Barely illuminated by the dying embers of the sun stood the castle he used to call his home. The former Prince of the former Kingdom (now a war-torn Republic ruled by an assembly of self-serving nobles) looked at the city — his city — with a tinge of sadness, a sharp pang of homesickness and a violent feeling of resentment.
When his father had sent him to a far-off war campaign against a pathetic enemy state, he considered it some sort of punishment for his unwillingness to accept the obligations of being next in line to the throne. When he heard of his father’s assassination and the intricately planned rebellion that took place in his homeland, accompanied by such terror that scarcely anyone dared exit their homes, he realized his father was just trying to protect him.
Now he stood watching the sunset, standing isolated from the place where a small army loyal to him had set up camp. The Prince faced a choice: walking away from the royal affairs he despised so much or seeking justice for the wrongs done to him and his family.
A short piece written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.
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