Someone Else's Kingdom, BOOK II - Scene I

The body of Prince Aralak lay in state, a dull gold-coloured veil covering half his head and face. The rest of his otherwise perfect body, naked barring a loincloth, shimmering in the mix of candlelight and dying evening sun. The oils on his skin giving the impression of sweat. His life-like form making his death seem even more surreal and hard to comprehend to the assembled crowd.

King Mizmeam cupped the head of the young Seaspell with his hands in a moment of sorrow, before reassuming his steely countenance. He glanced over at Drua Maleeva as he paced the floor, unsure what to do, almost oblivious to the mass of people and dignitaries watching on in unsettled silence. The discordance of the candles and the soft glow of evening light adding to the sense of chaos and uncertainty. Events had moved so quickly that planning blended into action; the quickly arranged formalities happening in real-time, as King Mizmeam responded, broodingly, to the unfolding crises.

With the discovery of black powder the war had turned decidedly in his favour, but the strange death of his son had made this new found dominance seem hollow and disturbing. A cruel murder at the very moment when victory became visible. What was it all for if his very heir - his only heir - had been cut down in cold blood? His beautiful princely body robbed of its life, just as the whole world was opening up to be conquered.

No one present could fail to understand what a blow this was for the king, and few dared to break the silence for fear of his anger. Maleeva had much to discuss, but understood that now was not the time. The other courtiers and war leaders standing in attendance likewise knowing it was best to leave the floor to him - and him alone.

As the remaining daylight slowly crept out of their presence, fires blossomed on the distant hillsides. Whilst servants softly lit more candles, their solemn service, prayer-like in its silent motion. The oil on Prince Aralak's skin reflecting back the flickering light like a black, starlit sea.

King Kaspria, shadow-like, went almost unnoticed amidst the array of people watching King Mizmeam pace beneath the large vaulted ceiling, that now felt purpose built to shroud his departed prince. The wide stairway of the building, which led out to the open courtyard, the perfect stage to present to the world this tragic scene. Kaspria's own small entourage of courtiers even further out of sight, just indistinct background players in the unfolding drama. Standing small atop this accidental amphitheatre he unwisely sensed that the long and dreadful silence was beckoning his words. He interrupted the quiet thoughts of the bereaved monarch.

"I've instructed my kingdom to enter a period of mourning for the prince. The war, and all other issues, have been put on hold. We'll extend this period of mourning however long you see fit, your majesty. King Brijsk remains in his kingdom, but I've no doubt when news reaches him his actions will be similar."

The words of the lesser king jarred with King Mizmeam, as he looked distantly at the body of his son. "No," came the firm response, "I want my people to grieve in anger."

As he spoke he raised his voice so that all within earshot could hear. The blurry crowded faces far off below could not hear the angry words, but for those close enough to see the form, his imperial body language carried the meaning. The war would not pause. As the fires burned, and the anger of the king rippled through the masses of people, warships with blood red sails left the coast of the Southern Kingdom.