The Unfortunate, стр. 27
The king ran his fingers along the surface and studied the piece of furniture intently as he concluded, “It was he who united the Highlands and the Lowlands into a single realm.”
Banan nodded. “You have told me many times.”
It was the truth. It was the only response he could have provided, or at least all he wanted to offer. Despite his anticipation the prince sensed dark news awaited. He was not entirely sure what it concerned. What he did know was that it would not be a welcome topic, and he wanted to delay it as long as possible.
After having rounded the table, his father walked back to his desk constructed of a collage of materials and studied it in a comparable manner.
And then there was the desk. Being constructed of numerous sizes and colors of wood that had been taken from conquered strongholds and forts, it represented ages of victories. But to Banan it, too, was nothing more than another piece of furniture that would be removed. He did not need to be reminded of the past. He would forge his own legend.
Additional, unnerving moments elapsed before the king pointed to the right-side panel and explained, “That piece of timber was removed from the portcullis of the castle that belonged to your other grandfather.”
Banan had heard this story before, too, but his father recounted the events before the prince could acknowledge he was already aware.
“The war between Armania’s kingdoms had been nearing the end of five years of combat when my father planned a sneak attack against the Highland’s army.” The king’s tone softened as he added, “And for the first time in the war’s duration, I did not participate.”
If his father intended to recount events that were common knowledge, Banan deemed it futile to try to prevent him. He knew it would be better to let his father narrate because he also was aware that the story was only a prelude to the true reason of the meeting.
The king sighed with reminiscence before continuing, “My father, having been weary of fighting, though he would never have admitted it, told me the attack would be the battle to end the war. ‘By one means or another,’ he explained to me, ‘the one true king will be determined today. It will be for Fate to decide. We might be victorious. We might not. With a battle of this magnitude and importance, however, I shall not risk losing my only son and heir. I know you are disappointed, Beadurof. I know you want to lead our men to victory, but I hope you understand because if I am successful, you are the future of Armania.’”
When the king remained silent, Banan eventually offered, “You have never told me about this, the exact words Grandfather spoke.”
The comment was not meant to delay the dark news. The prince’s comment was sincere. Even though he was aware his father had not taken part in the decisive battle of the Lowlands-Highlands War, Banan had never known such a conversation had occurred.
“Why do you tell me now?”
Rather than provide a direct answer, the king replied, “I wanted you to understand how a king must think about such matters. He must always be prepared.”
Not surprisingly it had nothing to do with strengthening the bond between father and son, but Banan would have been a fool to have expected any different, and he furthered the discussion by inquiring, “Prepared?”
“Yes, a true king must be able to lead both militarily and diplomatically. These are composed of a range of skills my father possessed, the most notable exemplar being that one battle. The assault he planned was successful, and in turn it caused your mother’s father to surrender. Despite the expected frustration and reluctance that naturally occur with the loss of pride and stature, which you can likely imagine, a truce was introduced and signed. That agreement not only ended the violence, but it also united the two kingdoms as one via a betrothal. The marriage between your mother and me was one of many diplomatic agreements for which my father is remembered,” the king concluded and looked to Banan as if he expected some sort of feedback.
But what sort of reply am I supposed to offer? And what is the true reason my father wants to speak? The prince neither had to ask nor wait to learn.
“A true king does whatever necessary to ensure the future of his lineage, and that is why I have been in contact with King Ryce of Yorcia.”
“Concerning his communications with King Aengus?” Banan inquired, wondering if this was the dark news he had anticipated.
The king frowned as if the mention of Drunacht’s sovereign had disturbed him. His reply did not indicate frustration, however, nor did it answer the inquiry his son had posed. “I have arranged your betrothal to Princess Eadlin as a means to secure an enduring pact between Armania and the Yorcia—”
“No!” Banan interrupted. “I am not a damn pawn for you to do with as you please! I am your heir!”
“And I am your father and lord sovereign,” the king echoed his son’s yell. “And you shall heed my command!”
Rather than extend the argument, the young man quickly stood, briskly stomped across the room, and let the door slam behind him.
✽ ✽ ✽
The prince departed his father’s study with oppressive thoughts and a heavy heart. He slowly paced the corridor and continued to recall the conversation that had been both brief and straightforward. In truth there had been no need for lengthy explanations. For many months Banan had expected the news, but it was not easily accepted. Why now? And what can I do to alter my father’s decision? These in addition to numerous other thoughts continued to cycle through his mind, but to ponder the subject did nothing more than generate additional grief. Why is this