake up perfectly fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Several screeches of laughter catch our attention. Ophelia turns to look out at the children playing in front of the house. Their ages range from toddlers to teenagers, but they all crack up as one little girl trips over her own feet and gets herself covered with dirt. Ophelia’s eyes shine with unshed tears as she gazes at their happy faces.
“You’ve saved their lives, you know. I couldn’t have imagined such a beautiful sight only this morning,” she admits. “I’ve buried so many of them already; I don’t know how I would have managed burying more.”
My stomach is instantly queasy. “I hate to ask, but how many did you lose?”
Instead of answering, Ophelia’s smile fades, and gestures for me to follow her. She leads me down the steps of her house, into the main road, and toward the farm fields on the west side of the village. Here, the houses are abandoned, and the children don’t run and play in the streets like they do in front of Ophelia’s house. The broken shutters flap against the sides of houses, doors creak on their hinges, and torn curtains flutter in the wind. Some houses are charred from burns, and others sink into the ground where their foundations have crumbled against the shifting soil. Even the wind here feels colder, as if life has been sucked right out of the side street.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“This is where our merchants lived,” Ophelia explains. “When they died trying to sell their wares in the city, their families they left behind tried to rekindle the businesses, but bandit groups have thwarted their efforts. Their homes have been ransacked and destroyed, and most of the families have fled or died.” Ophelia shakes her head. “The crime rates have risen astronomically since the civil war has begun. Everyone is scrambling just to survive. The only reason our village hasn’t suffered total collapse is because I’ve organized our people and sent teams to Derrigard to buy food and split it equally among our people.”
“You’ve done exceedingly well. I know my fellow aristocrats back at home would have never pulled together like your village has. You must be a strong leader,” I remark.
Ophelia turns to give me a grateful smile. “I appreciate the praise, but I am not worthy of it. The people of Krasta have always valued empathy and community above all. For our capital to break out in civil war is an act we Krastans hold in the lowest regard. The lack of consideration for our fellow countryman is criminal, in our eyes. For them to take each other’s lives over a petty fight is even more unforgivable.”
Ophelia’s expression darkens, the warmth in her eyes running cold as she takes me down a side street and stops at the end. When I see the field before me, my eyes fly wide, and I scarcely avoid dislodging the contents of my stomach.
There are grave markers as far as the eye can see. Clusters of them. Some are proper gravestones, with family insignias and surnames placed side by side, but most of them—notably, the most recent ones—are only makeshift wooden stakes, likely carved out of tree branches, with barely legible names and dates inscribed into them. There are at least two hundred of them scattered across the field.
“Gods above,” I breathe. “What is this madness?”
“This is the result of our nobility’s ultimate sin,” Ophelia says quietly. “They have turned their back on their community, and for that, the gods will show them no mercy when they pass on. But until they meet their fates, we must suffer in the wake of their treason.”
I walk among the gravestones in a daze, my head so fuzzy I can’t pull all my feelings into coherent thoughts. I brush my fingers across the wooden stakes, trying and failing to read the names of the deceased, my chest tightening with every forgotten, nameless soul buried beneath my feet. The only meaning in their sacrifice is to return what meager energy they possessed to the earth.
I pause before a cluster of five wooden stakes, these bearing more legible names. I kneel beside them, staring at the small mound marked by the stakes, my hands shaking unexpectedly as I run my hands through the grass that has already grown tall over the burial site.
“That was one of the families of our merchants, the Kuralacs,” Ophelia murmurs. “They were robbed in the middle of the night. The eldest son tried to defend his family, but he was slain, and the house set ablaze. He was only sixteen. His mother died holding the three younger daughters in her arms as the house collapsed overhead. There was nothing any of us could do; it was the middle of summer, and we had to run long distances to fetch water during that dry season.”
I find myself clutching the grass in my hands, the strands threatening to break as I squeeze my hands tighter and tighter. The pure, unadulterated hatred searing through me is powerful enough to ignite a fire. My heart rate is up so high, I can barely feel it beating anymore.
Innocent people have died. Children have lost their lives. And what has Krasta done for their people?
They’ve stood by, watched them suffer, and carried on with their petty political games. I’ll bet some of them even laughed.
I can’t stand by. This is beyond inhumane; this is animalistic, sick, and demonic, and those are the nicest terms I can use. I don’t find many things worth my time, but those who are willing to step on innocent, hard working people to get what they want set my blood to boiling.
“Ophelia?”
“Yes?”
“I have something to say.” I stand up, turn around to face her, and look her dead in the eyes, my hands balled into fists at my sides. “As the future King of Celestia, I will do everything within my power to make these bastards pay. Your nobles will pay for this, with their bodies, with their money, with their families, and even their blood, if need be—even if it’s the last thing I do.”
A tear runs down Ophelia’s face. With her jaw set, she gives me an approving nod.
“Thank you, Aurelio. I look forward to it.”
I look back across the field one more time, taking in the damage. Before, I thought I could take a backseat, do whatever I want, and leave everything to my queen. Now, I know that there are detrimental implications of complacency in royalty. I will never allow myself to become the careless royal. I will give my people everything I have, even if it kills me, if only to see them smile. I can take vacations as much as I’d like in peacetime, but until I know that each and every person in my kingdom and my ally’s kingdoms are safe, healthy, full, and happy, I will not rest.
Prince Aurelio will not be the backseat deadbeat patriarch of Celestia.
He will be the benevolent ruler that takes care of his own.
Right as we start the journey out of the graveyard, I see a pair of people round the corner of a nearby house and walk up the side street toward us. It’s Daelia, and there’s a child with her, a little boy no older than seven. Although he’s on crutches, his legs shaking with every precarious step, he skips along beside Daelia, grinning giddily.
“Come on! I want you to meet my dad!” he laughs.
I get a sinking sensation in my gut as he says that. Sure enough, I stop to watch in utter horror as he leads Daelia to one of the makeshift burial mounds, kneels before it, and says a quick prayer to the gods.
“Dad, I’d like you to meet someone,” he says, the carefree grin still etched into his face. “This is Daelia, my new best friend. She’s the Hero of Celestia. She saved our village, and she’s going to come back with a bunch of other heroes to help us out! Isn’t that cool?”
Daelia smiles at him warmly, gives his shoulder a squeeze, and then kneels down to pray beside him.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Sir,” she says. “You have a beautiful, kind son.”
“Dad used to farm with my mom in the fields,” the boy says. “He would come home every day all sweaty and gross and give mom a hug just to make her laugh. He liked tossing apples with me and teaching me how to shoot a bow, and he said he would teach me how to hunt when I turn eight, but now my mom’s going to teach me.” The boy turns to beam at Daelia. “He would have loved you. You know how to do all sorts of cool things!”
A chill runs down my spine. I shudder, wondering just how many of these children are so desensitized to death that they can have everyday conversations about their deceased parents. This wouldn’t happen in Celestia, not in a million years. Death is an uncommon, sad, and divine experience that may be celebrated, but is highly respected. I would never introduce my dead parent this way. It would be looked down upon.
But here? This is the only way they can cope and move on. The boy is only seven. How many other young children will grow up without a mom? Without a dad? Without both parents?
“Hey, Prince Aurelio!”
The boy’s tiny shout shakes me out of my thoughts. I look at Ophelia, but she gestures for me to move along. Daelia waves me toward her.
“Come on, slow poke, my new best friend here would like to introduce you to someone!” she calls.
I make my way toward them, the little boy bouncing up and down in excitement as I approach. His small, scrawny frame, pale skin, and dull black hair don’t match the life in his sparkling hazel eyes. I have to do a double take to fully wrap my head around the sight.
“Prince Aurelio! Prince Aurelio! Do you fight bad guys like Daelia?” he asks.
I frown, furrowing my brow, but when Daelia nods to the sword at my side, understanding dawns on me.
“Oh! Yes, yes I do. I try my best to protect Queen Alessia.”
“Dad, Dad! Did you hear that?” the boy chirps, whirling around to address the grave marker. “He fights bad guys, too! Our village will be safe forever and ever and ever!”
In the blink of an eye, the boy crutches over to me and seizes my hands. They look so tiny, less than the size of my palms. Then, he looks up at me, his eyes shining innocently, the sparks of hope in his eyes burning down all my reservations. I kneel down and pick up the boy so he doesn’t have to stand on those trembling legs anymore. He giggles as I perch him on his right shoulder.
“You’re super strong! Are you a knight?”
“I am. I’ve been training since I was about your age,” I say, booping his nose.
The boy lets out another adorable giggle. My heart melts in a nanosecond. He’s already got me wrapped around his little finger.
“I want to be a knight, too!” he says. “I want to be strong and fast and brave like you guys! Then I could protect the whole village from the bad guys!”
I suddenly understand why everyone wants kids. Picking the boy up and holding him high overhead, I ask, “What’s your name?”
“Keendelle!” he cries triumphantly.
“Well, Keendelle, I think you can be a knight. You’re already braver and stronger than everyone I know.”
His eyes round. “Really?”
“Yes, really. And one of these days, I’ll come back and train you myself. You’ll be the best knight in all of Krasta, you hear me?”
Keendelle cheers as I put him around my shoulders, where he rests his little chin on the back of my head. “Did you hear that, Daelia? I’m going to be the best knight ever! Prince Aurelio said so!”
“I have to agree,” she says, flashing a smile at me.
Unfortunately, that smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and I have a feeling I look the same way.
This boy could be healed, and he could one day be a knight, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that the bad guys are the people from his own kingdom, and that if I train him to be a knight, he’ll likely have to use that sword against his own people.
I swear to you, Keendelle,I promise myself, I won’t let you down. I will free your country from its suffering, so you never have to lift that sword.