Part 1

Inner Reflection | home

The problem with prophecies, Chris reflected, is that they come true. Oh, people think that they *want* them to come true but, really, when the moment arrives, most everyone runs around madly trying to avoid the damn thing. Even the good ones. Witness the current situation. Generations ago the King of Tropria had rescued a mutant chicken from the palace cook. That long ago royal had been more concerned for his weak stomach than for the bird's life but the bird didn't know that, and had gifted him with a combination promise/prophecy. Sort of a two for one deal.

Legend had it that as the chicken pronounced the prophecy (in a singsong voice) the words wrote themselves in gold above the throne in the receiving hall. Chris suspected the inscription was due more to the skills of a good stonemason than to magic, but it read the same either way:

As long as love lives

In the heart of a royal,

All things the land gives

Shall be free of toil.

Father, mother, brother, son.

Daughter, sister - any one.

It wasn't particularly poetic, but it rhymed, and that was the important thing.

In spite of the legend and the inscription and the rhyming, Chris had always had a hard time believing in the prophecy. Sure, there hadn't been war or hunger or flooding or drought in Tropria since the chicken had made the declaration, but Chris had always attributed that to a favorable climate and a series of good kings. (Actually, it *was* due to a series of good kings - they all followed the prophecy to the letter.) He just couldn't seem to accept that a rather abnormal talking bird (which would have been served up on a platter if not for a king's weak stomach) had guaranteed the prosperity of the realm.

So when his father died, and his mother followed a month later, Chris grieved but didn't really worry about the prophecy. His advisors fretted and kept an eye on the crops. That year harvest went well. Chris was smug. His advisors pointed out that when the year had opened, his father's love for his mother had been alive and well.

"You have mere months until the winter solstice," they nagged. "Throw a ball. Or a feast. Or tour the countryside. Perhaps a festival? Either you or your brother need to meet someone, liege. There isn't much time."

Christ reflected sourly that his advisors had turned into the worst set of matchmakers imaginable.

He didn't throw a ball, or a feast, or a festival. He didn't tour the countryside, either. But he did marry. A marriage of convenience, to seal a trade deal. The royal advisors were horrified. Chris wished he had more siblings for them to pester.

The winter solstice came and went without disaster. Chris got even smugger. The advisors turned from matchmakers to a flock of doomsayers and waited anxiously for the harvest.

It was the worst crop in ten years. Chris might have been concerned if his wife hadn't been expecting their first child. As it was, he had more of a mind for her morning sickness, sore back and odd cravings than he did for a bad crop. The previous year had produced a surplus. It wasn't a crisis.

"Yet," his advisors said darkly. Chris dismissed a couple of them and the rest shut up.

He did get a little worried when the fields flooded the next year. The year after that some sort of parasite decimated the livestock. When drought threatened, then struck, he started sending his brother, Lance, to the formal balls the lords and ladies threw in the spring. As things grew more desperate Chris grew more ashamed. Now he believed. He'd ignored the prophecy that had protected Tropria for generations, and his people were suffering for it. Prince Lance was their only hope. Unfortunately, he remained stubbornly unromanced. Lords, ladies, serving girls, groomsmen, foreign princesses, foreign princes, tradesmen, craftsmen, merchants, thieves, sailors, soldiers, engineers, whores and diplomats. Lance has his pick of them, regardless of age, station or nationality. So long as he was well and truly in love, all was forgiven. Hundreds of men and women alike came courting, and though Lance did his best to be polite (it was hard, even for him, to deal with a constant flow of suitors respectfully) and spend a little time with each of them he never repeated a dance or a dinner or a moonlight talk.

Now the land was five years without love and the people were on the brink of starvation. Chris was desperate. The people where angry and scared, and Lance was regretfully unresponsive. Something had to be done.

"JC, you're my heir. You need to wed."

JC sighed deeply. Forty-four. That was the forty-fourth time his father had made that exact statement. If he counted the variations, JC wasn't sure numbers went that high.

"Father. I'm twenty-four and you are nowhere near dead. What's the rush?"

King Chasez silently despaired of his son. Would he never learn to understand how his people thought? How his life impacted upon the well being of the kingdom? The King thought not, but explained anyway. "It's not heirs I'm worried about, JC. It's the emotional climate of the populace." JC rolled his eyes. "They want to see you happy. They want you to wed and settle down. They want to copy the fashions of your wife and to name their children after yours. They want to gossip about you. When a kingdom is prosperous and peaceful these things become very important, and it's the royals' duty to provide them."

"What about what I want?" JC pouted, more out of habit than real annoyance.

"Don't give me that," the King snapped. "I'm allowing you to choose your wife, aren't I? If these were more turbulent times you'd have been long wed, and without any say in the matter at all."

"I can't help it if none of the ladies at court interest me," JC said defensively. "I don't want to be trapped in a marriage with a woman whose charm dies with the courtship."

"Then travel abroad for a year to two!" The King countered.

"Surely you didn't meet every eligible girl on that one trip," this dryly. "JC, I'm warning you now." JC's attention sharpened. This was new. "If you haven't chosen a wife before the year is out, I will choose one for you."

JC could only stare, appalled.

The King left without waiting for a response. None was necessary, really. As the crown prince, certain things were out of JC's hands, and his wedding was one of them. However, he *could* seek a sympathetic ear and a few words of advice. So when he recovered his wits, JC went in search of Justin, his brother. He found the younger man, somewhat predictably, in the kitchen flirting outrageously with a flour-smudged wench.

"Justin!" he hissed from the doorway.

"Hmmm?" Justin responded, distracted.

"Justin, cut it out. I need to talk. Now." JC must actually have sounded upset because his brother immediately made apologies to the girl and allowed JC to drag him to JC's suite of rooms.

"What is it, Jace?" he asked, concerned. "You sounded kind of panicked there."

"Father just informed me that if I don't choose a wife by the end of the year he will choose one for me."

"Oh, God, Jace..." Justin trailed off and the two of them sat down on the bed heavily. Justin was the only one who knew why JC hadn't settled down, why he didn't want to and why his father's ultimatum was so devastating. In other words, he was the only person JC really trusted.

"I don't know what to do, J," JC choked out. "I mean, I knew things wouldn't last this way forever, but I didn't think it would be so *soon*... I guess I was hoping for something to change." He looked down at his clasped hands, defeated.

"You could tell him..." Justin began hesitantly.

JC laughed almost hysterically. "Father? Tell him what? That I'd rather pick from the lords than the ladies?"

"Perhaps not quite in those words, but..."

JC shook his head and sighed. "You know how these things work better than I do, J. I might, *might*, be able to get away with that if I were a fourth of fifth son, but I'm not. I'm the eldest of two, and the heir to the throne." He smiled, somewhat bitterly. "The endless lectures on duty and what I owe the people are all I need to hear to know Father would not take news of my...inclinations lightly."

"What can you do, then, but pretend?" Justin shrugged.

"I know. I've just...I've had to hide, but I've never really had to outright lie. I've even managed an affair or two, here and there. I could never be serious about anyone, but at least we could enjoy each other..."

"That...wouldn't have to stop, just because you're married," Justin suggested.

"It would," JC shook his head at himself. "I couldn't cheat on my wife, lie to her, hurt her like that. Just because I'm not attracted to women doesn't mean I hate them."

"It'll work out, Jace. Somehow it'll work out."

"I've been telling myself that for year, J. I don't think it's true anymore."

Chris gestured for Joey, his most trusted advisor, to sit by him on the couch in his office. "You mentioned a possible solution to the food shortage. Please, enlighten me."

Joey hesitated. "You aren't going to like it."

"I don't like that my people are starving, Joey," Chris said bluntly. "Spit it out."

"Kidnap Prince Chasez of Iiawah and ransom him for enough supplies to get us through the winter."

Christ just stared for a long moment. Joey was suggesting this? "Abduction? *This* is your solution?"

"For the past four years there has been no surplus, andthus virtually no trade. In the last year we have actually gone into debt buying grain. Farmers are slaughtering plow animals to feed their families, Majesty. If abduction will buy us another fourth months, the hardest months, then so be it."

It made sense. Incredibly, it made sense. Abduction was common practice in the lower court. But between kings, over princes...that was unusual. Desperate times call for desperate measure, Chris supposed.

"Why Prince Chasez?" he asked, knowing he would agree to the plan.

"His palace is less than a week away. He has only one brother. He is unwed and childless, which means he has not yet provided heirs. We know his father cares deeply for him, and is anxious to see him settled. He is the best candidate."

"We will only hold him," Chris instructed. "He will be treated well while he is here. As a guest."

"When can you do it?"

Joey grimaced, grimly satisfied. Part of his had hoped Chris would reject the plan, but they both knew it had to be done. Winter was fast approaching. If conditions were bad now, they'd be far worse when the wet and cold arrived. "I have a group of men-at-arms already selected. We can be on the road within the day. Prince Chasez will be here, secure, within two weeks."

Chris paused, allowing himself a moment for second thoughts. Abruptly, he nodded. "Very well. Go, now, before I change my mind. The sooner this is over and done, the better."

Joey stood and headed for the barracks immediately. The men had already been briefed, the necessary gear packed. He knew his liege well. All they had needed was Chris' approval. They were out of the palace before sunset.


	Inner Reflection \| home back to A Tale of Two Princes Part 1 The problem with prophecies, Chris reflected, is that they come true. Oh, people think that they want them to come true but, really, when the moment arrives, most everyone runs around madly trying to avoid the damn thing. Even the good ones. Witness the current situation. Generations ago the King of Tropria had rescued a mutant chicken from the palace cook. That long ago royal had been more concerned for his weak stomach than for the bird's life but the bird didn't know that, and had gifted him with a combination promise/prophecy. Sort of a two for one deal. Legend had it that as the chicken pronounced the prophecy (in a singsong voice) the words wrote themselves in gold above the throne in the receiving hall. Chris suspected the inscription was due more to the skills of a good stonemason than to magic, but it read the same either way: As long as love lives In the heart of a royal, All things the land gives Shall be free of toil. Father, mother, brother, son. Daughter, sister - any one. It wasn't particularly poetic, but it rhymed, and that was the important thing. In spite of the legend and the inscription and the rhyming, Chris had always had a hard time believing in the prophecy. Sure, there hadn't been war or hunger or flooding or drought in Tropria since the chicken had made the declaration, but Chris had always attributed that to a favorable climate and a series of good kings. (Actually, it was due to a series of good kings - they all followed the prophecy to the letter.) He just couldn't seem to accept that a rather abnormal talking bird (which would have been served up on a platter if not for a king's weak stomach) had guaranteed the prosperity of the realm. So when his father died, and his mother followed a month later, Chris grieved but didn't really worry about the prophecy. His advisors fretted and kept an eye on the crops. That year harvest went well. Chris was smug. His advisors pointed out that when the year had opened, his father's love for his mother had been alive and well. "You have mere months until the winter solstice," they nagged. "Throw a ball. Or a feast. Or tour the countryside. Perhaps a festival? Either you or your brother need to meet someone, liege. There isn't much time." Christ reflected sourly that his advisors had turned into the worst set of matchmakers imaginable. He didn't throw a ball, or a feast, or a festival. He didn't tour the countryside, either. But he did marry. A marriage of convenience, to seal a trade deal. The royal advisors were horrified. Chris wished he had more siblings for them to pester. The winter solstice came and went without disaster. Chris got even smugger. The advisors turned from matchmakers to a flock of doomsayers and waited anxiously for the harvest. It was the worst crop in ten years. Chris might have been concerned if his wife hadn't been expecting their first child. As it was, he had more of a mind for her morning sickness, sore back and odd cravings than he did for a bad crop. The previous year had produced a surplus. It wasn't a crisis. "Yet," his advisors said darkly. Chris dismissed a couple of them and the rest shut up. He did get a little worried when the fields flooded the next year. The year after that some sort of parasite decimated the livestock. When drought threatened, then struck, he started sending his brother, Lance, to the formal balls the lords and ladies threw in the spring. As things grew more desperate Chris grew more ashamed. Now he believed. He'd ignored the prophecy that had protected Tropria for generations, and his people were suffering for it. Prince Lance was their only hope. Unfortunately, he remained stubbornly unromanced. Lords, ladies, serving girls, groomsmen, foreign princesses, foreign princes, tradesmen, craftsmen, merchants, thieves, sailors, soldiers, engineers, whores and diplomats. Lance has his pick of them, regardless of age, station or nationality. So long as he was well and truly in love, all was forgiven. Hundreds of men and women alike came courting, and though Lance did his best to be polite (it was hard, even for him, to deal with a constant flow of suitors respectfully) and spend a little time with each of them he never repeated a dance or a dinner or a moonlight talk. Now the land was five years without love and the people were on the brink of starvation. Chris was desperate. The people where angry and scared, and Lance was regretfully unresponsive. Something had to be done. *** "JC, you're my heir. You need to wed." JC sighed deeply. Forty-four. That was the forty-fourth time his father had made that exact statement. If he counted the variations, JC wasn't sure numbers went that high. "Father. I'm twenty-four and you are nowhere near dead. What's the rush?" King Chasez silently despaired of his son. Would he never learn to understand how his people thought? How his life impacted upon the well being of the kingdom? The King thought not, but explained anyway. "It's not heirs I'm worried about, JC. It's the emotional climate of the populace." JC rolled his eyes. "They want to see you happy. They want you to wed and settle down. They want to copy the fashions of your wife and to name their children after yours. They want to gossip about you. When a kingdom is prosperous and peaceful these things become very important, and it's the royals' duty to provide them." "What about what I want?" JC pouted, more out of habit than real annoyance. "Don't give me that," the King snapped. "I'm allowing you to choose your wife, aren't I? If these were more turbulent times you'd have been long wed, and without any say in the matter at all." "I can't help it if none of the ladies at court interest me," JC said defensively. "I don't want to be trapped in a marriage with a woman whose charm dies with the courtship." "Then travel abroad for a year to two!" The King countered. "I have!" "Surely you didn't meet every eligible girl on that one trip," this dryly. "JC, I'm warning you now." JC's attention sharpened. This was new. "If you haven't chosen a wife before the year is out, I will choose one for you." JC could only stare, appalled. The King left without waiting for a response. None was necessary, really. As the crown prince, certain things were out of JC's hands, and his wedding was one of them. However, he could seek a sympathetic ear and a few words of advice. So when he recovered his wits, JC went in search of Justin, his brother. He found the younger man, somewhat predictably, in the kitchen flirting outrageously with a flour-smudged wench. "Justin!" he hissed from the doorway. "Hmmm?" Justin responded, distracted. "Justin, cut it out. I need to talk. Now." JC must actually have sounded upset because his brother immediately made apologies to the girl and allowed JC to drag him to JC's suite of rooms. "What is it, Jace?" he asked, concerned. "You sounded kind of panicked there." "Father just informed me that if I don't choose a wife by the end of the year he will choose one for me." "Oh, God, Jace..." Justin trailed off and the two of them sat down on the bed heavily. Justin was the only one who knew why JC hadn't settled down, why he didn't want to and why his father's ultimatum was so devastating. In other words, he was the only person JC really trusted. "I don't know what to do, J," JC choked out. "I mean, I knew things wouldn't last this way forever, but I didn't think it would be so soon... I guess I was hoping for something to change." He looked down at his clasped hands, defeated. "You could tell him..." Justin began hesitantly. JC laughed almost hysterically. "Father? Tell him what? That I'd rather pick from the lords than the ladies?" "Perhaps not quite in those words, but..." JC shook his head and sighed. "You know how these things work better than I do, J. I might, might, be able to get away with that if I were a fourth of fifth son, but I'm not. I'm the eldest of two, and the heir to the throne." He smiled, somewhat bitterly. "The endless lectures on duty and what I owe the people are all I need to hear to know Father would not take news of my...inclinations lightly." "What can you do, then, but pretend?" Justin shrugged. "I know. I've just...I've had to hide, but I've never really had to outright lie. I've even managed an affair or two, here and there. I could never be serious about anyone, but at least we could enjoy each other..." "That...wouldn't have to stop, just because you're married," Justin suggested. "It would," JC shook his head at himself. "I couldn't cheat on my wife, lie to her, hurt her like that. Just because I'm not attracted to women doesn't mean I hate them." "It'll work out, Jace. Somehow it'll work out." "I've been telling myself that for year, J. I don't think it's true anymore." *** Chris gestured for Joey, his most trusted advisor, to sit by him on the couch in his office. "You mentioned a possible solution to the food shortage. Please, enlighten me." Joey hesitated. "You aren't going to like it." "I don't like that my people are starving, Joey," Chris said bluntly. "Spit it out." "Kidnap Prince Chasez of Iiawah and ransom him for enough supplies to get us through the winter." Christ just stared for a long moment. Joey was suggesting this? "Abduction? This is your solution?" "For the past four years there has been no surplus, andthus virtually no trade. In the last year we have actually gone into debt buying grain. Farmers are slaughtering plow animals to feed their families, Majesty. If abduction will buy us another fourth months, the hardest months, then so be it." It made sense. Incredibly, it made sense. Abduction was common practice in the lower court. But between kings, over princes...that was unusual. Desperate times call for desperate measure, Chris supposed. "Why Prince Chasez?" he asked, knowing he would agree to the plan. "His palace is less than a week away. He has only one brother. He is unwed and childless, which means he has not yet provided heirs. We know his father cares deeply for him, and is anxious to see him settled. He is the best candidate." "We will only hold him," Chris instructed. "He will be treated well while he is here. As a guest." "Of course." "When can you do it?" Joey grimaced, grimly satisfied. Part of his had hoped Chris would reject the plan, but they both knew it had to be done. Winter was fast approaching. If conditions were bad now, they'd be far worse when the wet and cold arrived. "I have a group of men-at-arms already selected. We can be on the road within the day. Prince Chasez will be here, secure, within two weeks." Chris paused, allowing himself a moment for second thoughts. Abruptly, he nodded. "Very well. Go, now, before I change my mind. The sooner this is over and done, the better." Joey stood and headed for the barracks immediately. The men had already been briefed, the necessary gear packed. He knew his liege well. All they had needed was Chris' approval. They were out of the palace before sunset.