Chapter 2

Darian hurried back to his chambers, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He splashed cold water from the oak bucket onto his face, hoping to calm his nerves.

His chambers were situated in the most secluded corner of the castle, several floors below the royal dungeon that had once held traitors and prisoners of war. It had been years since anyone had been imprisoned there, and Darian had begun to think that he was the only constant prisoner in that part of the castle, albeit with a few extra comforts. His cell was just a few floors above, providing him with a measure of privacy that was rare in the bustling castle.

Darian sneered as he dried his face with a rough linen cloth, the king’s words echoing in his head like a cruel joke. “Continue the Serpent-Slayer bloodline,” he had said. “This is your sacred duty.”

“My sacred duty to do that?” Darian muttered as he approached the window. “Not to win a war like Nome, but to breed?” A cool wind blew across his flushed face, dissipating the last traces of his blush. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, when a knock sounded at his double doors.

“May I come in, my prince?” It was Narim, his oldest friend and second counselor. Darian felt a small sense of relief at the sound of his voice. Narim had always been there to help him since childhood.

Narim and Lokir, the other counselor to the king, were constantly at odds with each other, always arguing and finding counterarguments to each other’s words. Despite their mutual animosity, however, the king considered them both invaluable servants to the kingdom.

“You may come in,” Darian said, grateful for the distraction.

An old man with deeply wrinkled skin and short white braids shuffled into the modest chamber, his movements sluggish. It was Narim’s father, an esteemed counselor in his own right, who had served the kingdom for decades.

“Congratulations on the birth of your brother, my prince,” Narim said as he entered the chamber.

Darian scoffed. “I’m not the one who should be praised. Congratulate the king since he’s the one who conceived the child.”

Narim looked at Darian with concern. “Is something troubling you, my prince? I’m always here to listen.”

Darian shook his head. “The king just ordered me to find a wife. He’s afraid Nome won’t return from war.”

Narim nodded understandingly. “Without Nome and his army, the kingdom’s enemies will try to take the throne. And there are rumors of a spy in the castle. Lokir even suggested that the spy is you.”

“I bet he did. I’m tired of the fact that no one takes me seriously!” Darian clenched his jaw in anger and knocked over a bucket of water.

Narim stepped aside to keep his cassock from getting wet.

“You think I’m not scary enough? You think I can’t keep this kingdom in fear?” Darian continued, raising the bucket back.

Narim looked at him thoughtfully. “A formidable appearance alone is not enough to instill fear in your enemies. Perhaps something terrifying or reckless should be done.”

Darian raised an eyebrow. “Reckless? What do you have in mind?”

Narim shrugged. “I’m only a counselor, my prince. But if you want my opinion, finding a worthy woman to be your wife might help.”

Darian sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Can you help me find one?”

Narim smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s not within my duties as a counselor, my prince.”

Darian nodded in understanding. “Very well. Thank you for your visit then.”

The counselor went to the door as he was about to leave, but on the very threshold, the old man stopped and turned around heavily, straining old bones.

“I almost forgot. As you asked I brought you the book and, as you asked” He friendly smiled. “No one knows about it. I have put it in your chest.”

“Thank you, Narim,” Darian replied with a nod of gratitude.

“Have a nice read, my friend,” Narim said before turning to leave.

Darian wasted no time in finding a book amidst the jumble of items in his chest. The green half-print cover caught his eye, and he read the inscription: “About the Serpent-Slayers and the Kingdom of Incuria,” by Lokir.

He couldn’t help but remember how Lokir used to pester him with endless inquiries from that very book. “If you don’t know your own history, what are you good for, huh?” he’d say. But despite Lokir’s annoying persistence, Darian knew that this book was approved by the Masters of Historiography, so at Narim’s insistence, he had decided to read it after all. And he was determined that Lokir must never know anything about it.

Finally settling in at his desk, Darian opened the book and began to read. The words on the page quickly captured his attention, and he found himself drawn into the history of his kingdom. As the hours passed and the sun began to set, Darian’s eyes grew heavy with tiredness and the beer in his blood, but he kept reading.

Then, a particular chapter caught his attention. Lokir had a habit of using the phrase “By untrue rumors...” to describe information that made Incuria look bad, supposedly spread by enemies, but which Darian knew was actually true. This time, Darian stumbled upon another such “untrue rumor.”

“According to untrue rumors, Prince Angus allegedly turned his eyes to his own mother, Queen Libra, after his coronation, instead of looking for a wife. Allegedly, the prince took the queen by force and henceforth used her at his will. I hasten to point out that this is all a vile lie. Prince Angus is one of the greatest of the Serpent Slayer’s family line and one of the greatest commanders of Incuria.”

Darian’s mind was a blur as he slumped back in his chair, his thoughts drifting into dark and dangerous territory. He tried to shake the images from his head, but they clung to him stubbornly like a bad hangover. The beer in his blood wasn’t helping matters either, making everything before him swirl and distort like a hallucination.