Embers

Chapter Two

Franklin was a being who taught himself certain things as he was a prince and someone his father was hard upon most times. Franklin loathed him for that attitude since it gave him no freedom as it gave his brothers. Most of all, his brothers don't agree with his methods of tactical battlefield plan. They have brawns more than brains, Franklin thought to himself. He was their only hope yet he could not get along with them. They were manipulative and hated him for his ways of thinking. He could feel it.

To say Franklin was angered and furious at himself for failing at his matches once more, it galled him to see his brothers exceed so much better than him and hardly seem to find any pain in their training. But not him, he thought, gritting his teeth. The way Prentice was watching him too indicated he was about to get a hearing from him later on as well. He stripped the protective gear he had on as he walked away from the field, leaving his brother, Prentice, and a few guards who had been keenly watching to see a difference in Franklin’s training today. Sadly, nothing changed and all three times, Franklin fell flat on his butt, each time his opponent explained how he lost his combat.

“You lack focus when you’re facing your opponent. You should not think about winning, think about what your partner will do next.” Said his opponent, standing in a rigid position, waiting for him to come off the ground for the first time.

The second time, Franklin could feel the place, his knees took the blunt force of his fall and was aching miserably. The first hit wasn’t so bad, but this one could hurt for all hell.

“You keep thinking about winning again. Put your head in the game. Think smart, tactical!” The man shouted once more, getting into stance. 

At this point, all the advice had been going to Franklin’s head, clouding his anger more and more, unable to find himself wanting to do what he desires, instead he needed to follow something he wasn’t good at.

“I am afraid to say you were not a worthy opponent today, Master Franklin,” said the man who wore a mask even when he took off his protective gear. It was the first time Franklin heard someone speak in such a way other than Prentice to him.

With the anger that took him over, Franklin started dashing swords with his opponent. The man had not seen it coming, and the moment the sword hit the last protective gear on the man’s hand, he fell to the ground, crying out in pain and shock at the impact. Franklin’s eyes grew wider at what he just did. He went to the man, who stopped him with an outstretched palm, so he moved further away from the field. He closed his eyes, wanting to wipe out something terrible he had just done.

“Stop!” commanded a voice deep and powerful. Franklin knew all too well who it was. He also knew he couldn't bring himself to look the man in his face, either.

Franklin did not stop immediately, and so he was sent off, even angrier, and hurting most of all for falling short of being good like his brothers, too. They all laughed as usual, and he coughed it up that fighting would always be what they are good at and maybe books and reading were his strong point.

Normally on a good day with only Prentice, Franklin showed progress with his training, even getting better and prouder of himself, but in this training session, he felt someone had cursed him with the heaviest feet possible. Suddenly, he stopped in the hallway and palmed his face. He rubbed his eyes and smashed his cheeks, sighing. He needs to find a grip for himself.

He started moving towards the library, his haven, his sanctuary of solitude. He started feeling at ease when the faint smell of mothballs and old books got into his nose.

“How was your training?” Said a voice coming from the spot behind one of the shelves. It sounded like his Father.

Coming around to face him, he looked curiously at him. Franklin knew he saw the commotion downstairs and was about to get a talking to. His father wasn't a pleasant man around him, though he would expect a little kindness from his own father, but none were given.

“I got angry, and I wanted to win. I am not good at fighting, Father.” Franklin said plainly, clearly not interested at all in the conversation they were about to have. He went to pull out the chair hidden behind the desk we would normally be at.

“You need to think smart, not winning. Did your opponent tell you that?” He said in a stern voice. Resting the book back on the shelf, he turned to face Franklin.

“Yes, multiple times. Father, I train at least three times daily, study equally, and still help you when you need assistance. Why can’t I drop fight training?” Franklin said, leaning into the desk with his hands folded. He noticed his father had sifted through the books he laid aside to read for another time. He just did not pack it the way Franklin had it, seemingly didn't care to. 

“No one sees the benefits when things are in their baby stages. You need to continue to find what you want.” The King looked at Franklin’s angry face, and they stared at each other.

“I know what I want. I don’t want to fight, yet you force me to do so,” Franklin said, looking out the window. It was probably the same one his father was looking through at the fight not too long ago.

Franklin made a move to pass the shelf his father stood. His father made a move to swiftly turned to look at him. With a raised eyebrow, his father dared him to walk away with their silent battle.

“Franklin, your anger is controlling you. You need to stop letting it control you and have a way of getting things out of your body,” He said with both hands on Franklin's shoulders, trying his best to be interested in what was happening to his son.

“When you start treating me like a son rather than a servant in your army, then I would treat you like a father. What’s the use of me trying to live up to the throne?” Franklin said harshly, pushing his father’s hands away from his shoulders.

“You are supposed to set an example, like your brothers,” the king said, quickly turning him once more to look at him.

“Yes, well. You seem to turn a blind eye when they screw up,” Franklin argued back defensively. It was time his father knew who had been cleaning his brothers’ mess and facing the blunt force of all their messes, cleaning up after them like a servant.

“Watch your language, Franklin. You are still speaking to the king,” His father replied sternly, taking a step back. Sighing and shrugging his shoulders, his father thought it was too long that this fight was going to last. It was best he stopped it first.

“Always to serve the king, isn’t it? All hail the king of the lands.” Franklin said, bowing to the man and then making his way out of the library, filled with rage once more. It seems nowhere in this palace he can safely say is his haven.

While taking the narrow hallways to the main hallway and away from the library, he heard voices coming from the far end, but the way the laughter echoed; he knew exactly who they were.

He stopped and listened, knowing how much he would regret it. Yet his feet refused to move. He wanted to know if they would change the way they saw him, at all, or even for a moment.

“Franklin is a loser. He can hardly hold his sword right,” Marcus said as he freely stated his opinion. 

“Prentice keeps saying how much he is excelling. The old man’s eyes are going bad,” Freitas chimed in jolly.

“What are we going to do now?” Marcus asked, standing in one place now. 

Franklin heard rustling, so probably their training was over too. That's why they were talking so loudly. They didn't think anyone was around to hear their filth.

“Well, not helping him, of course,” Freitas said, still happy about the demise of his brother was facing.

“I am not talking about that loser. I am talking about the training we have tomorrow,” Marcus said, a little angry now. 

“I am not worried. I think Prentice said he had some kind of weird training. I don’t know what it’s called.” This made Freitas stop giggling and looked at Marcus as though he'd grown two heads. 

“I wonder what he sees in Franklin. They spend a lot of time together,” Freitas said, wondering, touching his chin.

“I don’t know, but Franklin always looks angry,” Marcus observed, and then he went quiet.

“He has to try twice as hard. I heard Father say it, too. He said Franklin was weak and hides behind his anger. I think so, too,” The ever-blabbering Freitas could not help himself to add something. This drove Franklin in a frenzy.

 “It makes sense. I agree too. Did you see what he did with the guy on the field? That’s psycho.” It was time now that Marcus's voice went hysterical.

“You’re telling me. He’s insane. It’s training. You’re not supposed to do that,” Freitas said, running his mouth up a high note again. 

“Then the freaking loser just walked off, scared mindless, was my thought,” he continued hopping around as though it was the hottest news around.

“Oh, shut up Freitas,” cried Marcus playfully now. It seemed they were coming out of the room they were in.

“Yes, Freitas. You should shut your mouth,” came a startlingly deep voice from behind them.

Scared and startled out of their minds, they both turned around to look at a hunched-over Franklin, looking very possessed and with a dark aura coming from him. He looked too frightening. He was breathing hard, and it came out like growls. 

“What do you want, Frank?” Marcus demanded in a voice that said he wanted no trouble. 

“I wish you both were dead,” said Franklin, who was unlike himself. Yet he could not stop it from coming out. He was still in his twisted form.

“What did you just say?” Marcus came forward-looking very displeased with the way he was talking to them. Franklin could not help the smirk from splitting his lips.

“You’ll see one day. You’ll be on your knees begging me for mercy,” Franklin said calmly in his deep tone. 

“What is your problem?” Asked Freitas angrily, seeing very much how weird Franklin was behaving.

Before Freitas could take another step, Franklin rushed forward and started the fight between them. It was long overdue, and with every pummels Freitas’s face got, Franklin, counted how many times he stood up for them only to take the punishment for them as well. Yet he did it endlessly, thinking he can get on their good books. It never happened, and even as Marcus tried pulling him off Freitas’s bloody face, Franklin would not budge, instead, he cast a spell on Marcus to temporarily lose focus. The scene was comical, Marcus suddenly spaced out, and Franklin smiled widely, almost crazed.

It was until he looked up, and his face dropped from crazy to pitiful. The look on his mother’s face shocked him, and she shouted angrily, commanding mostly, for Franklin to descend from his brother and helped him up. When he did no such thing, she called upon the guards, and it took three guards to rip him from his unconscious brother. Freitas's face wasn’t so bad, just bruised terribly, and swelling at a quick pace. In two seconds, ice and medical help were dispatched to him, and then he was taken away to rest.

Franklin was sent off to solitary until he was dealt with appropriately. Princes were not supposed to act like this and if the king got to know this, most likely he would be demoted from the throne.

The queen stood at the scene, not believing what just happened. She was going to find out the cause, and heading that way, she stopped. Facing her was the king.