Prologue
His father’s room stood in front of him; the royal bedroom. Prince Tyrannust VI confronted the door, gazing deeply into the reinforcing iron bars that embraced the heavy wooden entrance.
The Prince had a simple thought. A devilish grin smeared across his nonchalant face.
With a silent wave of his hand in the air, the hard wood in front of him gave way to a slight crack. A snap followed the wave from the Prince, causing the door to burst into splinters.
“Who’s there?” the High Lord queried tiredly. He had just woken up from a restless night of agonizing visions. Moreover, he had had a dynamic feud with his son that persisted late after midnight.
The Prince gave no reply. He slowly prowled towards the royal figure that was lying stationary on the unkempt bed. The floorboards creaked under his heavy footsteps, and his determined face emulated his apathetic heart.
“Son,” his father noticed, with no tone of dispute left from last night’s fight, “is there something wrong?”
The High Lord made an effort to turn towards his grim-mannered son. With a grunt, he heaved himself to a right angle and rubbed his eyes. His wrinkled skin displayed the priceless experiences and wisdom gained, but his visions of prosperity and wealth for the lands had faded since the last few centuries of ruling Grozorg. He knew he was old, but if time admitted, he would rule for another century or so before handing his position over to the next heir. His wife had died a decade before, a sudden and tragic loss the entire kingdom mourned over. Already burdened with the kingdom’s rapid growth and the threat of otherworldly attacks occurring unexpectedly, he was undoubtedly more concerned for his only son’s well being.
“What is it, Tyrannust? Is there something bother--”
He got no further. The Prince pounced forward and clutched his father’s throat, raising him high above the bed.
“Son!” the High Lord choked with a shocked startle. His eyes widened as he flailed his arms in a desperate attempt of escape, attempting to pry free from his son's iron grip. His broadsword was two meters away, helplessly tumbled on the ground. The High Lord was weak now, compared to the powerful Prince.
“Make me king,” the Prince demanded suddenly, firmly.
Two armoured men rushed in through the gaping hole in the wall. “Lord, is there something--”
Before the Royal Guards could intercept, they were engulfed in a black flame spewed from the Prince’s Red Dragon. The dragon had followed his master to the royal bedroom, lurking in the dark shadows of the hallway.
“You are of no use anymore. Where were you when mother died? You were ‘busy’ in your planning room, not admitting that it was you who ruthlessly poisoned her!”
“It...wasn’t...me...” the High Lord struggled to enunciate. Gasping for air, his son tightened his clutch. “Is... Is this what this...this is all about?”
The Prince decided to aside the accusation into a different direction, which still led to the same conclusion.
“Where were you when I needed you? I had to fend myself from the dangers ever since I was born!” The Prince roared. “What did you do? Gift me a dragon to take your place? Grandfather did a better job than you! You... fool! You paid for the weak and allowed the rich to bypass their debts!”
On the contrary, Grozorg had been a much happier place following the death of High Lord Tyrannust IV. The outgoing personality of Tyrannust V, along with his insisting aid for the lower class to create equilibrium amongst the other classes had earned him commendable praise - although mostly from the powerless peasants.
Prince Tyrannust VI seized his chance now. His father had received a crippling blow to his right leg about a month ago from a small rebellion led by the higher-ranked warriors, soon resolved through a mass execution, leaving only a few tractable nobilities. Along with his father’s deteriorating age, the Prince saw a spark of opportunity and seized it.
“Son...please!” the High Lord gurgled, eyes rolling back.
“I won’t let you die like this,” the Prince spoke mercifully. Releasing his father, he reached for the High Lord’s sword and pointed its tip towards his father’s throat, giving him no time to escape. Blood trickled down the High Lord’s frail neck as he froze in action of gasping for air.
“Even your closest officials have betrayed you,” the Prince hissed, “they all look up to me!”
The Prince leaned in, finally speaking the truth behind his actions. “When you placed that man in power, you left no room for me. You gave my rightful possession away - you made me another one of your servants! I deserved the throne...but I got nothing!”
“Is that what you want? A title? My title? I’ll give you anything! Anything!”
The High Lord was drenched in fear, frozen in an awkward slump on his bed.
“Anything?” Tyrannust VI asked.
“Tyrannust, you’re better than this!”
“Anything?” the Prince pressed unrelentingly.
The young Prince cackled wickedly as he shifted the blade lower. “Then let me be the Highest Lord of Grozorg!”
Frigid shock swept across the High Lord’s face as the sword pierced his heart.