Young Writers Society

The Queen Regent Loireth tossed a crumbled handful of bread into the lily pond. It splattered across the surface, catching the ears of several geese ducking and diving, washing and preening themselves on the other side of the small pond. They glided across the surface at the prospect of easy lunch, pecking at the crumbs in suspicion, as if, after fifteen years of faithfully feeding them, the queen had suddenly had a change of heart and was planning to perform mass eradication via bread.

The queen paid no more mind to the honking and splashing as they decided that this meal was not to be their last, and began eating in earnest. Alongside the queen walked her son, heir apparent, Frederick. They were performing their weekly walk around the castle grounds. It was a perfect day for walking - spring had made its entrance with gusto this time around. Trees were already blooming, and new flowers sprouted, breaking through the semi-frozen ground, erasing winter's last grip on the kingdom of Heustland.

Loireth loved the walks. She enjoyed the change from week to week. Much lik these gardens, every year in the kingdom was different. Children were born, the elderly died, some who struggled through the winter made surprising recoveries, and some who were flourishing were knocked down in sudden storms. It was a lesson that Frederick didn't seem to appreciate yet.

"Son, do you think we will carry on these walks after tomorrow?"

Frederick, already taller than her shook his head side to side. "I don't think so, Mother. I'll be quite busy, I'm sure."

Loireth attempted an understanding smile, but it came across as more of a frown. Frederick noticed it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that I don't enjoy these walks. It's just that pruning flowers and feeding geese isn't exactly the most important thing for a new king to be doing. Right?"

While technically a question, Loireth knew that his mind was already set on one answer. "You know, these geese are one of the unique features of Heustland. There's a reason they are the symbol of our kingdom," she said, gesturing up to a pennant on the walls of Castle Greenwich that rose to their right above a thicket of lifeless dogwood trees.

Frederick knelt down, grabbing a small stone half-buried in the dead grass. He tossed it into the pond, scattering the feeding geese. They honked and circled around to the other side of the pond.

"I know. You've told me so many times. But look at them. A single stone scatters them like a pack of..." His voice trailed off while he tried to think of a comparison. "Well, like geese," he finally said.

Loireth nodded. "And yet, they will be here long after you and I pass on."

"Mother, please don't compare us to geese. They may be unique, but that does not make them special. If father had ever made the throne, I'm sure he would've changed the coat of arms long ago. We've been an independent nation for a century. We should show others what that means. If the consulate is so set on fowl, perhaps an eagle would do, or a sea hawk. Something that shows tenacity, and resolve. Not a crumb-eating scavenger."

The queen laughed, walking past Fredrick toward a crossing stone-cobbled path. Her boots clicked as she stepped on the path. She turned left, headed away from the Castle gate and deeper into the thickening groves of trees. Frederick, who was slow to move still caught up to her in just a few strides. He pushed a curl of orange hair out of his eye. He grabbed Loireth's right wrist with both hands.

"Mother, don't be cross. Why does it matter that I want to change the crest?"

"That is a good question. Perhaps you should ask it of yourself."

Frederick cocked his head sideways.

Loireth continued. "You care more about how Gormica and Raeland see us, instead of admitting what we are. Frederick, we are a small country. Strong and noble yes, and we would defend ourselves from invaders at all costs. But we rely heavily on the trade of the Hounds and the commerce of Gormica. We walk a delicate rope to keep our neighbors happy."

Frederick clasped his hands behind his back and quickened his pace as he often did when engrossed in a topic. No one could say he wasn't passionate.

"We are as much a benefit to them as they are to us. We simply refuse to stand up as an equal," he said.

Loireth chuckled again.

"What's so funny? You think we are inferior?" Frederick retorted.

"That you think we are equals. We hold the strongest ports and sea defenses on the mainland. We are the most difficult to access via land. We have the riches of three countries."

Frederick scrunched his brow. "I'm confused."

Loireth nodded as they walked along. "Yes, yes you are. There will be many things that you will stumble over as you take the throne. But this is the most important lesson of all. See the geese. See how they scatter at the rock, and yet, they are more well-fed than even you and I. They live in peace and safety."

"I could simply shoot them with a bow," Frederick interjected.

"And they would fly in the breeze, leaving you with no meat, no entertainment, and nothing special left. The secret to the goose is that in its charade of innocence and helplessness, it lives better than the wolf that has to chase for every single meal, the horse that is used by its masters and put down when it is of no more use, or the deer that is hunted without fatigue."

"I think you give too much credit to the goose, Mother."

"Perhaps you give too little. It has been the crest for a hundred years."

They were approaching a stone wall with a gate made of wooden slats. Frederick pulled the large iron bolt and pushed the gate open. It yawned with age revealing an enclosed space of thirty feet long by twenty feet wide. The cobblestone narrowed to a single-person width, leading to the back where it fanned into a circle. The sides were lined with garden beds where fresh green flower tendrils reached for the sky for every last bit of sunshine they could grab.

At the circle of stone stood two King's Guards in black and white coats over their chain mail armor, armed with swords, a black buckler on their back, and open-faced helmets. The two guards flanked a third man, dressed in simple leather jerkin, a beige shirt held up by a large belt with a big bronze buckle, and tan pants tucked into a pair of leather boots. His short hair was slicked back with some form of hair grease, and his face was clean-shaven. A three-foot-long box was tucked under his right arm, wooden with bronze decals running along the edges.

As the royal duo approached he ran his left hand through his hair, no doubt making sure he looked his best before the Queen Regent and the king-to-be within a day. He looked at his boots as they approached. it would have usually been silent in the yard, but with spring making its fast approach there were already a few birds tweeting in the trees that hung over the yard. Still, Loireth's heels clicked louder, echoing in the confined space. She led the way, but as they arrived in front of the guards she slinked to the right, away from Frederick. He stepped forward with a smile on his face. He had been waiting for this moment since he was a small boy.

Every time a new leader took the throne they were honored with a ceremonial blade from the finest bladesmiths in Heustland. These blades were meant to be worn for the coronation, which for Frederick was tomorrow. They would also be worn for ceremonies and royal events such as balls, banquets, the anniversary of Heustian freedom, and so forth.

The  King's Guard captain, on the left of the bladesmith, stepped forward. He bowed before Frederick, who gave a slight nod without breaking his eyes off of the box.

"Your Highness, I present to you Jock Sheffin, bladesmith of Arelglen."

The captain motioned for the smith to step forward. He did so, presenting the box across his arms like a platter of sides one might see at a royal event. He bowed his head and cleared his throat. "Your Highness."

Frederick rubbed his hands together. He turned to his mother with a grin spreading from ear to ear. She gave a weak smile back. This was the end of her reign. This was the beginning of countless nights worrying about her son's every decision. This day had been fifteen years coming, and she had dreaded every day. The pain only grew stronger and stronger, like a bind strangling her insides. This was yet another step toward the culmination of it all. And she didn't think he was ready. Perhaps he never would be in her eyes. Can any mother ever feel prepared to let their son go completely?

Frederick raised the lid of the box. His eyes widened. He reached in, carefully pulling the scabbard out. It was beyond beautiful. The scabbard was white with golden leaves and tendrils wrapping the sides from the tip to the hilt. The ends were capped with black and white marble. The cross guard of the sword formed a thick "S", also solid gold with carved tendrils and leaves in it. The grip was black leather, laced with gold trim. The pommel was a black goose head, beak open, hissing. with a golden tongue and lightning-white eyes.

Loireth said nothing but held in a snort, covering her mouth with her hand. Frederick took a step back, extending the scabbard with his left hand and drawing the blade out with a hiss, not unlike an angry goose. The blade was curved slightly at its farthest point, matching the style of the cross guard. The blade shone in the morning sunlight.

Frederick seemed wrapped up in the blade. Loireth cleared her throat. "What an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship, Mr. Sheffin. Don't you agree, Frederick?"

Frederick tore his gaze away from the blade. "Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Smith, this is quite exquisite." His voice trailed off.

Sheffin looked at him with a frown. His eyes flitted between the queen and the heir apparent. "Is something not to your liking, Your Highness?" His voice trembled slightly. This was a blade that had taken weeks to craft and decorate, and it was far too late to create a new one in time for the coronation.

Frederick pursed his lips. "Jock, did you say your name is?"

"Yes, Jock Sheffin, Your Highness."

"Well Jock Sheffin, it is a beautiful blade. I can see that no expense was spared on it. There is just one thing." Frederick hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with his mother. For one of the few times in her life, she looked unsure. Her face drew frown lines and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I suppose this is a bit of royal news, but I will be changing the crest of Heustland tomorrow after the coronation at the Feast of Thrones." Frederick smiled wide. "We are entering a new era of our country, one that I will lead. We will go into this century, not as bartering sailors, but as conquering sea lions. Gormica and Rael will see our value, and will respect us as their equal."

Frederick looked around, expecting approval. But Jock looked confused, and the King's guards had looks of uncertainty. His own mother's gaze was cast down at the ground. He felt anger rising in his chest. He spread his hands out wide, nearly nicking Jock with the blade.

"What? It is my right as king. It is not worth the hassle of the Consulate to bicker on this matter. We have sat in the shadows for too long! Do you not agree that we could be so much more?"

The Captain simply bowed. "It is not my place to question you, but simply to humbly serve my Highness."

Loireth took a step forward. "He is not Your Highness. Not yet." She took the sword from Frederick's hand and demanded the scabbard with nothing but a stern look. He shoved it toward her, his cheeks now flushed red.

"Mother, what does it matter, today or tomorrow?"

"Because it means you still have time to change your mind from this rash decision. And I will make sure that the Consulate does not let this slide."

Frederick folded his arms. "Why do you persist against this? Why does this mean so much to you?"

"I would ask you the same thing, dear boy."

"Because for one hundred years we have had this faux freedom, by simply hiding in the shadows. No one respects us, fears us, asks our opinion on matters of the mainland."

Loireth sheathed the blade and jammed it into Jock's hands. He stumbled back, mouth hung open at the scene unfolding.

"What would you have Heustland do? Go to war? Break the treaties with Rael?"

"Yes, to both!" Frederick jabbed a finger in the vague eastern direction of Rael. "We fought and died because Rael would not let us leave in peace. For a century we have stockpiled and built an army, and it is time to use it. To take the rest of the land that we deserved from those families that still sit in luxury!"

"Deserved? Child, neither you nor I were even alive when the War of Families happened. What do you know of what we, or they deserve? You've barely been outside these castle walls. You're a child, taking the wheel of a ship that you know very little about." Loireth spun on her heels, her green dress snapping at the turn. "I am still Queen Regent until noon tomorrow."

"You would now turn your back on me, at the final hour?" Frederick balled his fists so tight that his filed nails drew blood. He felt his heart racing. His vision tunneled. "You would see Heustland fall rather than give up your crown!"

Loireth laughed, a guttural thing, void of gaiety. "I have known that you wished to change things, as is your right as King. But I cannot stand idly by to watch my kingdom, for it was mine while you were nothing more than a babe, fall on its own blade. You have learned nothing about how this world works. If you pursue this path, to change what this kingdom is, all for some adopted hatred of a country you never fought against, I will have no choice but to put all my energy in defense against that notion."

"Mother!" Frederick yelled, his voice breaking in his young age. "You cannot do this. I will take Rael, for my father, for my grandfather, for his father, and for all those who died in the war. If you will be as stubborn as Rael was I will..." His voice quieted.

Loireth turned to him as she reached the gate. "You will what? Say it with spirit, child. If you plan to take Rael you will need an unwavering voice."

Frederick blinked away tears in his eyes. "I will have you put on house arrest. You will never reach the Consulate." He turned to the Captain. "Take her."

The Captain hesitated for a moment. He had served Loireth for nine years as Captain of the Guards. He had been by her side, serving as her eyes and ears. He had kept her safe from plotters, schemes, and ruffians.

Frederick stomped his foot. "Now! If you do not I will have you thrown in with her as soon as I am coronated. There are soldiers aplenty ready to take up the shield and stand by my side."

"You silly boy!" Loireth spat out. "You silly, silly goose! You would be a sea lion but have the tenacity of a dame. I have failed you. And you have failed yourself."

The Captain said nothing for a moment. He looked at Loireth in a moment of silent talk.

He turned to Frederick. "I serve this kingdom, as I always have and always will." His voice was low, his gaze unwavering on Frederick. His eyes were narrow, clouded. "I would protect my Queen Regent from invaders, both in foreign lands and in our own kingdom, regardless of status."

He turned to Loireth. "May we be forgiven, Queen. We do this for our home."

In a flash he ripped the ceremonial sword from Jock's hands, flinging the scabbard to a skittering landing on the stone path. Frederick's eyes went wide as the blade flashed high in the air. It came down with crushing force. He crumpled to his knees, eyes wide with a silent scream on his lips. Loireth screamed a wrenching sob that forced her to her knees and sent birds scurrying off of branches. Her hands clasped her face as the tears poured over her fingers.

Jock, stunned at it all had not moved. The Captain shook his head. "There must be a party responsible for this assassination."

Before a word could be uttered by the bladesmith, the blade - his own blade, forged and sharpened and handled with his own hands - pierced his chest, crushing bone and puncturing organs. He collapsed on both knees. Blood poured out of his mouth, made worse by the cough that clawed its way out of his throat. Perhaps it should have been a cry or even a question of why this had befallen him, but the brutal reality of the wound reduced it to a pathetic gurgle and wheeze.

The second guard was staring in shock, face pale at the sudden violence. But he made no move to stop it. What could he do? And would stopping these sudden events have doomed him to death on the frontlines in the coming months? He did not know. What he did know was that the heir to the throne had just died, and no one would ever know how.

There would be a massive hysteria among the populous. A story would be offered up to appease the anger and confusion. This Jock Sheffin had been an outcast, a traitorous man in the line of a house of Rael who had seen an opportunity to honor his family's lineage by killing the heir to the throne in some sort of twisted revenge. Of course, if they were told that their would-be king would have led them into war against foes that would have surely crushed them with overwhelming numbers, resources, and allies, the outrage and the mistrust would have been worse. And if he had sent them to war, the bloodshed would have risen from two to ten thousand.

And so in the end, as Loireth had said, it was by playing the game, feigning weakness, keeping close allies, and keeping mouths shut, she had retained the throne. Just like the bread crumbs fell into the path of the goose, the throne had fallen into her lap. And now, there was no heir left to take it.