Simon was a special young man. That's what everyone told him, anyway. His mother, his aunts and uncles, his fourteen sisters, his doctor. Aesthetics and philosophy were his calling, and he compromised nowhere to achieve artistic perfection. He was an ambitious young man who had it all figured out. He was cold, calculating, and very sensitive.
The great Lord Phillip Hurlany was a grumpy middle-aged man with an army of daughters and a single sickly, disappointing son. He needed a son who could fill his shoes, and Simon Hurlany, the son he was given, was not such a son. At the age of seventeen, Lord Hurlany had married the magnificent Lady Helena Amberly of the illustrious House Amberly, one of the most powerful families in all the world. She was twenty-five.
His first four children were all daughters and they were all born a year apart. Now, Lady Helena was a healthy, lively young woman, but four kids will do things to anyone's body and mind. 'If I don't bear a son soon,' she thought to herself, 'I think I may die.'
Fortunately, the next child was a son. Lord Hurlany held a feast for his whole estate to celebrate the birth.
Unfortunately, Lady Helena was in labor for thirty-four hours and many guests had to go home.
Even worse, their son was born underweight.
"He's a retard!" Lord Hurlany cried when Lady Helena finally managed to squeeze him out. "He's a retard and a cripple! This cannot be my heir."
"We don't know that yet," the nurse assured him. "He may still develop. Give him a chance, milord."
Lady Helena was far too exhausted to celebrate and spent the next three days sleeping. "I had the weirdest dream," she said the morning she woke up.
"What was it?" Lord Hurlany asked, lying beside her.
"I dreamt I bore a 'special' son."
"That wasn't a dream, my love," Lord Hurlany said. "You've been asleep for three days."
"What?!" She exclaimed and leapt to her feet, then collapsed back onto the bed as the blood rushed to her legs.
"You don't remember?" He asked.
"No!"
"Dammit," Lord Hurlany shook his fists in the air. "I could've gotten rid of him."
"What—" She interrupted herself. "Where is he? Is he truly 'special?'"
"I'm not sure. Your nurse said it's too early to know for sure, but I know."
Simon didn't learn to talk until he was three. He didn't learn to walk until he was four. After his fourth birthday, Lord Hurlany decided he had seen enough. He must try again to bear a more capable son. For the next fourteen years, Lady Helena brought him nothing but daughters. They added ten more girls to their family.
"My love," she said one day at breakfast, after having given birth to their fourteenth and final daughter, "If we keep this up, I don't think I'll survive. It's not natural for a woman to have so many children."
"My love," Lord Hurlany replied, sitting beside her at the breakfast table, "If we don't keep trying, my house will not survive."
"I'm broken," she pouted, placing her soup spoon down. "I can't do this anymore. We must find a surrogate or adopt a son."
"A surrogate?" Lord Hurlany pondered, imagining all the beautiful candidates he could pick from anywhere in the world. "No, no," he shook his head. "You are my wife. I could never."
"Well, you don't have to put it in her," Lady Helena reasoned. "You could just do it in a cup, I could help you, and—"
"Enough!" He shouted, red in his face. He refused to even raise his eyes in the direction of their children, who were sitting along the lengthy table that stretched all the way across the dining hall, trying to hide their giggles.
"Then adopt one. Please! For my sake," she pleaded.
"No, you must be the mother. It is how it must be."
Lord Hurlany was right. In his country, the Hillands, illegitimate or adopted heirs did not have strong claims, and he could not afford to let his house fall apart after so many generations of greatness.
"Then grant Simon more responsibility," she said.
Simon perked up and stopped his giggling. He was sitting on the opposite end of the table. He had grown into a thin, pale young man with flowing blond hair that reached his shoulders. He slouched and had constant tremors in his left hand. He towered a whole foot above his father. His height was the target of much of the ridicule he'd experienced, so he would spend his days in his quarters painting and composing music.
"What?" Lord Hurlany asked coldly. "The retard?"
"Maybe you call him that because you won't let him have any responsibility," she protested. "Give him a chance. He's nineteen and sits around in his room all day, painting those hideous pictures."
"Hey," Simon spoke up, so he could be heard. His voice was weak and mumbling. "I'll have you know those paintings have sold for exorbitant rates around the world and have been showcased—"
"Oh, shut up," Lord Hurlany growled. "Anybody can paint some blue and white shapes."
Simon gasped and placed his hand over his bosom. "Why, I never—" He started. "I'll have you know abstract art is one of the most difficult—"
"Shut up. Shut up, freakish man-child!" Lord Hurlany yelled as he threw his spoon at him. Simon gasped again as he watched the spoon land in his potato soup, causing some to splash onto his lap.
"That's it!" Simon whined. "I've had it! I am sick and tired of being misunderstood. Come to me when you are ready to be open-minded."
With that, he limped off to his room.
"Nice going, papa," Lady Helena laughed.
"He's proven my point," Lord Hurlany said, combing back his hair with his fingers. "That boy is totally incapable of listening to his betters."
"Maybe it's because his betters have nothing nice to say to him," she responded.
Later that day, Lord Hurlany took his wife and children to Lenevei, the city at the bottom of the hill their marvelous stone castle rested upon. They stopped at an inn in one of the wealthier districts, which had countless shops lining each street. There were haberdasheries, smithies, jewelers, bakeries, wineries, and clothing stores that were heralds of haute couture, en vogue, and very hip. Simon loved visiting the city and shopping with his sisters. He'd give them advice about which colors go well together for their dresses, and in return, they'd help him pick out dashing threads to impress any lady. Unfortunately, even in these fat, silk-stocking districts, the effects of the famine were undeniable.
"What are we going to do about this famine?" Lord Hurlany sighed as he buttoned up his shirt and watched his son shop merrily with his sisters. He rolled his eyes at the sight.
"Is there anything we really can do?" Lady Helena muttered as she put her leather whip and corset away into a chest.
"I suppose not," he thought aloud, rubbing the red marks on his wrists where the clamps had been. "We would've done it by now."
"I have an idea," Lady Helena chimed in after sliding her gown back on. She stepped beside her husband and looked out the window with him, then pointed to their son, who could be seen with his sisters through a window trying on various wigs. "Let him handle the food shortage."
"Who, Simon? Are you crazy?" Lord Hurlany responded as he watched Simon strike a ridiculous pose, making all fourteen of his sisters giggle.
"Think about it, darling. You'd be delegating all responsibility to him," she murmured in his ear.
"Ah," Lord Hurlany nodded as he began to understand. "If anything goes wrong, it's his fault. If he manages to improve the state of the realm, I've made a good decision appointing him."
A few days later, back in their castle, Lord Hurlany held a small feast and granted Simon Hurlany the ad hoc title 'Administrator of Provisions,' which meant he was now responsible for ensuring harvest quotas are met, everyone gets their rations, and to figure out how much surplus they should keep and how much of it to trade.
Simon jumped at the opportunity, giving an hour-and-a-half long speech, causing his father's cheeks to go numb from fake smiling.
"As my first official act as administrator of provisions, I will begin transitioning all our farmers over to the use of a new, environmentally-sustainable fertilizer I have been developing," Simon declared as he brought his speech to a close.
"In closing, I'd like to thank my father for finally seeing my potential. I will not disappoint you, father."
Lord Hurlany had been sitting upright in his seat and looked like he was awake, but he was sound asleep. Lady Helena jabbed her heel into his foot and he jolted to attention.
"Ah! Yes. Yes, my son. Make me proud. Make us all proud," he yammered as he looked around to his guests, who were also half-asleep. He loudly cleared his throat and stood up, lifting his cup for a toast. "To my son's success!"
"A-Actually, I haven't finished—" Simon stuttered.
The guests quickly stood, pretending not to hear, and rose their cups.
"To his success!" They roared in unison, bottoms up, and then the musicians started playing.
"Oh," Simon mumbled to his eldest sister, Selene. "I hadn't finished, though."
"They're just excited to have a competent administrator for a change," Selene comforted him, then took off to the wine table.
The next three months came as a shock to Lord Hurlany and Lady Helena. Each time Simon reported their harvest, the numbers went up. Of course, he credited his meticulous nature and his wonderful miracle fertilizer. No matter, as Lord Hurlany began to form bigger plans for Simon, but these plans had to make time for the tides of war, as King Eryl summoned his lords for another campaign against King Tarvos, leaving Simon in charge of his father's domain.
"You know," Lady Helena said to Simon one day, while Lord Hurlany was away. "It was I who convinced your father to appoint you administrator of provisions."
"Oh, I know," Simon replied smugly from behind his canvas.
"You know?" Lady Helena said, surprised, as she laid bare-chested on a red long chair with her arms above her head. She sat up and said, "How did you know?"
"Please, mother, maintain the position," he requested, annoyed. She resumed the pose.
"That day when you and father were performing your—ahem—acts of love with one another in that inn downtown, you and father seemed to have forgotten that your servants are people, too, with eyes that can't help but see too much and ears that overhear your conversations. It's as though they don't exist to you, honestly."
"Oh," she said.
"I mean, seriously, you need to treat them better. They're always coming to me and telling me about the dilemmas they face with you and father. I mean, I try to listen and be nice, but there's only so much one guy like me can do. Bless their hearts, sincerely, but it's just too much, you know?"
"Yes, dear," she said.
"You know, one time—"
"Simon!" She interrupted him. "Simon, my dearest son, I got you the position as an administrator, and now you're lord regent. Do I not deserve some sort of favor in return?"
"Ah, a favor for a favor, a quid pro quo. I suppose. You've scratched my back, now I must scratch yours," he yammered as he gracefully whipped his paintbrush this way and that, up and down, back and forth.
"Yes, Simon," Lady Helena said.
"Isn't this painting something like a favor?" He asked.
"Well, I'm not so sure a painting is equal to the opportunities I've afforded you," she reasoned with him. "As lord regent, you could get just about anyone to paint for you."
"Of course, I could get just about anyone to paint for me as lord regent, but not just anyone could get me to paint for them, mother," he stated calmly, smiling, still flicking his wrist forward and back, side to side. "Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what I can do."
"I know what you can do, Simon, I've been married to Lord Hurlany for twenty-three years," she argued, covering herself up. "Don't think you can manipulate me, naïve boy. Don't forget where I come from."
"Yes, you're right," he backed down and placed his brush on his easel. "What I meant to say was tell me what you want me to do."
"Well," she started as she sat up and wrapped herself in a blanket, "It's not so much what I want you to do, it's what I want you to be. I want you to be something for me. All I need you to do is come to an agreement with me. It's very important you trust me, Simon."
"Yes, mother. I trust you," he assured her as he sat beside her. "You've given me a real shot at life now. I owe you more than a favor."
"Oh, you're going to owe me a lot more than favors, my sweet son," she chuckled as she lied back. "A lot, lot more than favors."
"What is it, then? I'm almost worried."
"Your father is still living in the shadow of his great ancestors. He's standing on the shoulders of giants, but he'll never get what he wants because what he wants can't be got. You can never build something that lasts forever."
"Please, mother. Tell me what it is you want me to be."
"I want you to be king."
"W—What?"
"I want you to be king."
The weight of his mother's offer dawned on him. Here was an opportunity ripe for the taking, an opportunity to be taken seriously, to make a real difference in the world. What better mentor to help him navigate the politics of Niscea than an Amberly? All he had to do was reach out and take hold.
"Deal."