Another request - this one for Rin. All characters are eighteen years old or over.
***
Prince Devon Brightheart stood to attention and waited for the blow to fall.
He was decked in his formal pale white and blues of his family colours. In front of him stood the throne; and upon the throne sat his father, King Kaius. Taller and broader and stronger than Devon, even at his advanced age; every inch the king. As long as Devon could remember he had felt his father's stern fall upon him; ever judging and ever finding failure. At his side his mother, the Queen; every bit as stern. Every bit as forbidding.
To Devon's left stood Prince Morden, his older brother and heir to the realm. An accomplished hero of the Eastern Wars. By his side stood his wife; the young Dutchess Pella, with her honey-coloured skin and her dark mass of curls. A happy couple. A favored couple, ever in his father's light as Devon was in the shade.
Devone glanced to his right where his younger sister Myral stood. The blonde, willowy Princess knew what was coming as well- she'd been the one to break the news to him- and her blue eyes shone with sympathy as she caught his gaze. Past Myral stood his elder sister. Enya was dressed in her astrologer's robes, but her eyes peeked past her cowl to glare at him. She made an impatient gesture to draw Devon's attention back to his father's words.
"...and that is why I have decided to reward my youngest son, Devon, with the post of Guardian of the Grey Tombs. His scholarly commitment to learning with see him in good stead."
Devon knew it was coming, had known it was coming, had thought himself prepared for it; and yet it took everything he could to bow low in thanks. The murmured words of gratitude that came out of his mouth tasted like ashes.
He was being exiled.
***
"It's not an exile," said Myral as the two of them walked through the halls of the Brightheart Palace.
"The Grey Tombs are a frozen wasteland, Myral. There's nothing out there to threaten the kingdom apart from a handful of wight lords who cower in their barrows. There are no cities of any note, no enemies to challenge us...I'm being abandoned, Myral."
His sister sighed. "I know. She twisted her hands together as she walked beside Devon. "Listen... father does care for you."
"Father has no need for a bookish son," Devon growled. "Father wants another hero, like Morden."
"Devon... this won't be forever. Father just wants to make sure..."
"Father wants to make sure that you are safe."
Both of the siblings turned. Enya glided down the passage towards them, her cowl pushed back to reveal her own neatly-kept blonde tresses. Her eyes- the same blue as her siblings- bore into them. "You are upset."
Devon paused. "I am
confused
, elder sister. I may not be the most mighty of sons, but I've been dutiful. What could I possibly have done that would result in this...this..."
"Punishment?" His sister's eyes were cold and cool. When they were younger Devon had once joked that she must have been carved out of stone rather than birthed. "It disturbs me that you don't trust your father and your King."
"How is this best for the kingdom?" Devon shot back.
His elder sister paused. Then she turned to Myral. "Don't you have studies to attend?"
Myral tried. She really did. But her elder sister- student of the Twelve Prophecies and Priestess of the Bright Gods- was as unyielding as stone. And so, with a mumbled excuse and a sympathetic look, Myral fled.
Enya's watched her leave. "She does you no favours by coddling you."
"Coddling me? She offered me sympathy when no-one else did! She must be the only one of this family that doesn't despise me!"
"Come with me. I have something to show you."
***
The two siblings stood in front of a locked door.
"I've never come in here," said Devon. "This part of the castle is off-limits."
"For good reason." Enya drew a key out of her robes and worked the lock. "This is the study of your great-uncle Termus."
"I didn't know we had such an uncle."
Enya nodded. "Due to no small effort on the priesthood's part." The door opened and she gestured. "Go on inside."
Devon stepped into the room, a lantern in hand. The room was small- little more than a closet- and dimly lit by a small window. The small bed and writing desk were covered in a layer of dust. "Why was he removed from the record?"
"Because he was a curse."
"What?" Devon turned, creating a cloud of dust with his movements. "How?"
Enya sighed and looked around the tiny room. "The Brightheart family has been chosen by the Bright Gods to lead the kingdom. And by and large we have faithfully obeyed their mandate. But there is a curse. One that the Dark Prisoner bestowed on this family as revenge for a long-ago slight." She took a deep breath. "Every few generations, our family produces a Dark Lord."
"A Dark Lord?"
"A man- and it is always a man- of vile nature and endless ambition. Who seeks nothing more than the corruption of this family and conquest of the kingdom. Who murders and seduces and schemes." Enya turned to face Devon. "There are prophecies that can be used to determine when a Dark Lord will be born."
Devon opened his mouth to ask the obvious question; but when he looked into his sister's eyes he realised he did not want or need to. "Does Myral know?"
Enya shook her head. "No. No-one but the King, the Queen...and myself. This is the kindest thing we could do."
Devon turned around. Suddenly the room seemed far, far too small. The walls seemed to slither and push until he fancied he could feel himself crushed between them. One of his hands moved to brace himself against the writing desk, and the movement caused something to drop onto the floor.
Taking a deep breath, he bent down and plucked the object off the floor. It was a ring, the silver long tarnished into black. A dark red gemstone sat in the middle and he fancied that underneath the polished surface he saw something shift and swim. He said, "When will you ever trust me again? When can I come back?"
"Not long."
Devon smiled a bitter smile. His sister- while cold and stern- was a fundamentally honest person and had never mastered the art of lying. "I see." He pushed past her, leaving the priestess behind.
***
The royal household feasted.
Devon sat at his place after his elder brother Morden and his wife, Pella. The fires were banked, flooding the room in a dull red light.
He had his answer, he supposed. Answers to why he'd been pushed aside; answers why he'd never been trusted with any sort of responsibility or title. Why he felt like an unwanted extra his entire life.
The tarnished black ring was in his hand. He must have taken it with him when he stormed off.
Like a petulant child
