The entire Guard Battalion begins to bang their spears on the ground, while the court stays shocked into silence. The common folk, however, let out a cheer. And not just any type of cheer, but is one of the loudest I have heard ever.

  “HAIL THE PRINCE!” One of the commoners declares, stepping forward. He drops to a knee, not in a typical bow, but of a soldier. The rest of the veterans in the crowd follow suit, their fists on the ground, head tilted down. Offering their necks to the noble commander, a sign of trust. I look at my father, the king, as he nods at me.

  “Arise brave soldiers!” I demand, stepping forward. The Royal Guardsmen aim to follow me, but I hold them off. I walk to the man who first knelt, an elderly man, who must be in his 60’s. “Sergeant Jasper?” I ask, smiling at the man.

  “Aye, Your Royal Highness.” He responds, as I practically force him to stand and give him a hug. The court is in shock at this, confused, as my father simply laughs.

  “You do not have to bow to me when you saw me naked as a child,” I whisper, still hugging him. He pats my back, before looking at Onyx who has prowled over and growls at him.

  “I see you got the puppy you wanted.” He says loudly, as the 15th and the commoners begin to laugh, I look to my father, who signals to head back to the court. I nod, before looking at Jasper.

  “I need some more people I can trust. I assume you will return to court with me?” I ask, smiling.

  “As what? I’m no more warrior.”

  “No, as my personal chamberlain. I need a good friend for that.” I respond, as he wipes a tear from his eye, nodding. I motion for him to follow me, as we begin the long walk to the court. My men begin to sing their victory song, while some of the nobles in court look on in confusion, a lot of the older nobles and the warriors understand, and cheer, while the commoners cheer at the song. I walk beside my father, not behind him, and smile at him.

  “I never expected this to occur,” I whisper to him, as he gives me a slight smile.

  “I might have been since I ordered you to return been having the Marshal detail couriers to report the deeds of the 15th to the people.” He responds as I roll my eyes. Politics.

  “So tell me, what happened?”

  “Your brother, Elliot, died in his sleep. He died randomly. His son died in a freak training accident. Your sisters? Both Adele and Ivy died when their ship sunk the week before your nephew. Adele was carrying.” We each make the sign of Roreus at this, as I look to him.

  “Foul play?”

  “I always assume the worst, which is why you were kept hidden from the court. It is traditional for this very reason.” He responds, as I nod. Unlike other dynasties, the Seagards have had a tradition of the Royal Bastard for hundreds of years. It has never had to be used, due to the fact most royals have many kids, but of course, my father was an only child of an only child.

  Traditionally, the royal bastard was the firstborn child of the King. Either from a commoner or a carefully selected noblewoman. That child is educated at court in the same manner as the heir, for the purposes of safety. I knew who my mother was, and had spoken with her before she was slain in combat against the goblins. During the Goblin Civil War, she was assigned a border post, where a damn arrow from Shagab was taken by the wind into her neck.

  “Who are the likely suspects?” I ask, knowing about the bare minimum of the dealings of the Obsidian Throne.

  “Elliot was enemies with the Lower Penninsula and Goblin Border Regions after denying the Duchess’s daughter’s hand. Adele and Ivy had made few friends with the Islands, due to a disagreement over some proposals. However, Adele’s husband was the son and heir of the Duchess, so that is unlikely. Perhaps Durkh.” He states, as I nod.

  “So a lot of the powerful nobles are angry. I assume they will be angry when I assemble my household.” I say as we begin to cross the bridge leading to the Obsidian Throne district. A district in name only, it is the size of a city.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I still have some friends in the Throne. I will be taking those I can trust.” I respond as the gate begins to open before us. “And I need Lou assigned to me, he knows the politics better than me. And more.” I say, signaling with my hands who I mean.

  “Agreed, what will you do with your troops?”

  “They will form my personal Guard Battalion, for the duchy,” I say, as the gate opens, with horns blaring our return. “There is precedent for it. King Xavier, one hundred or so years ago, is the most recent.”

  “True, true. Let us announce it during the formal crowning when we enter the court itself. It will give you a solid power base to consolidate power in the duchy at least.”

  We stay quiet after this, as the court files into the throne room, while I signal for my command unit to follow after me inside. I quickly nod at Lou over to me and smile at him.

  “Tell the others to meet in our old place,” I say, as he nods and runs off. My command team looks confused at this exchange, as I simply smile. “Come on, let’s get to the front.”

  As we push through the crowd, several things become apparent to the assembled nobles here about me. And they hate it all. Traditionally, the heir is not a trained warrior, blooded from a decade of service. Nor is the heir not guarded by Royal Guardsmen. Or followed by a large direwolf that growls at the ones who try to approach. We get to the front, near the Obsidian Throne itself.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The Throne, made of Obsidian centuries ago, by fire salamanders and dragons on the pay of the first human king. It is roughly 10 feet tall, with a 20-foot backing of pure obsidian. It is sharp on the edges, I should know, having played on it and cut myself on it many times. I look over and see my father sit upon the throne, and signal for me to approach.

  “Captain Isaac Seagard, as the new heir to the throne, we must crown you properly.” King Stephan says as he signals for the royal barber to approach and grab the razer. “With the cutting of your hair in the ceremonial places, you become the heir in fact and name.” The first cut is directly above my eyes, in the middle of my forehead, removing all bangs.

  “With the first cut over your eyes, remove your blindness to the plight of the people.” The barber says, as he cuts over both ears, to the scalp. “With the second and third, you shall not hear falsehoods.”

  The barber removes the hair of my beard, cutting it to the skin.

  “With this cut, you shall utter no denial of facts.” He cuts again, this time in a circle around my head, down to the skin. As he does so, he cuts my skin enough to cause me to bleed. “With the final cuts, you bleed for the last time as who you were, and for the first time as heir.”

  The barber steps back, as the king steps forward, holding a steel circle. Where a cut was on my skin, a small spike there, as he placed it gently on my head.

  “My son, as heir to the throne, you shall know pain. As your father, I place this crown upon your head to ensure you stand ready for it.” He says, pushing down on the crown, the spikes entering my skin and resting there. They connect to my skull via magic and are where the crown itself will rest.

  I kneel down low for this point, as my father places upon those spikes the state crown of the heir. It is an obsidian circle, with four points in the cardinal directions, each point carved with a dragon, one of the four dragon rulers of the past. Purrom, the Hungry, Southern King of Fire. Onno, the Strong, Northern Queen of Lightning. Ezzoi, the Champion, Western Ruler of Acid. And Kegem, the Gentle, the Eastern King of Ice. The crown connects via magic to the spikes in my skull, the crown begins to float above my head slightly. It begins to float, and turn towards the cardinal directions represented. This is the ceremonial crown of justice and duty to the heir, and rarely used. Each heir creates their own custom crown, due to their style. The royal crown is the same as the first king’s.

  My father places upon his head the ceremonial crown of the first king, it floating above the same spikes in his skull. He nods as a herald blows a horn to quiet the court entirely.

  “I call upon the great nobles of the realm to come forth and swear their loyalty to Prince Isaac Seagard, Duke of Whitwater, Crown Prince of the Obsidian Throne, Count of Whitwater, Baron of Whitwater City, Grandmaster of the Sword.”

  As the nobles come forth and give the traditional oath of fealty, in accordance with their rank and location, I notice the Dwarven ambassador from Kovadaleli and smile.

  “Father, we will have a match of honor today,” I whisper to my father, as the Baron of Winch makes way for the next noble.

  “And why is that?” He whispers back as the elderly Baroness of Buckerbia kneels to begin her oath.

  “I was marked by the Thane,” I whisper back to him, as he sucks in a breath, and signals for a courier to set up the match of honor with the dwarf for his oath. As the final noble has sworn, the Dwarven ambassador makes his way forward.

  “Your Majesty, I cannot swear fealty before this son of yours yet.” He begins, as he bows before the King only.

  “Ambassador Grimjaw, may I ask why?” King Stephan asks, staring at the bowing dwarf, in full armor.

  “He is an honorary Grimjaw, and he must beat me for the honor.” Gasps are heard through the crowd, as an honorary dwarf is a high honor and rarely granted.

  “Well brother, let us begin,” I say, as I remove the ceremonial crown and begin to remove my armor. I step down from the throne as he does the same, removing armor and shirts till both are bear-chested. I draw Cry of the Forsaken, while he draws an axe. I hear the court begin to mumble at the scars that crisscross my chest and back, and the three tattoos on my body as well.

  The black tribal tattoo of Onyx appears to be moving. A shaman from a small village did it and connected the two. For it is the sign of a familiar.

  The dwarven runes down my spine, stating who I have defeated in Dwarven combat. The topmost rune under my neck is the name of the Thane himself.

  Finally, the Elven marking of a hunted. Marked for death and survived the blade of Elven assassins, each circle is another survival. There are 4 circles on my chest.

  “I am Mokkak Grimjaw, servant of the Thane.” Mokkak says, beginning the ceremonial words of the match.

  “I am Isaac Seagard, servant of the King,” I respond as neither of us takes our eyes off the other as we give salutes with our weapons.

  “This match is to prove which holds the greater honor. I, Mokkak Grimjaw, claim that I hold the greater honor.”

  “I, Isaac Seagard, claim that I hold the greater honor.”

  At once, we spring into battle. No words of start, merely the fight has begun. He begins the duel by slashing down with his axe, which I aim to parry, throwing a kick as I do. He catches the kick squarely in his face, right on his nose. I hear a crunch as I do, managing to break his nose.

  “That which was not caused my blade I do not see it,” I state, breaking apart, as he nods. We jump back into the fight, this time he presses his advantage by hitting my sword arm with the metal handle of his axe, forcing me to pull back.

  I aim a swipe at his arm, while he aims for one at my chest, each blade cutting the skin at the same time.

  “Shall we continue brother?” I ask as I place my sword on the ground.

  “If you think you can beat me here, then yes.” He responds, dropping his axe. The cut he did on my chest is barely enough to cause me to bleed, let alone feel pain, as we rush at each other. With his shorter stature, he dodges my grab, slipping around to my back and pulling me down. He begins to attempt to choke me out as I push myself up and then drop backward. We land on his back and he lets go, and we re-position ourselves. This time I dive in for a take down, and get him onto his back. I begin to target his stomach with fists before I hear a call from the other dwarves in the court.

  “HA!” Each dwarf states, as they close in watching this brawl from close. I continue my ground and pound, as Mokkak attempts to fight out of it. Eventually, the dwarves surrounding us stamp their left foot loud enough to stop the brawl. At this, I stop mid-punch and stand up. Mokkak struggles to his feet, his nose still bleeding. Both of our cuts have stopped bleeding at this point, but the stone floor we have been fighting on has been stained red from the bleeding.

  “The Thane shall continue to swear everlasting loyalty to the King,” Mokkak states simply, the dwarves moving out as one, as the court looks at me in shock.