Chapter 4: Chapter 4
King Rubigo had arrived from the northern entrance of the castle, and was waiting for his nephew just inside the gate. Hadrien could hear his voice clearly before he had even reached him. He was ordering one of his guards to place his horses in the stables and to make sure they were tended to. The man thought he had control of a castle that didn't belong to him.
Three years had passed since he had last seen Rubigo Niamere, and his manners have only digressed. The man didn't notice Hadrien approach, too engulfed in his own matters. Multiple guards had amassed outside of his carriage, undoubtedly doing their best to make the visitor comfortable. It was a pointless attempt.
"Uncle." Hadrien said, stopping several feet away from Rubigo, deeming it unwise to go any closer just yet. The man spun around, his violet colored robes dragging across the ground.
Hadrien hadn't known his uncle enough to remember him clearly, but he knew that his now greying beard was once a warm brown. He also recalled King Rubigo's as a once fairly well looking man, but now his cheeks and neck sagged and wrinkles sliced his forehead. His lean figure was replaced with one of indolence and overindulgence. It's strange what just a few years can do to a man, especially a king.
"Ah, Hadrien." Rubigo greeted, his voice low and rumbling. "Look at the man you've become." He stepped forward, closing the gap between the kings, and held his hand out. Hadrien shook his uncle's hand once, noting the strong scent of wine and sweat surrounding the man.
"And surely you haven't aged a day since I last saw you." Hadrien replied, letting a small smile tug at his lips. There was a strange feeling of anxiety scratching inside of him, a kind he hadn't felt in a long time. Probably three years. He pushed the feeling away from his thoughts.
King Rubigo chuckled and made no delay transitioning out of fake compliments and greetings. "I already have my horses situated," He bent down to pick up one of his bags, voice contorting with the effort, "but I have yet to be informed as to where I'm staying."
Hadrien watched expressionlessly as his uncle shoved the bag into one of his guards hands. "Of course!" He replied with false enthusiasm, "I'll lead you to your rooms now."
"Good, good."
Hadrien wondered if a bit of patience wouldn't do the man any good.
King Rubigo walked alongside him as they entered the castle, taking painfully small steps. Hadrien always took long strides, preferring not to waste any time roaming a castle he already knew every corner of. They ascended three flights of stairs and when they reached the top, Rubigo was breathing quite heavily. "For heaven's sake boy, how far away did you place me?" He said, most likely trying to hide his struggling with conversation.
But Hadrien had not missed how his uncle addressed him. There were very few people who had ever even called him by his first name. Only one had ever called him boy and that man had not been the one beside him now. That was no way to address a king. Hadrien clenched his fists, looking straight ahead. He stopped the memories from entering his head, willing them away by focusing only on the painting at the end of the corridor. A painting of a horse as dark as midnight, galloping into a storm.
"You'll have to forgive me for the walk, but your rooms are the best my castle has." It was subtle, but he had put an emphasis on the fact that it was his castle.
"Well, I should expect nothing less from you."
Hadrien didn't respond, not then. He waited until they reached his uncle's rooms several minutes later. He let his silence drag on, scratching upon the stone ground like the blade of a knife. He opened the door for King Rubigo and said "Expectation is a game for fools."
The seemingly carefree attitude vanished from Rubigo, replaced by immediate anger. His voice became deadly. "I don't know who you think you are, but I suggest you figure out who I am."
Then Rubigo Niamere slammed the door in his nephew's face.
Hadrien knew exactly who he was. He knew what his uncle was capable of, the power that he held. He knew that, for as much as he hated to admit it, there was a part of his crown that easily belonged to him. They shared the same blood, the same name. Hadrien's father was King Rubigo's brother. Their relationship was far from good.
Unfortunately for Rubigo, Hadrien knew how to prosper without good relationships. He knew not to expect such useless things. He adapted to a life without them.
He walked back the way they came, at a much brisker pace. The guards holding his uncle's luggage stood silently and watched him leave. He wasn't humiliated, as they probably thought. Hadrien was stressed, but he couldn't let himself admit it. There were thousands of thoughts floating in his mind, unable to come into focus. He didn't want to think. Thoughts were the strongest enemies of his exterior barrier. They were the very things that could tear his walls down in an instant. Much too quick for comfort. One breach and all would be lost.
Subconsciously, his feet led him to the training arena near the east wing of the castle. He had passed a great deal of guests arriving, but didn't recognize any of them. They all gave him a brief bow, but before they had a chance to do anything more he was already well past them. He would save the conversation for the ball, when it would be forced upon him for hours straight.
When he had nearly reached the arena, his path was cut off by three young ladies laughing loudly. They seemed completely frazzled by the sudden halt of the king beside them, their laughter instantly subsiding. Their pink lips formed circles and a small cry of surprise escaped their mouths. Hadrien doubted that the girls were truly as surprised as they seemed. They had probably staged the whole scenario. He had no choice but to play along.
He rolled his shoulders back. "What a pleasant surprise to come across such beautiful ladies. You must forgive me for nearly running into you, I couldn't imagine ruining such stunning gowns." Their gowns were truly elegant enough for the ball, he wondered how they were going to top them.
The tallest of the three, with auburn hair and an indigo dress was the one who spoke. "Thank you, Your Highness. It is an honor to have come across you. You are much more handsome than I could have ever imagined." Her cheeks blushed a light pink and she batted her eyelashes frequently.
Hadrien smiled. "Why, thank you very much--" He paused, leaving an obvious space for her to say her name. Thankfully, she took the hint.
"My name is Genevieve."
"Ah, yes, thank you Genevieve. And what are the names of your lovely friends?" He glanced at the other two girls.
Genevieve gestured to the girl on her left with tanned skin and dark hair "This is Veema." And next to the girl on her right with light brown hair and freckles "And this is Alise."
Hadried bowed his head towards the girls, making eye contact with each of them. Veema had incredibly bright green eyes. His mother had green eyes. That was one of the only things he clearly remembered of her. Now that he thought about it, his mother must have looked similar to the girl before him, dark hair, light brown skin, and green eyes. If he had wanted to stay and talk, perhaps he may have asked her about her heritage. But staying and chatting was far from what he intended to do. "It was certainly a pleasure meeting all three of you today, but I unfortunately must be going. May we meet again at the ball."
He gave them a small smile and then set forwards again, not really giving any of them a chance to reply. He didn't want to hear their reply.
The arena was empty when he entered it. Nobody knew he was there. It was by no means a large arena, but it was hardly used anyway. As far as he knew, Hadrien had been the only one to actually use it in many years. He descended the flight of the stairs that led to the floor of the arena. It was covered in a layer of sand so he left a trail of footprints as he walked to the other side. The sunlight from overhead was a refreshing warmth. The day was nearly as nice as the previous one.
At the far end of the floor there were three blocks of wood, just a few inches shorter than him and about the same width and depth as his shoulders. All three blocks were covered in a scattering of slices and dents. Hadrien tilted one onto its side and lifted it up from underneath, adjusting it to a comfortable position before carrying it to the center of the floor. When he set it down, it's edges dug into the sand. He took a step back, scanning the empty rows of the arena. There were no eyes upon him, no expecting faces looking at him. There was nothing but forgotten memories of a full arena and an exciting duel.
The king let his eyes close and his breathing slow. His hand slid to his hip, to the hilt of his sword. His thumb brushed over a small carving on its polished surface. His initials had been embedded into the hilt when his father had it made for him. The blade had been his ever since he could wield a weapon.
Slowly, he pulled the sword from its sheath, letting the sunlight reflect off of its lustrous surface. It was pointed straight forwards, directly at the only target to be seen. The wooden block, the only opponent he'd faced in three years. He opened his eyes, letting all of the light flood inside of him. Then he lunged and attacked.
It wasn't often that he practiced. Not anymore. Only when he needed to clear his mind. All of the skills he was taught took his central focus. He thought only of blade that had become a mere extension of his arm. It was something he had complete control of. His crown could only provide an illusion of such power. The wood never fought back, it took in his strikes and held on to them forever. It's surface was scarred from his actions. A lasting effect.
Sand flew up from beneath his feet with his movements. He was fluid, connected, concentrated. Nothing had given him such confidence as that sword had. He was invincible with it. Made of gold.
Hadrien was lost in his movements. So lost he hadn't even noticed the person enter the arena. It was just out of the corner of his eye that he saw a silhouette. Instantly, he froze mid step, letting reality crash upon him
with striking force. He was breathing heavy, sweat beading his forehead. He turned his head to see none other than his advisor.
Kendrick stood at the edge of the floor, arms crossed. "I spoke with your uncle." He said, his voice just barely reaching Hadrien.
He sheathed his sword, not taking his gaze off of his advisor. "And?"
"He expects to see Evryn Valiere at the ball, unchained and in person."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone