Nymiria smiled, her plump pink lips curling upwards as she ran her hands over her rounded belly. She was in the final month of her pregnancy, and everyone was eagerly anticipating the birth of the new successor. The king had even ordered the healers to stay sober in case of an early arrival.
“I have something to say,” the king’s bass voice boomed over the music and cheers of his guests. The hall fell silent as he deftly rose from his throne, clasping the armrest with one hand while raising his skull-shaped mug in the other.
“I want to thank everyone who came here today…” He paused for a moment and glanced around the room. “Today, I turn 60. I’ve lived long enough to see kingdoms rise and fall, to conquer enemies and make allies, to enjoy the finest feasts and the sweetest wines. But you know what I haven’t been able to do yet? Figure out how to blow out all these candles in one breath!”
The king points to a massive cake with a ridiculous number of candles on it, eliciting laughter from the guests.
Inglud’s expression turned serious as he prepared to broach an important topic.
“Seriously, though,” he began, “right now, my eldest son Nome is leading our army to victory against the barbarians from Overseas. Let’s raise a toast to him! Cheers!” The guests slammed their jugs onto the tables in agreement, shouting “For Nome!”
The King drained his skull-shaped goblet and exclaimed, “For NOME!” Beer dripped from his overgrown beard as he reclined back onto his throne, clutching his stomach and laughing. “Enjoy yourselves, drink and eat. It’s all on me!” The hall once again filled with the sound of chatter and revelry.
As mentioned earlier, King Inglud had many children. Two of his daughters were married to kings from neighboring states, his eldest son Nome was currently on a campaign, and his youngest son Karlas had died in battle a couple of years ago. The only son present at the celebration was Darian, a twenty-two-year-old young man with brown hair. Leaning against the wall, the prince watched what was happening in the Triumphal Hall. All these feasts were alien to him.
Darian took a sip from his mug and gazed at the guests. A young girl in a corner tried to wink at him. He was fond of girls, but just like feasts, love affairs weren’t actually his thing. His only goal was to earn respect and glory and to be known throughout Arkanar as a brave warrior, general, and king. Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many attempts he made, his older brother Nome was always one step ahead. Nome was better at everything: bigger, stronger, deadlier. He was the one son who would inherit the throne, the very throne that Darian desired for himself.
“I will return to my chambers, my love,” Nymira said as she rose from the throne, clutching her stomach. A wet puddle appeared beneath her, indicating that her water had just broken. “Healers, come here!” the king yelled, grabbing the queen.
–
Everyone had gathered outside the queen’s chambers – guards, entourage, and servants, except for the counselors. Darian stood aside, closer to the corridor walls, lost in thought. The childbirth lasted for several hours, stretching into the early hours of the morning.
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