"Thank God for this food. May it bless our bodies and let us enjoy this meal together. Amen."
Prince Ramsey's voice cut through the silence, a tone of frustration. "Come on, William. What have you been doing for us to be eating like commoners?"
William replied, "We're in the middle of a war now, but you would rather me waste money on better chefs and squires, rather than artillery and men, Ramsey".
Ramsey, tall for his age at thirteen, wore a robe that had once belonged to their father. It was commonly worn by Ramsey—purple, faded, and worn. His father, the former king, had no shortage of intricate and royal clothing, yet here Ramsey was, in his faded attire, a far distance away from the elegance that had once surrounded his Father.
Ramsey's robe may have been simple, but the color was unmistakable. Purple. It was his favorite, a color only worn by royalty, and one that had been his long before his parents' untimely death. They had called him Blackberry, a nickname to match his fondness for the shade.
Ramsey had always dreamed of wearing a crown, of ruling as king, but it was his twin brother, William, who had been crowned after their parents' passing. Despite being born on the same night, at the same hour, and looking almost the same, they couldn't have been more different.
William was already hailed as the gentle king. Some called his nature a weakness, but after generations of tyrants, the peasants had embraced him. He had appointed the previous hand of the king to continue his work, even as war continued.
Though both brothers wore purple as was tradition for kings, there was a distinct difference in their clothing. Ramsey's robe, though similar, was worn and faded, while William's new garments were a bright, almost violet shade, fresh, royal, and untouched.
Nobles had often asked William if he minded his brother dressing in the same color. Was Ramsey trying to challenge him for the throne? William always brushed it off, stating that the war required his attention more than his brother's actions. "It's insignificant," he would say.
Ramsey hated that word. Insignificant. It echoed in his mind like an insult. He felt it in the way people looked at him as if he were a fly buzzing around. Worthless, easily ignored. After that, he began to act out, pushing people away before they could turn away from him.
He hated them before they could hate him. What a poor boy he had become.
William, on the other hand, was everything Ramsey was not. Where Ramsey was an archer, William was a lancer. William had always loved horses, trained in combat since he was young, and delved into the histories of past kings, studying battle tactics and leadership.
William excelled in everything Ramsey struggled with. While Ramsey sat idly by, hoping kingship would simply fall to him, William grasped it with both hands, pulling the crown toward him without a second thought. It didn't matter who was waiting for it; William would take it, and he did.
"Are you ignoring me now, William? Is that any way to speak to your family?" William's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. "Is that any way to speak to your king?"
Ramsey bit his lip but remained silent. He loved his brother, but as the days passed and William sat higher on the throne, an impenetrable wall seemed to form between them. The crown seemed to separate them.
Ramsey continued to make jabs at his brother, trying to lighten the air with sarcasm. But every retort from William left Ramsey the but of the joke.
"Still reading, William? You've been buried in that book for hours. If you ever entered a battlefield, your legs would be so stiff from sitting there that you wouldn't be able to fight!"
Gerad, their younger brother, was the only one who laughed. It was a small comfort.
"I'm reading a book on tactics," William replied, his eyes never leaving the pages. "It's necessary for my next meeting. Haven't you heard? A true warrior is both a scholar and a soldier. Oh, Of course, you haven't. You only spend your time trying to pester me."
William stood and crushed a small bug beneath his boot, his focus never wavering.
"Leave the room now, I have a meeting".
Ramsey's anger flared. He stormed off to his chambers, lashing out at his maid, his squire, and his guards. The respect they once had for him slowly dwindled day after day, and it felt like he was losing everyone, including his brothers.
In moments of frustration, Ramsey would turn to his archery. His father had gifted him two bows on his fifth birthday, a small one for his childhood, and a large one for when he had become a "true warrior". He always wondered what that phrase meant. He had mastered the small bow quickly, even competing against the royal army's best archers. But he could never even fire the large bow. No matter how hard he tried, he lacked the strength to draw it.
He would spend hours practicing, and every failure would build his frustration. Today was no different. He slammed the large bow onto the ground, his fists clenched in anger. He stepped on it, trying to break it, but it didn't even leave a scratch. The bow lay there, with him feeling even more insignificant, as though even his greatest efforts couldn't even make a dent in some wood.
From that day on, Prince Ramsey no longer had meals with his brothers and isolated himself in his room.