I am sick of this!” cried the young man in outburst. He paced the hall with irritation, his fine, striking face in a constant scowl. “I wish to here no more of it!” The bearer of the bad news, a trusted advisor, squinted a little at his predicted reply and sighed, how many times must he go through this with him?
“Sire,” he started, as the young Prince rolled his eyes, he too was tired of this lecture. “It is your father’s desire for you to –“
“I don’t care what my father has ordered you to do! I have no time for this!” he interrupted. “I do not want to here anymore of these demands!”
“With the greatest of respect, your highness,” said the advisor, with a slight bow of his head. “Your brother’s condition is deteriorating by the day – if he dies you are your father's heir – will you not put his mind at ease and find yourself a suitable match?” The Prince looked out of the window to the gardens of the palace restlessly. It was a beautiful day. He furrowed his brow, thinking of someway to avoid this predicament. But what good was that? He’d been delaying for a year and a half now and was currently running out of excuses. If he became the heir to the throne, his duty came with great expectations, to be just and fair, a good leader, to have good knowledge of warfare, and, of course, to have a future successor. The Prince had everything but the latter – that was the problem his father, the Emperor, was trying to solve.
But his brother was not dead yet. Only at his passing would the young Prince become his fathers successor. If his brother died. If he did not recover from his illness. Then he would find a match. Until then the Emporer could wait, surely? But what was the use? He could not stand any more of the advisor's nagging tongue.
He sighed in defeat, “What would you have me do?” The advisor gave a hidden moan of relief; finally some progress was being made. The boy kept his head turned to the gardens as he rambled on about the Emperor’s plans for his son. His thoughts drifted back to his morning drill with the troops, every procedure, every movement, stuck into his memory like glue. Ironic as it was, the Prince had always felt himself better suited to the role of a general than the role of a prince, let alone that of an emperor. He was skilled, very skilled, with sword, bow and fists – even the most foolish of enemies would be scared out of their wits when facing him in battle. With the subject of war, he was well acquainted; his first encounter with the deadly circumstances was at the age of sixteen and now at the age of twenty three the number of battles he had proven himself in had reached double figures. Much as war is a time of unrest it was also a time for him to shine. His skills had shown him to be an expert warrior and had created a passion.
However with every passion comes a discouragement. Being the son of an Emperor restricted any military career he could have – first and foremost he was the Prince. In addition, marriage would tie him to his destiny even further, the army would lose their finest general and the Prince would lose his dream – losing the heir to the throne in battle was too big a risk to take. But the irritation from the Emperor’s constant wishes became overpowering, caving in on him, leaving him with no choice but to accept them. His dream had ended.
