Young Writers Society

Flitting laughter and tinkling glasses filled the hall, blending with the gentle lute the musician strummed, hidden in the shadows. The ballroom was bedecked in ribbons and flowers in celebration for the prince and his birthday. Yet the focal point of the party wished to be anything but.

After having escaped the probing eyes of a mob of couriers, Ambrose managed to stow away in the corners of the room, a chalice somehow in his hand when it hadn’t been before. Just doors away were his companions—the people he was meant to lead—locked into rooms to await their departure. And he was standing in a hall of giggling women and strutting men, his belly empty but for a single chalice of wine.

Ambrose set down the newly filled cup on a nearby table before he would drink it. He needed his head clear. He needed to review his notes and prepare himself for the impending journey. Perhaps he could slip out—

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” Kai’s deep voice said beside him. Ambrose stiffened and glanced at his friend. Kai only gave him a look.

For once, Kai was able to attend the party as a guest, not a guard. A mercy from his father, Ambrose supposed, to allow him one friend in the awful celebrations. As it was Kai’s birthday as well, it only made sense for him to attend.

“Yes,” Ambrose said sheepishly, ducking behind a royal banner when a councilman wandered by in search of him. He could feel the cool stone wall through his pristine silk tunic. “All these people… And I have so much work to do.”

“All you’ve been doing is work,” Kai responded, yanking him out from behind the banner. “While I agree this place is suffocating, you need to relax. Take a night off.”

“This party is more stressful than any trouble we may face in the upcoming months.”

Though Ambrose hadn’t meant it as a joke, Kai laughed. “I didn’t mean to take the night off to party. That would be hell for us both. Just… No more studying.”

“But there’s so much I still don’t know. Like where, exactly, the Sword of Strength is and what is protecting it and—”

Kai slung his arm around Ambrose’s shoulder and began tugging him away from the corner. “Here’s the plan. You are going to go to the cleric and receive your blessing as is customary, say a few nice words to your guests, then we can go spar.”

“I hate sparring,” Ambrose grumbled.

“Too bad. Sparring is a good way to relieve stress.”

“By letting you beat me up?”

Kai chuckled. “If you actually practiced, maybe you could get a few hits in.”

Ambrose sighed, but let Kai lead him to the front podium before the ballroom. Voices fell silent as he walked, all eyes following him. His leather boots echoed over the marble floor, resounding up into the tall arched ceiling. Kai left him at the bottom of the small, oak platform and Ambrose trudged up to where the cleric waited, his fingers dragging over the holy scriptures.

The cleric glanced up from his holy book, his grey and frail face weary. Ambrose was familiar with the man as he had been granting his blessings on each celebration since his birth. It was no secret the man despised Ambrose yet adored his older brother. Such sentiments were common.

The room silenced as Ambrose knelt before the cleric. The man’s weathered and callused thumb drew an ‘x’ upon his brow, then his chest. He murmured words of gratitude and blessings for another year lived, lifting both hands to the dangling chandelier above as though the gods were housed in it. The scriptures exhausted, he backed away, gold and white robes swishing, and gestured for Ambrose to rise.

Ambrose turned to the crowds, his heart pounding in his chest. Now was his customary speech to his guests—or rather his father’s guests. A blur of colorful fabrics and painted faces stared back at him. Ambrose blinked once. Twice. He began to chew on his cheek. He still hadn’t said anything.

Someone coughed, the sound sharply echoing through the hall. Ambrose cleared his throat and felt his face begin to burn. “Thank you for all coming,” he stuttered. “I hope… I hope you enjoy the celebrations and… Thank you.”

Ambrose nodded to their expectant faces and hurried off the platform. He didn’t bother to see if Kai followed as he shoved through the mobs of people and out into the hall.

“That was your speech?”

Ambrose groaned, throwing his head back. “Every year it’s the same. I have to make some speech to the guests I didn’t even invite and each year I make a fool of myself.” When Kai didn’t respond, Ambrose continued. “How am I supposed to lead strangers when I can’t even make a speech at my own party?”

“You will do fine,” Kai responded, his voice low as a group of couriers shuffled past, dressed in all their finery.

Ambrose scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You are a natural leader.”

“Me?” Kai chuckled darkly. “No one takes me seriously. I’m just an orphan guard who was lucky enough to be chosen by the gods.”

“At least you can fight. You gain people’s respect in that regard.”

Kai opened the door to the empty sparring room and turned to raise his brows at Ambrose. He tossed him a wooden sword, which Ambrose fumbled to catch before dropping it. “Let’s cut the martyr argument. Direct that into your sword instead.”

Ambrose stooped to grab the practice weapon before giving Kai a long look. “I can barely swing this thing.” He held out his sword but it was loose in his palms, ready to drop.

Kai tapped his sword against Ambrose’s and raised his brows. “Just try, would you?”

Ambrose almost wondered if Kai’s light attitude was just an act. A way to distract him from everything ahead. He opened his mouth to tell his friend it was futile, when Kai swung at him and whacked his thigh.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“We’re sparring, in case you forgot,” Kai joked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ambrose swung at Kai, only hitting air. “That was pathetic.”

He whirled around to find Kai behind him. “What—”

This time, he was whacked on his calf.

“Ow!” Ambrose spun, swinging the wooden sword hoping to find any contact and… The wood reverberated under his palms all the way to his elbows when he struck Kai’s shoulder. He didn’t question if Kai was okay—he doubted he could hit that hard—but…

He wasn’t thinking about the prophecy. And hitting something felt… surprisingly good. When he met Kai’s eyes, he realized his friend was smiling. Perhaps he had allowed the strike.

Ambrose shook his head to clear it. “I should go back to the library—”

“Reading a last minute book will not break or make our fates. Now hit me again.”

When Ambrose swung half-heartedly at his friend, Kai easily blocked it.

They sparred into the night, their party continuing without them. By the time Ambrose dragged himself to bed, sweat-slicked and bruised, he was too exhausted to think about what lay ahead. Too exhausted to ponder the lives of those he was to lead just doors away from his own. Anxiety still pooled in his gut—nagging even more now that he was too exhausted to focus his attention on it. But sleep pulled him under before he could ease that anxiety. Before he could focus once more on the papers piled upon his desk.

He realized that was likely Kai’s intent, as his eyes fluttered shut and his body gave way to sleep’s lull.