A cursed king
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Simon burst out laughing again, as if he had just recalled something truly amusing. "That soldier didn't come to report to us; he came to mock us. We have neither authority nor power here, yet he gave us such valuable information. What are we supposed to do with it? Report to the ministers?" His laughter reverberated from his chest, but it wasn't from a place of happiness—it came from the deep sadness and pain he bore in his heart.
Torin suddenly stood up, tired of listening to his brother's pointless narration of their current state. "I'm going to rest, Simon. You should do the same."
Simon chuckled lightly. "Avoiding it again, Torin? Well, I don't blame you. Good night and rest well. I'll be here for a few more minutes before closing for the night." He waved his hand lightly and offered a warm smile.
Torin opened his mouth, about to persuade Simon to go to sleep right now, but on second thought, he decided against it and began to walk away. However, he stopped beside the dead body lying on the ground, its blood staining the sacred royal carpet, the stench permeating the air.
Torin's eyebrows knotted deeply as he stared at the body of the unfortunate soldier. Many questions filled his head, none of which had clear answers. What if the soldier was telling the truth? What if there really was a woman out there who could use the spells and who was bold enough to break out of prison? Why was she imprisoned in the first place? And most importantly, who was she?
"What are we going to do about the soldier?"
"Oh! Ask one of the guards to take care of it on your way out. Thank you," Simon replied flatly, clearly not reading too much into Torin's question. Unlike Torin, he wasn't concerned about the soldier's report. It was a lie, anyway—there were no humans left who could use the spells. The Avens had all been wiped out three decades ago.
"But what if the soldier was speaking the truth? What if there is indeed an Aven out there?" Torin questioned further. He knew the story of the Avens and how they had become extinct, but he also knew not to generalize every thought or reasoning. For Torin, every general rule, thought, or opinion had an exception.
Simon shrugged, seeming very unbothered, even though Torin already had thoughtful lines etched on his face. "If you think the Aven is out there, which I highly doubt, find her and do whatever you wish with her." He said this to Torin, earning a surprised look from his younger brother. Simon then stood up and walked over to Torin, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You can go look for her if you want, but I advise you to rid yourself of these senseless worries and get some rest. The Avens were wiped out long ago, and there has been no sign of them since. There's no use in telling you this because I know you won't listen, but don't go running around wasting time on something useless, Torin."
Simon patted his shoulder twice before walking out of the throne room, humming a happy tune. Torin watched him leave, and his lips twitched. He could clearly remember Simon saying that he wanted to stay in the throne room longer.
***
The midnight air was cold enough to cause illness if one stayed out too long, but in this chilly silence, Torin sat under a tree in the royal garden. He wasn't doing anything as far as the human eye could see—just looking up at the sky, appearing lifeless and distraught. The tree he sat under, left to the mercy of the night breeze, kept losing petals that fell on his body and wove into his hair, but he wasn't bothered. Despite seeming detached from the world, Torin was still alert, so alert that he could hear the silent footsteps approaching him despite the wind blowing in his ears.
"Your Majesty," Torin's guard called out quietly, almost in a whisper, as though trying not to break the tranquility around him. "It is past midnight, Your Majesty; you shouldn't be out here." There was unmistakable worry in his tone, like that of a father speaking to his child.
Torin finally moved and sighed. He turned to face his guard and managed a warm smile. "You are not my father, Theodore," he remarked, "and I am a grown man. You should not be worrying like this about me."
"But, Your Majesty…" Theodore began to protest, but his words were cut off by Torin.
"Sit with me, Theo," Torin offered, already patting the empty space on the cement bench beside him. But Theodore hesitated, not moving a muscle. Torin knew why; he understood the protocol, but sometimes, he just wanted to break the rules and do something that would make him comfortable, if not happy. "You would disobey me?"
Theodore was quick to shake his head gravely. "I would never, Your Majesty." He answered, and finally, albeit with much difficulty, he moved—but instead of taking the seat Torin had offered, he sat on the ground.
Torin's laughter boomed throughout the garden as Theodore took a place near his feet. He had known Theodore for the longest time, but even now, some things he did still surprised Torin, which is why he had learned to expect anything and nothing from him.
"Theo… Theo… what am I going to do with you?" He sang playfully, his chin resting on his palm. With a smile, he observed his guard, noticing his reluctance and defiance. Unlike Torin, Theodore was not at all comfortable with breaking the laws. Torin even thought that it might kill him with how strictly he adhered to those laws.
"I am sorry, Your Majesty, truly, but a commoner like me is not worthy to share a seat with you."
Torin rolled his eyes, his lips pressing together in a thin, straight line. "You seem to have forgotten that I am just like you now—a commoner. The throne rejected me, our people rejected me. I am cursed."
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