Prompt 7: The King's Son

The below story is based on a prompt from the subreddit /WritingPrompts and is as follows:

''After accidentally killing the king's son, you expected to be executed. Instead, he arrived at your house alone in secret, asking if he could in for tea.'' Click here to read it on Reddit and leave a comment. 

As with all prompts, they are written in a single sitting, in free flow, with minimal editing. Enjoy!

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It's been mere hours since it happened. The royal guards acted quick and efficiently. Seconds after it happened, he had been taken, taken down to the cellars, and locked up. He figured, or rather feared that either the keys would go missing, as had happened on more than one occasion, or his head would be on the chopping block by nightfall. 

Fear had gripped him in that cell. The guards wouldn't spare a torch for him. He could hear, and later feel, the rats scurrying about. Though it wasn't the dark or the rodents that scared him. It was what they would do to his family. His wife had just given birth to a girl. His own father, who raised him after his mother had died in childbirth, once relayed to him the feeling of holding your newborn for the first time, in a sparse moment of emotion. He told him that he wouldn't understand, not until you have experienced that for yourself. And he was right. That innocent face, looking up to you, its entire life dependent on you. It was both a weight and a responsibility, one had he gladly taken. 

But now he was wasting away in the dark, in silence and away from his family. Soon, he thought, they'd be alone. His wife would not be able to work. Their daughter would need to be given away, just for her to survive. He couldn't bare the thought, but with nothing but darkness accompanying him, it was impossible to sink away into deep, dark thoughts.

He had been asleep for what felt like an hour when he was awoken by a shout.

''Hey! You! Up, now!''

As he opened his eyes, he struggled to see who it was.

''Do you want to get out of here or what? Up and out, now!''

He rose to his feet as quick as he could and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw it was the guard. The door had already been opened. 

''What... what will happen to me?'' A parched mouth and dreadful feeling of what was to happen made it difficult to speak.

''You will be guided out and back to your home.''

''I... I get to live...?''

''For now. Now get moving, I don't have all day!''

Though weary, he walked out of the cell as quickly as he could. At the end of the hallway, he was met by two solemn guards who silently led him out of the castle, through the now dark and dead quiet town, and back to his home on Blacksmith street. When they got close, his wife came outside, their daughter on her arm. When their eyes met, they both began to cry. 

''Are you alright?'' she managed to say when he was closer. He did not respond immediately and threw himself around her neck, kissing her and their daughter.

''Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm here,'' he kept repeating.

''Inside, both of you,'' the guard said. He had almost forgotten about them. Happy to be reunited, they did as they were told. Once inside, they embraced once more. Though he couldn't answer her question on what was to happen next, she was content with him being home safe, most likely fearing the exact same things he had, back in that cell. Exhausted from the ordeal, they soon went to bed.

A knock on the door. He got up and waited to see if he heard it right. Another knock, a bit more forceful this time. He walked up to the door.

''Who's there?'' he whispered, careful not to wake their child.

''Open up.''

''Tell me who you are. Are you one of the guards?''

''No. But I can make them open up the door if you won't.''

Knowing he had no choice, he opened. A large, hooded figure was standing in the doorway, alone.

''Can I come in?'' he said, but did not wait for an answer. He walked in and sat down in the large chair at the back of the room like it belonged to him.

''You must be wondering what I am doing here,'' he said once he sat down.

''I am wondering who you are,'' was what the intended response was, which went unspoken as soon as the visitor removed their hood.

It was the king. The old king, sitting in his living room.

''I do not like sneaking out of my own castle in the middle of the night. Nor do I like visiting murderers in the middle of the night. Least of all those who killed my son earlier today.''

He did not know how to respond. The king was right. He was a murderer. It was an accident, he had sworn and shouted the second it had happened. The king's son, barely 16, had cockily challenged him to a fight. He had responded he was a mere blacksmith, not a fighter. He was just a salesman showing his wares to the king as he always had. He made fine swords, appreciated by the royal guard. But the son pushed and pushed and one cannot say no to the heir to the throne forever. So he relented. As he had only newly made swords, they had no blunt ones to fight with. Only real steel, made to maim, cut, and kill.

''Come on then, peasant. Show me what you've got,'' the prince had said as he waved the sword around.

''My Prince, I do not wish to...'''

''Wish what? Harm me? Don't be silly. Now fight me.''

Before he had a chance to respond, the prince swung the sword at him. He knew the quality of his swords and a true strike would kill him on the spot. He had to defend. He just hoped that the prince would soon tire and stop. He did stop, eventually. He stopped when after a lucky parry, the blade slipped and cut the prince's neck. Not deeply, but deep enough to make him bleed out in minutes. The whole court stood by, aghast. 

''You might have just saved the kingdom,'' the king said, pulling him back to the present. ''Though none will ever know. I hope you will be able to live with that fact,'' the king continued.

''Saved the kingdom, My Liege?''

''Yes. Saved. Publicly I mourn, but between you and me, I hated the little shit. He actually proposed to me that he wanted to marry a common woman. Can you believe that?''

The king snorted.

''No, my daughter is a much better heir. Only 12, much more pliable. Sons only bring problems, especially if they take after a father like me. That cocky cunt would not have amounted to anything. Most likely, he would have run this kingdom into the ground, what with all the enemies on our borders. If anything, you did us all a favor. In any case, I need to be off.''

The king stood up to go. Baffled, the man who thought himself a murderer managed to get out a sentence.

''What about me, My Liege?''

''Oh yes, almost forgot,'' the king said. ''You are free to go. Well, you'll be under house arrest, but I'll pardon you at the religious festival next week. Penance and pity and all that.''

Then the king walked out.

''I get to live..., I get to live...,'' the murderer whispered to himself, just as he heard his daughter starting to cry.