“Next” Cobalt shouted. He leaned back into his chair, a yawn left his mouth.

  He was seated in the Prince’s throne hall. An immaculate conference room adorned with oil paintings of previous rulers, refinded golden ornaments, and a chandelier big as a horse swayed softly over the room. A plush wine carpet laid over the stone floor. The decor reminded all who entered, that he was royalty, as did the dozen Crimson Guards surrounding the room like pillars.

  A thin, scrawny man stood before him. His sleeveless tunic a size to big for him, his bone strucutre poked through his skin. The man appeared as if he hadn’t eaten in days, his arms no big than twigs. An odor of wood and smoke followed him as he stepped closer to Cobalt.

  One of his duties as the Prince was to tend to the needs of the commoners, his father relied on this information. Although he didn’t possess his father’s charm, his style was productive in other forms. A line of citizens spilled out into the hallways of the palace.

  “Your Grace,” he said as he knelt, he lifted his face. Cobalt sat high on his throne, steps cascading down like a waterfall. The man felt terrified, but he knew he had to be here. Only the Prince had the answers he sought.

  “My horses are dying, there’s something in the soil. I don’t know what it is, but something’s not right. You see when we lost the first one, we didn’t think much of it, but now they’re dropping off the face of the earth.” the man said, his voice thick with worry.

  “How many horses did you start with?” Cobalt asked. He wondered if this was the return of the Terra Firma, the great grass reaper that spread ages ago killing half of all soil life. The spread occurred within a fortnight. Thousands died, humans, animals, Muhrs and Dreys alike. If one didn’t die from famine, it was from looters coming to take what they had. The realm spun into chaos, everyman for himself. It wasn’t until his father came, that the land’s vegetation improved. Many called him the savior. He was named King shortly after.

  “Fifty, your Grace” he said quickly.

  “And how many do you have now?” Cobalt asked, narrowing his eyes.

  If this was the return, he would have the chance to make a name for himself, like his father. He rubbed his hands together, eager for a number.

  “Fourty-seven” he said, his voice was shaking, the man began crying. “I lost Centara, she was my favorite, she had so much life ahead of her”.

  Cobalt tapped the arm rest of the chair. The man’s sobs echoed in the room, no one shared his sadness. It was uncomfortable to watch him. Cobalt yawned over his cries.

  “Fourty-seven you say?” he chuckled slightly. “Horses die all the time, have them buried and be on your way about it, good day” he said, he dismissed the small man. Every story wore his patience thinner. Cobalt clenched his jaw hiding his contempt.

  “But I-I wasn’t done talking-” his soft voice contested,

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  “You’re done talking when I say you’re done. You’re boring me with your little problem you could fix on your own.” Cobalt leaned forward his face full of rage. “Now leave, before I change my mind and have you hanged”. The man scurried from his presence, his knees buckling as he ran.

  “Next” Cobalt shouted.

  A sentry escorted the next one before Cobalt. A young lord entered, his ringmail armor clinked with his every step. He was tall and lean, with defined facial features.

  “My Prince” he knelt, then lifted his head, “I am Sir Erwin Bolbec, from Arrowmound , I was raised by my Grandfather Lord Bolbec. I have come before you on his behalf.”

  “I know Sir Bolbec, he served on the Crimson Guard force of the King before my father, until his untimely death. I always wanted to know, what happened to your parents?” Cobalt asked, when he finished talking he rested the side of face on his knuckles. For Cobalt, the only way to keep boredom out, was feign interest.

  “Yes, he has told me of the generosity the crown has bestowed upon him.” Erwin paused, a pain swelled in his chest, he could never talk about them within the feeling. It was as apart of him as his golden hair. “they along with my little sister were killed in a fire” he said, he swallowed his tears before they could surface.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I lost my mother on the birthing bed, nothing quite like grief, right? A wound that doesn’t leave a scar, doesn’t bleed, but never fully heals.” Cobalt said, a hint of sorrow sparkled in his eyes. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about the dead, so I can I help you Sir Bolbec” he inquired.

  “Yes, your Grace, today to ask for more of your Crimson Guards. I need help to maintain order on my grandfather’s land. Last week we lost a handful of my slaves, I need your assistance in getting them back.”

  Cobalt leaned forward from his chair. “When was this?” he asked curiously, the task intrigued him, he always found Dreys fascinating. Their tiny bodies and milk-white skin, he wondered which of the gods created them, and for what purpose. They seemed so useless.

  “About a fortnight ago your Grace” he said, nervously. He cleared his throat. His blond hair shimmered in the light from the crystals hanging over him.

  “How many did you lose?” Cobalt fired questions out like he shot arrows.

  “Roughly twenty or so your Grace.” he lowered his head in shame. He waited for the Prince to yell at him like he did the man before him. He closed his eyes awaiting his verbal lashing.

  “Do you have any idea, where they may have gone?” Cobalt asked.

  Erwin lifted his head slowly, his eyes widened. Maybe the stories he heard about the Prince weren’t all true. Maybe he’s not as monstrous as they say. The two of them appeared to be relatively the same age.

  “No your Grace,” he said, a slight cough forced its way from his throat. “But I’ve heard of this town in the South it supposedly promises shelter for all. I assume they may have fled there.”

  A twisted grin jumped on Cobalt’s face. The word fled, excited him. He enjoyed tracking people down it was another opportunity to play one of his favorite games. He leapt from his seat. “I will assist you in this endeavor,” he grinned from ear to ear.

  “Thank you, your Grace I am forever indebted to your kindness” he bowed nervously, then stood to his feet. His armor weighed on him as he moved.

  Cobalt rushed down the steps of his throne. Enthusiasm hurried his feet along. His fur bounced with his steps. He looked like he was already prepared for travel, dressed in all black, bound in a fitted royal doublet, long cape, and slick leather his prize sword at his hip. He gestured at the Crimson Guards.

  “Looks like we’ve got ourself a hunt,” he exclaimed, he was the only one excited in the entire room. Clay lowered his head.

  Cobalt rushed to his father’s meeting.