"I'm sorry, that's a new one." Rashtvice had heard his fair share of stories and tales about the wacky things that can happen to royal families. There was always an elent of power politicking, so form of corrupt official, and the possibility of the ruler dying at any mont often creating a large amount of tension when it becos clear there will be a succession crisis. His own family was proof enough of that.
That said, he had never heard of a Queen being murdered by her King Consort and then the Consort ran away. The act of murder was usually followed by the murderer in question usurping the throne. It was a classic power play, preserving the right of the royal bloodline's rule by way of the deceased monarch's children, but ensuring that they were the ones with power while they still lived. Running away was just stupid.
"I don't bla you. Everybody else was shocked too." Cholst shook his head as mories of the day surfaced. "It was on her coronation day as well, re months after my grandfather's passing."
"That's awful." Len didn't really know what the love of a mother was like, but he could imagine how devastating it would be to lose her, have her taken away, at a ti that should have been spent celebrating. Rashtvice was also a bit uncertain about how he should proceed.
"If it isn't too rude to ask, how old were you?" Having your mother taken at an extrely young age might be bad, but for a child who had developed enough to understand exactly what that ant it could be a devastating affair - one made worse by the fact his father was the perpetrator.
"I was fourteen. My mother was thirty-two. I watched him do it too. I watched him swing his lance around and behead her as the crown was placed on her head." It was pretty clear Cholst didn't like to rember the scene, but it served to stoke his hatred of his father. "Nobody saw it coming."
Rash sank back into his chair. He had been present at the coronation of a king who was on good terms with the empire, and he knew those types of events were gatherings of the most influential people they could get their hands on. It was a way to legitimize their rule, to demonstrate to their vassals and to their neighbors that they were recognized by the galactic community. Because of that, they were the most secure place on the planet at the ti it happened. A foreign king dying in your lands was all their heir would need to declare war.
"Why was he allowed to keep his lance? Surely sobody would have taken it from him, right?"
Cholst closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The reason was stupid in hindsight, they always were, but he still needed to steel himself.
"My father had a reputation as a hunter. I don't an in the gaudy royal hunting sense, I an that he would actually hunt like an animal. He would sar himself with mud to hide his scent and could track his ga with his nose if need be. Naturally he didn't use traps, only his lance. As you might expect from soone who lived a life like that, that lance never left his side. Even when he slept with my mother, even when he went to the bathroom, that lance was never further than an arm's distance away. I think you might be able to imagine how everybody ca to understand that trying to make him part with it was a fool's errand, and so people just . . . overlooked it."
Rashtvice could rarely have this said about him, but his heart was bleeding for Cholst. That was just awful.
"Why a hunter?" Len was also feeling kinda bad, but he still asked the question. "Wouldn't a prince be better?"
Cholst made eye contact with Len for a few seconds, Len slowly shrinking back in embarrassnt before Cholst exhaled sharply through his nose, amused.
"That, my friend, is an excellent fucking question." Cholst bobbed his head a few tis as he struggled with the absurdity. "I suppose a big part of it is that my kingdom isn't exactly the wealthiest, nor is it the strongest with regards to our military. My grandfather had fears about the future of the country, and so he searched far and wide for a strong person that would be willing to marry his daughter. Obviously she had a part in it, choosing who she thought was the most handso and had the best personality."
At this Cholst pointed to his face. Obviously he had taken after his father, a fact which undoubtedly brought him to extre levels of rage when he thought about it.
"It's fucked up, but he wasn't really a bad person. This was before the whole killing my mother bit. He was well-natured, kept his appearance in check, doted on my mother, taught how to use the lance . . . he just did everything you would want a father to do. Honestly, if I had been in my mother's position back then I would have done the sa. Like I said, he was pretty, proper, and had power to boot. He just happened to be a fucking psychopath. He waited and acted for eighteen long years for the sole purpose of claiming my mother's head."
"You make it sound like that was his intent from the start."
". . ."
Cholst's silence spoke volus.
"Did he really?"
"I said he was a hunter, right?"
"But that's absurd!"
"I know." Cholst grew more frustrated. "He was stalking his prey, waiting for her to mature into his intended prey before striking and claiming his trophy. 'The Head of a Queen' he said, 'one less item on the list!' Then grabbed her decapitated head by the hair and slung it over his shoulder. Like so sort of ga bird. He killed my uncle and cousins too. 'Looks like I'll need to wait a few years for the Head of a King!' Obviously he was talking about . I'm just another trophy on his fucked up list. "
Rashtvice found that the situation only got worse. It didn't seem possible when first he asked, but obviously he was not yet privy to how insane the world was.
"You know I could have been king there, in that very mont. I was old enough then. Obviously I still am, but nobody, not even myself, wants to risk elevating my status to king until we have that motherfucker's head on a stake."
Len was almost ready to puke. Rash was doing a much better job of keeping himself together.
"So the regency council?"
"I'm not a king until I am coronated. Until I accept the crown of my people, I do not qualify as his prey. I don't agree with those old farts on a lot of things, I would go so far as to say I hate a few of them, but all of us are in unison on the subject of my father. He will die, either by my hand or another's."
". . . and if you can't kill him?"
"I've got more than just a few children at this point, I'm sure of that much. If it cos to the point where we can no longer wait to put off my crowning, then even he is going to have a hard ti tracking them all. I'm sure one of those ladies will jump at the opportunity to have their kid be a king." Cholst tapped a finger on the table, rembering the won he had been with thus far. "I don't have plans on dying first though, and there isn't a chance in hell I'm going to let him live. I'll find him, especially now that I've got people who can do the job."
Rash didn't really mind the promiscuity. He was pretty certain that he would go a similar path if he could get away with it. Unfortunately, imperial blood was imperial blood, even if he was disinherited he needed to be careful who he prodded with his rod. He did wonder who that help was. A rcenary? Maybe soone else who was wronged by him?
"The Holifanians?" Len was the first to get a guess out.
"Hm? Yeah, they're the ones that offered their assistance. I should say it was conditional that we be admitted as one of their subject states, but their terms were pretty generous." Cholst's eyes narrowed on nothing in particular. "Besides, killing him is far more important than my sovereignty."
That was sothing that Rash didn't particularly agree with. That said, he wasn't going to say he didn't understand. This was his vendetta, his campaign for blood. Rash had no reason to stop him, in fact he felt obligated to provide his assistance.
"Well, that's enough of that. I think you would probably agree this topic brings down the mood."
"Agreed."
"Mhm."
"Well, if that's all you had to ask about, I can see those ladies coming back. I know it's rude, but I would very much appreciate it if you left right now." Rash and Len got up and started to leave. One of them wanted to get away, the other wasn't going to stop a man from ensuring his dynasty lived on. "Oh, you two, thanks for letting vent. I need to get that shit out of my system every now and again or else I get angry."
- - - - -
"So, mister winner man, are you ready to accept my challenge?" Now that the crowd had died down a bit, Gawan felt it to be appropriate to approach his buddy.
"Whatever do you an?" Trebar acted clueless, less theatrics and more to reenact the sa conversation that took place every ti this happened.
"Do not act as if you have forgotten our pact, old friend. You have drawn blood, therefore you must accept my challenge!" Gawan was definitely trying to make it more entertaining, to grab the attention of as many people as possible. In his eyes, more was better, especially considering the effect all that attention would have on his victim.
"I rember no such agreent, my brother, but I shall humor your challenge out of deference to our history." The few people still left in the crowd could have had question marks over their head they were so confused.
"Could you guys please not do that here?" Zhoie already felt embarrassed enough after Trebar's cringe inducing speech about defending her honor, but this would definitely bring her over the edge.
"Wonderful news." They ignored her completely. "Then I challenge you to a ga of booze, the first one to drop loses!"
"An interesting proposal. What would you suggest we place as a wager?"
"The na of the other's first born child of course! If I claim victory you shall na your spawn after . If you claim victory I shall na my spawn after you!" Both of them knew this wager was pointless. Trebar already had plans to na his firstborn son after his best friend, and Gawan was not allowed to have children.
"An interesting proposal my dearest friend. I accept your challenge! To the beer hall!"
"To the beer hall!"
Zhoie was left to bury her face in her hands as the future walking hazards, the people surrounding them displaying great interest in what they had planned.
- - - - -
"You want to what?"
"We ask you to act as the official judge of our challenge!"
"A drinking ga!"
Donovan was flabbergasted at how enthusiastically flat the two of them sounded. Their words and and intonation suggested they were rowdy and excited, but they were only barely smirking. It was strange how they could speak with energy yet display none of it. He could only assu this was so sort of in-joke.
"As in beer?"
"Beer!" "Beer!"
Sothing was definitely up, he just wasn't privy to what it was.
"I can do that, I guess. How are you two going to determine a victor?"
"He who drops!" "He who flops!"
Did they an that the person who drank themselves unconscious first was the winner? He contemplated asking further, but then he noticed a devious glint in Gawan's eye. For his health and sanity, Donovan decided wasn't even going to try to decipher this behavior.
"Alright, I'll see if I can set sothing up."
"Huzzah!" "Huzzah!"
Yeah, they were definitely up to sothing.
- - - - -
"Round one!" "First mug!"
Donovan had been able to convince Manama to let him drag a barrel of beer out to put on tap. Convince probably wasn't the best word for it, he just told her that sobody was planning to have a drinking competition and she pointed to an as yet unopened one. He had to get so help from the wait staff considering he didn't know how to tap it, but it was a far smoother ordeal than he thought it was going to be.
"Round two!" "Number two!"
That was a decently sized mug, and they drained it fairly quickly. Donovan did not consider himself to be an expert on the matter of alcohol imbibent, but he was under he impression you were supposed to take it slow. Alcohol poisoning was a very real threat, your tabolism would only be able to process it so fast.
"Round three!" "Third round!"
They seed to have a handle on themselves though. It was readily apparent that they knew what they were doing, chances being that they had done this before. Slowly distancing himself from the worrying behavior, he tried to find soone who would know what they were doing.
"Round four!" "Quadruple!"
"Hey Zhoie." She had followed them inside following the duel, though it looked like she wanted to run away. "What are they up to?"
Zhoie frowned. "Just a little ritual of theirs. Every ti one of them bleeds they challenge the other to a drink. The first one to drop is the 'winner'. It's annoying, but there really isn't anything more to it."
"It's not a cultural thing?"
"Round five!" "That's one hand of fingers!"
"No, just those two. They don't really feel the effects of beer given their heritage, that is until they fall unconscious." Zhoie shook her head in annoyance.
"Is that not a cause for concern? Like, don't they get hurt?"
"Round six!" "That's five plus one!"
"Not really. I an, they might puke once or twice, but usually their fine after that."
Donovan didn't feel like their pace had slowed. "What do you an by their heritage making booze not have an effect?"
"Hm? Oh, they've got a lot of Guayan blood in them. It's sort of a rarity in Holifania given our diplomatic stance, but that race is dominant in the galaxy. It doesn't really matter what the tric is, number of nations, relative power, population, they basically have it all."
"Round seven!" "That's one less than eight!"
"So are they a pretty powerful group?"
"The Guayans? I'd wager that pretty much every independent monarch either has primarily Guayan blood or is betrothed to soone with it. Most of the people you'll find at the academy are at least a little bit Guayan, Nemo and Titanyana are probably the only exceptions."
"They're pure-blooded?"
"Yep. I know Nemo is because of her race, and Titanyana's hair is a pretty obvious tell. Those with Guayan blood don't have two different hair colors."
"Round eight!" "I don't have one for eight!"
"So what does their blood have to do with their tolerance for alcohol?"
"Guayans don't readily succumb to it. I've heard rumors that the pure-bloods are practically immune to it." Zhoie looked towards a swaying Gawan. "Looks like it's over."
"What."
"Round nine!" "BLEUGH!!!"
Trebar paid no mind to his companion, who had dropped to a knee in a puddle of runny beer-vomit. Instead he took his ti finishing this last mug before slamming it on the table.
"Damn, I'll beat you next ti."
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