THE BATTLE
Do the battles ever get over, he pondered. Some of his battles were tough. No gore, no swords dancing in the air, no blood flowing on the ground, no soil strewn with the flesh, no roars of victory and no screams of death... Some battles are silent, perpetual and bound to end up in a defeat no matter how hard you fight.
Because some battles are fought in your own head, against yourself.
He hit his fist on the wall in frustration.
'No Wildflower from Forest shall ever set foot in Palace. We are Royalty, Prince! How could you ever forget that! The flowers in the Forest cannot adorn the Palace walls. This shall never reach your father. End it, Prince.'
The words of his mother- no, the Queen echoed in his ears and then the radiant face of Wildflower stirred before his eyes as the breeze from the Forest sneaking through the window touched his skin. She must have been waiting for him. The year-long battle was over and he had returned triumphant to the Palace. His mother kissed his forehead proudly before he had told her all about the Wildflower and his wish to spend his life with her. He couldn't blame his mother for ordering him to leave Wildflower. The Royalty had more responsibilities to take on, they couldn't just do whatever they wished to do.
He had everything now. Fame, victory, wealth, respect from his subjects... It all was useless, pointless without Wildflower. All he wished for was to be able to run to the Forest and hold her in his arms, smell her wild scent to his heart's content, kiss her hard and tell her he would never leave her, tell her he did not want to be a prince anymore.
Being a prince was not easy.
He sighed deeply, pinching his nose bridge with his eyes closed in frustration. The sun shone pleasantly bright in the sky and the cuckoo in the Royal Garden sang melodiously. The kids of the servants played noisily outside and their mothers scolded them. A couple of soldiers practised archery in the training ground. The Royal Treasurer was hurrying outside the castle in his travelling cloak. Prince's mind dwelled on that old man for a while.
He remembered the night three years ago when he sentenced the young son of that man to death, the youth almost his age. The law the youth had broken- Prince thought, was too harsh but the Prince had to do his own duty, he had to do what his forefathers did. Nothing was above the Royal Law. Nothing was above the dignity of the Palace. Prince had hated being a prince that night, being seated in the High Chair of Justice in the absence of his father, hearing the heart wrenching wails of the youth's father. Like a broken man, that night he had gone to the his only refuge, the only sanctuary where he couldn't hear the weeping of the old man, where he wasn't a prince- in his Wildflower's arms. It was only in her lap where he had had a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
He flinched at the thought of Wildflower. It was strange how she creeped in all his thoughts, sneaked in all his feelings. It all came only to her at the end. Like she was the only real thing in the world.
Those days would never come back, he thought. Whether or not he wanted to be, he couldn't run away from the fact that he was the Prince. He had responsibilities, towards his kingdom. Wildflower was a beautiful road where he had stopped by, but he couldn't stop there forever.
"Summon my Messenger." he ordered his guard, steeling his heart.
He went back inside the castle closing the window tight shut and pulled a piece of parchment and ink in front of him. The toughest battles are often fought within the stone-walls of the Palace.
- To be Continued...
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