Morgan Rice - A Quest of Heroes

“So, then tell me. What do you think of my choice?” he asked.

“Choice?” she asked.

“For my heir! To the kingdom!”

“You mean me?” she asked.

“Who else?” he laughed.

She blushed.

“Father, I was surprised, to say the least. I am not the firstborn. And I am a woman. I know nothing of politics. And care nothing for them-or for ruling a kingdom. I have no political ambition. I do not know why you chose me.”

“It is precisely for those reasons,” he said, his expression deadly serious. “It is because you don’t aspire to the throne. You don’t want the kingship. And you know nothing of politics.”

He took a deep breath.

“But you know human nature. You are very perceptive. You got it from me. You have your mother’s quick wit, but my skill with people. You know how to judge them; you can see right through them. And that is what a king needs. To know human nature. There is nothing more you need. All else is artifice. Know who your people are. Understand them. Trust your instincts. Be good to them. This is all.”

“Surely, there must be more to ruling a kingdom than that,” she said.

“Not really,” he said. “It all stems from that. Decisions stem from that.”

“But father, you are forgetting that, first, I have no desire to rule, and second, you’re not going to die. This is all just a silly tradition, on your eldest’s wedding day. Why dwell on this? I’d rather not even speak of it, or think of it. I hope the day should never come when I see you pass-so this is all irrelevant.”

He cleared his throat, looking grave.

“I have spoken to Argon, and he sees a dark future for me. I have felt it myself. I must prepare,” he said.

Gwen felt her stomach tighten.

“Argon is a fool. A sorcerer. Half of what he says doesn’t come to pass. Ignore him. Don’t give in to his silly omens. You are fine. You will live forever.”

But he slowly shook his head, and she could see the sadness in his face, and she felt her stomach tighten even more.

“Gwendolyn, my daughter, I love you. I need you to be prepared. I want you to be the next ruler of the Ring. I am serious in what I say. It is not a request. It is a command.”

He looked at her with such seriousness, his eyes darkening, it scared her. She had never seen that look on her father’s face before.

She felt herself tearing up, and reached up and brushed back a tear.

“I am sorry to have upset you,” he said.

“Then stop talking of this,” she said, crying. “I don’t want you to die.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot. I need you to answer me.”

“Father, I do not want to insult you.”

“Then say yes.”

“But how can I possibly rule?” she pleaded.

“It is not as hard as you think. You will be surrounded by advisors. The first rule is to trust none of them. Trust yourself. You can do this. Your lack of knowledge, your naivete-that is what will make you great. You will make genuine decisions. Promise me,” he insisted.

She looked into his eyes, and saw how much this meant to him. She wanted to get off this topic, if for no other reason than to appease his morbidity and cheer him up.

“Okay, I promise you,” she said in a rush. “Does that make you feel better?”

He leaned back, and she could see him greatly relieved.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Good, now can we talk of other things? Things that might actually happen?” she asked.

Her father leaned back and roared with laughter; he seemed a million pounds lighter.

“That is why I love you,” he said. “Always so happy. Always able to make me laugh.”

He examined her, and she could sense he was searching for something.

“You seem unusually happy yourself,” he said. “Is there a boy in the picture?”

Gwen blushed. She stood up and walked to the window, turning from him.

“I’m sorry father, but that is a private affair.”

“It is not private if you will be ruling my kingdom,” he said. “But I won’t pry. However, your mother has requested an audience with you, and I assume she will not be so lenient. I will let it go. But prepare yourself.”

Her stomach tightened, and she turned away, looking out the window. She hated this place. She wished she were anywhere but here. In a simple village, on a simple farm, living a simple life with Thor. Away from all of this, from all of these forces trying to control her.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned to see her father standing there, smiling down.

“Your mother can be fierce. But whatever she decides, know that I will take your side. In matters of love, one must be allowed to choose freely.”

Gwen reached up and hugged her dad. At that moment, she loved him more than anything. She tried to push the omen of that snake from her mind, and prayed, with all she had, that it was not meant for her father.

*

Gwen twisted and turned down corridor after corridor, past rows of stained-glass, heading towards her mother’s chamber. She hated being summoned by her mother, hated her controlling ways. In many ways, her mother was really the one who ruled the kingdom. She was stronger than her father in many ways, stood her ground more, gave in less easily. Of course the kingdom had no idea: he put on a strong face, seemed to be the wise one. But when he returned to the castle, behind closed doors, it was she who he turned to for advice. She was the wiser one. The colder one. The more calculating one. The tougher one. The fearless one. She was the rock. And she ruled their large family with an iron fist. When she wanted something, especially if she got it into her head that it was for the good of the family, she made sure it happened.

And now, Gwen sensed, her mother’s iron will was about to be turned towards her; she was already bracing herself for the confrontation. She sensed it had something to do with her romantic life, and feared she had been spotted with Thor. But she was resolved not to back down. No matter what it took. If she had to leave this place, she would. Her mother could put her in the dungeon for all she wanted.

As Gwen approached her mother’s chamber, the large oak door was opened by her servants, who stepped out of the way as she entered and closed it behind her.

Her mother’s chamber was much smaller than her father’s, more intimate, with large rugs, a small tea set and gaming board set up beside a roaring fire, several delicate, yellow velvet chairs beside them. Her mother sat in one of the chairs, her back to Gwen, even though she was expecting her. She faced the fire, sipped her tea, and moved one of the pieces on the game board. Behind her were two ladies in waiting, one tending her hair, and the other tightening her strings on the back of her dress.

“Come in, child,” came her mother’s stern voice.

Gwen hated when her mother did this-held court in front of her servants. She wished she would dismiss them, like her father did when they spoke. It was the least she could do for privacy and decency. But her mother never did. Gwen concluded it was a power-play, keeping her servants hovering around, listening, in order to keep Gwen on edge.

Gwen had no choice but to cross the room and take a seat in one of the velvet chairs opposite her mother, too close to the fire. Another one of her mother’s power plays: it kept her company too warm, caught off guard by the flames.

Her mother did not look up; rather she stared down at her board game, pushing one of the ivory pieces in the complex maze.

“Your turn,” her mother said.

Gwen looked down at the board; she was surprised her mother still had this game going. She recalled she had the brown pieces, but she hadn’t played this game with her mother in weeks. Her mother was an expert at Pawns-but Gwen was even better. Her mother hated to lose, and she clearly had been analyzing this board for quite a while, hoping to make the perfect move. Now that Gwen was here, she moved.