Samuel carefully opened the gate, his sword poised and ready in his archer's kit. The blade, a masterful combination of white silver, iron, and intricately carved wood, was now directed at the subjects necks Just as he was about to swing, he met their gaze and was surprised to recognize the subject among them.
At the sight of Samuel's sword, the chief and his companions froze in terror, their bodies trembling as they realized how close they had come to having their lives cut short.
Samuel quickly realized his mistake and lowered his weapon, a look of remorse crossing his face. "I'm sorry," he said, bowing low in accordance with their traditions and customs. "I didn't know it was you."
The chief, still shaken from the encounter, accepted Samuel's apology and gestured for him to rise. Despite the fear they had felt moments before; they knew that Samuel had been acting out of concern for his own safety and that of the palace.
Despite the shock of their encounter with Samuel, the group remained focused on their purpose. They followed Samuel into the palace's parlor, where they sat on comfortable white chairs adorned with intricate blackthorn tree designs.
They removed their black rubber slippers at the entrance, respecting the palace's tradition of leaving shoes at the door, and walked barefoot into the room. Once seated, they exchanged glances, steeling themselves for the task ahead.
Samuel could sense the tension in the air and knew that whatever news they had brought was not good. He waited patiently, giving them the space they needed to gather their thoughts.
The subjects of the late king took a deep breath and prepared to deliver their news. They knew that the rumors they had heard had the potential to cause serious harm to the kingdom and to Samuel's reputation. But they also knew that it was their duty to inform him of the situation, no matter how difficult it might be.
The scene was one of quiet solemnity, with the subjects of the late king sitting opposite Samuel in the palace's parlor. The throne at the far end of the room was left vacant; a silent reminder of the tragic loss the kingdom had endured.
Between the two parties, a small, round white table served as the physical barrier between them, despite the unspoken emotional barriers that might have existed. The subjects could feel the weight of their news pressing down on them, but they knew that it must be shared.
Samuel sat patiently, waiting for the group to speak. He sensed that the news was serious and was prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The subjects, for their part, took a deep breath and mustered their courage.
Samuel broke the silence, his voice carrying a hint of confusion and concern. "Why are you here?" he asked, his eyes searching their faces for answers. "You aren't supposed to be here at this time.
The chief of the group cleared his throat and spoke, choosing his words carefully. "Your Highness," he began, "we apologize for our unexpected arrival, but the news we bear is urgent and cannot wait."
As Samuel and the subjects were engaged in their discussion, the sound of footsteps echoed from the upper level of the palace, growing louder descending from the staircase.
All eyes turned towards the high left staircase steps, as the Queen Dowager made her way into the room.
She was a vision of elegance, dressed in a long silk skirt with intricate geometric patterns, secured by a sash tied around her chest. A long gauze shawl flowed behind her as she walked, and her white hair was held up in a high bun adorned with delicate floral ornaments. Her turned-up shoes, made of soft satin, made no sound as she moved across the room.
The subjects bowed low before the Queen Dowager, showing their respect for her authority and her position as their superior.
But the Dowager's words were like a slap in the face, shocking and painful in their accusation. "What are you doing here after killing my husband?" she demanded, her voice laced with grief and anger.
The subjects looked at each other in disbelief, the weight of the situation suddenly crashing down on them. They had come to report the rumors they had heard, but now it seemed that the Dowager believed those rumors to be true.
The Chief subjects, a short man with a fair complexion, stepped forward. "Your Majesty," he began, "we have heard rumors outside the palace".
Samuel and the Dowager spoke in unison, their voices echoing through the room. "What rumors?" they demanded, their eyes meeting in a mixture of confusion and concern.
The subjects exchanged a nervous glance, and the short man continued. "There are whispers throughout the kingdom that His Highness had a hand in the king's untimely passing" Short man said and added, "We must find all means to kill this rumours as early as possible".
Samuel's shock was palpable as he stood up, his expression one of grief and outrage. "This can't be true," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I had no idea that such rumors were circulating."
The subjects nodded solemnly, confirming the news. "It is indeed true, Your Highness," the short man said, his voice filled with sympathy. "We thought it was important for you to know what is being said about you."
Samuel paced the room, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the situation. He looked to his mother, seeking guidance and support, but the Dowager's expression was unreadable.
She, too, was grappling with the news, but she knew that she must remain strong for the sake of the kingdom. "We must focus on preparing for the royal funeral celebration," she said her voice firm and determined. "We cannot allow these rumors to distract us from honoring the late king's memory."
The subjects watched, stunned, the Dowager exchanged words. It was clear that the Queen was more focused on upholding the kingdom's traditions and protocols than on addressing the rumors that threatened her son's reputation.
One of the subjects, a tall man, spoke up hesitantly. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice trembling with respect and fear, "might it be wise to take some time to address the rumors before proceeding with the funeral celebration?"
The Dowager's gaze turned to the man, her eyes narrowing in anger. "How dare you question my decision?" she demanded, her voice icy and dangerous.
The man dropped to his knees, trembling with fear as he begged for forgiveness. "Please forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty," he pleaded. "I meant no disrespect."
But the Dowager's resolve was unshakable. "Get out," she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not tolerate such insubordination."
The subjects scrambled to their feet, fear and shame coursing through their veins as they fled the room. Samuel watched them go, a mixture of anger and sadness in his eyes. He couldn't believe that his own mother was more concerned with appearances than with his well-being.
As dawn broke, Samuel emerged from the palace, his dark complexion contrasting sharply with the white hat perched on his head. He wore a long, flowing silk robe, its intricate blackthorn design a testament to his royal lineage. The robe was secured by a belt adorned with gold and precious stones, its weight a constant reminder of the responsibilities he carried.
His satin turned-up shoes made no sound as he walked across the floor, its fur-lined surface soft beneath his feet. He stretched his arms towards the sun, his fingers splayed wide as he basked in its warmth. The sun's rays filtered through his outstretched hands, casting a gentle glow on his face.
He stepped outside the main gate, his gaze wandering over the tall fence that encircled the compound. As he walked, he couldn't help but think of his old friends and the simpler times they had shared. A sudden urge to see them, to connect with something outside the confines of the palace, filled him.
Without a second thought, Samuel turned and began to stroll in the direction of his friends' homes. He knew that he should be focused on addressing the rumors that were swirling around him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was something he needed to do.
He walked with purpose, his mind lost in thought as he made his way through the winding streets of the kingdom. He knew that his visit would raise eyebrows, but he was determined to follow this unexpected desire to reconnect with those he had once held dear.
Samuel walked with purpose, his strides confident as he made his way down the main road towards the town. He had decided to forego the use of a horse, opting instead to trek on foot. He wanted to feel the ground beneath his feet, to connect with the kingdom in a way that he had never done before.
As he walked, he was acutely aware of the curious glances he was drawing from the villagers. Women gawked at him, unable to hide their admiration for the handsome stranger in their midst.
A tall, beautiful woman hawking goods with her friend couldn't help but comment on Samuel's appearance. "Aigoo," she whispered, using a term of endearment, "he's definitely my type."
But Samuel paid them no mind, his focus solely on reaching his destination. He walked with his head held down, his hands twisted casually behind his back as he navigated the sandy terrain.
Despite his determination to remain anonymous, the villagers couldn't help but stare. They speculated about who he was and where he was going, their curiosity piqued by his presence in their midst.
But Samuel pressed on, determined to reach his friends and find some solace in their company. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he was ready to face them head-on.
As Samuel continued on his way, the rumors that had brought him such distress continued to spread through the kingdom like wildfire. The marketplace buzzed with whispered speculation, and even the community leader was considering taking action against the young prince.
As Samuel neared his friend's house, a beautiful pavilion-like structure nestled among the surrounding buildings; he became aware of the growing crowd around him. People watched him curiously, their gazes filled with speculation and suspicion.
Suddenly, a woman collided with him, her body crashing into his. But Samuel stood firm, his strength unwavering. The woman fell to the ground, and as she looked up, she let out a startled cry. "The young master of the late king!" she exclaimed, her voice ringing out above the murmuring crowd.
In that moment, all eyes turned to Samuel. The blackthorn symbol on his hat was unmistakable, and the villagers quickly realized who he was. "It's the young master who killed his father!" someone shouted, and the crowd erupted into frenzy.
Samuel stood in the midst of the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that the rumors had now reached a dangerous new level, and that his life was in grave danger. He had to act quickly.
The villagers were no longer just curious onlookers, but an angry mob intent on delivering their own brand of justice.
He turned and fled, running as fast as his legs would carry him. But he was no match for the crowd, who pursued him relentlessly. Shouts and screams filled the air as people protested his very existence. "He deserves to die!" they shouted, their voices fueled by a righteous fury.
As Samuel glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of a medium-sized stone hurtling towards him. The projectile struck him square in the back, and he lost his footing, tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust.
Pain seared through his body, and he struggled to stand. But the injury to his knee was too severe, and he crumpled back to the ground, gasping for breath.
The mob closed in, their eyes burning with a deadly intent. They surrounded him; their various tools raised high in the air. Shovels, pitchforks, and other farming implements became makeshift weapons, each one a potential instrument of death.
Samuel looked up at the faces of his would-be executioners, his heart heavy with despair. He had come seeking solace among friends, but instead found only hatred and violence. As the mob descended upon him, he knew that his time was up, and that his life would soon be at an end.
Samuel lay on the ground, defeated and resigned to his fate. He closed his eyes, saying a silent goodbye ......