Carrigan’s sun hung low on the horizon, bathing the Autumn House in just enough sunshine to offset the deep winter chill. The Gardens were dormant, their verdant greenery hidden beneath soft frost and rime – but that didn’t matter to Kye. Not today.
Today, they were learning – receiving their first lessons in swordplay from the captain of the house guard, Van Sascha.
“Your stance, my Prince – you must position yourself properly. Like so.”
Sascha was a tan-faced seaworlder from Hesse, scraggly brown beard and bright eyes at home in the dress whites of a guard captain off duty. His “opponent”, fuming, was the Heir Apparent themself – Kye Celan, Prince of Carrigan. Sascha had rarely met Savhara before being selected from the planetary guard to join the ranks of the House, but in his experience this one was much less… intimidating than their father, or the royal consort.
For one thing they weren’t particularly imposing, being little more than a teenager, and it certainly showed in their technique, all raw strength and no finesse.
“Again. Attempt to disarm me, without… dis-arming.” Sascha grinned, dropping into a guard.
Kye attempted a strike, stepping to their left and trying to bring the blade up – clumsily overextending themself and allowing their opponent to, in a single move, knock the training blade from their paws.
“Ugh!” Kye shouted in frustration, stomping away for a moment before slowly wandering back. “I just… I can’t! I don’t want to do this today, I don’t get why I need lessons, that’s what we have guards for! Why do I need to know how to swing a stupid sword?!”
“My Prince,” Sascha began, but paused.
“Have you heard the tales of the wars of the ancient past, by chance? Surely your tutors have mentioned them.”
Kye, still fuming, nodded.
“Kaln Tevyaga, the Tyrant, conquered the Shoals. His fleets ruled the stars, his armies fought without equal. But he made a mistake.”
He lifted his blade, gesturing towards it.
“He grew so complacent in his throne, surrounded by supplicants, that when the fight came to him, and the Red Thief drew its own blade, he had no fight to offer. By my own words, you shall not suffer a similar fate.”
Kye, slowly, nodded again – and glanced down at the training blade in their palms, cold metal reflecting their frown.
“Your stance, my Prince.”
Kye gritted their teeth, spreading their feet into as close to the stance as they could remember.
“Good. Again!”
The clanging of blades and frustration lasted into the evening, the passing of the day giving way to a winter night’s chill – and, as the lights of New Holland illuminated the western promenade of the Autumn House, two figures leaned against the balcony.
One, a tall, white furred hare with golden holite strands running through his steel-grey hair and a sweeping cerulean and gray robe and cloak – the other a shorter, stockier rabbit, steel grey eyes at odds with his soft brown and tan features and simple brown jacket and green trousers. This was the King of Carrigan, Hallek Celan, and his consort, Rhys.
“Perhaps I was hasty in wanting a walk of the grounds,” Hallek muttered, tugging their robes closer. “I’d forgotten how damnable the Carrigan winters can be.”
“Oh, chin up,” Rhys offered with a chuckle, leaning against him. “I’m plenty warm, and ready to share when His Highness is tired of shivering.”
“Hmph.”
“It works, honest.”
Hallek allowed himself a smile, gazing down. New Holland was by far the largest city on Carrigan – nearly sixteen million called it home, the bustling metropolitan landscapes beneath Regent Hill spreading far into the distance. Perhaps it was why his ancient ancestor, Syn Celan, had built the Autumn House here. His mind drifted to the future, and he frowned.
“…I’m worried about Kye,” Hallek sighed.
“Why so?” Rhys queried, tugging a small cigarette from their lapel pocket.
“I’ve heard from the palace tutors that they’ve been absent for the past six sessions, and Van Sascha’s report on their swordsmanship is… lacking. They’re content to daydream in the royal libraries and watch seabirds, but not to actually learn any of the skills needed to be my successor.”
Rhys frowned. “Simply because they’re not your mirror doesn’t mean they won’t rule just fine, Hal. They’re kind, and knowledgeable about all manner of things – trust me, those lessons are as dry as a Sulyn summer. Can’t blame the kid for thinking the statecraft stuff is worth playing hooky.”
“I… suppose,” Hallek chuckled. “Can’t say I was the greatest student, either.”
“The same Hallek Celan who nearly crashed their skysail trying to impress me at the academy instead of continuing their stellar career sleeping through Admiral Gheel’s strategy courses? Why, I remember his marks being… awful.” Rhys stuck out his tongue at his husband’s chuckle, before finally continuing. “If it’s truly an issue, talk to them. I don’t think it’s a big deal, but if you do there’s no sense waiting until it’s a problem.”
Hallek ran their fingers through their hair, before reaching out and hugging the shorter man to him – planting a kiss on his forehead. “Thanks, Rhys. Too much time at court lends itself to missing the obvious, sometimes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys offered, returning the gesture with a gentle squeeze. “Heard it all before. Run along before you freeze solid, by the way – maybe wear something more than a robe for a walk?”
Hallek chuckled, and turned for the door.
Kye, of course, was found easily in the royal library, studying texts from the Seventh Cycle – A Treatise on Stellar Collapse, it seemed. So engrossed were they, in fact, that they hardly noticed the entrance, much less the figure of their father, flanked by a pair of house guards.
“Kye.”
The prince started in surprise, datapad clattering to the table, before they whipped around to face the speaker.
“F-Father, I-“
“Come.”
Bowing, the shorter rabbit wandered over, falling in behind their father as he turned away down the long corridor. Vast windows opened to the evening beyond, starlight filtering through amidst the indirect orange lights of the palace.
“Soon you will be of age to claim your position as heir,” Hallek said quietly, glancing slightly to his left. “Have you given this any thought?”
Kye, staring out at the stars, shook their head. “I will do what is asked of me, as any lord of our house shall.”
“That’s not what I asked and you know it.” There was a chiding tone there, as if Hallek knew better.
Kye sighed.
“I… am not quite sure what you ask of me,” The Prince said simply, crestfallen. “If you mean to ask if I would shirk the responsibility, no, I will not.”
“I mean to ask if you’re…”
Hallek paused, slowing. “If you’re alright. You’re falling behind in your studies, and hardly ever wander the palace as you did in your younger years – it’s simply the royal libraries, the observatory, or your quarters. Why?”
Kye seemed… frustrated. Odd.
“I need reasons to study?”
“Of course not.’
There was a brief moment of tense silence, before Kye sighed. “I… it is a lot of responsibility to bear. I suppose I’ve been trying to feel…”
They search for a word, glancing around.
“…ready.”
“I’ve been King for a decade and I’m still not ready,” Hallek chuckled, taking a knee. “It’s not exactly a job that comes with a manual, you know. You make mistakes. Our line has ruled Carrigan alongside the Red Council for millennia, and I can’t think of a single Celan who was flawless. Yet the Council chose us, all the same.”
Kye was silent, musing.
“And… you have my backing, and that of the Council. Your position is secured. It’s not unheard of for an heir to take leave to see the League before they take the throne.”
Hallek winked. “I did.”
With that, he turned, striding off down the lamp-lit corridor with purpose.
Kye, mind whirling, gazed out into the cold night beyond the warm confines of the Autumn House – and smiled, the first snowflakes of winter beginning to fall.