Hi, this is Candid Confinement here, this is my first draft of the second novel. I thought I would finish the fist one, but this story sucked me in. This is a historical novel set in the fictional land of Vandalur. PLZ read and comment.


2. A sacrilege of courage

                                             Royal palace, city of Madarasa

Being a king is a pain in the arse. Everybody bows in reverence, servants kiss your leg, beauties sleep with you, but that’s all you get and that’s at the cost of happiness. Everybody yearns to be a king one day, it is the dream that follows the wake of every youth’s action, but once the formalities and all the pampering is over the ethereal properties and characteristics of kingship are triggered. For some people the convalescence period is short, some don’t recover, but it is the people who are stuck between the poles who suffer a lot. I am one of those ill-fated kings. 

After I assassinated my father and took over the throne, I realized that if I had asked, my father would have stepped down the throne with the fullest of consents. The kingdom was in jeopardy, the treasury was pillaged by the tribals, and the city of Kalinga was on the brink of an invasion. To top it off, tribal camps had been reported in the forests to the east (kalinga to the west). The situation I was ensnared in was almost surreal. A Hercules or an Alexander would have found it a walk on a pie. But, for a new prince just out of the box, this was a saturated circumstance. This tangled state of affairs was like a whirlpool and I was at the edge of it, not a direct casualty, but a casualty nonetheless. My first step had been to send my cavalry to the forest regime in the East. They had not yet returned, and if they expired in the war, then my situation would be further bludgeoned. A trouncing was all the empire needed to tumble down the abyss. Yesterday had rained, like hell, and I hope my army had played its trump-card. I don’t know whether my move was a blunder or not, but the empire was certainly teetering. These thoughts over shadowed me. The splendors of my bed-life were fast fading, I had to act fast. I pushed away my naked wife and put on my robes. I got down and heard the grunt of my wife. “I’ll be back” I said, my voice more curt than needed.


I walked the space to my balcony, my tread as slithery and silent as a snake. I stood there and contemplated my situation. The moon drenched me in its grandeur. Its rays glinting off the building. How could this placid and unflustered place be a victim of human savagery? The answer was lucid, but it was eluding me. I was not ready to swallow its implications. All I could do was wallow. This place deserved more than a man whose un-quellable hunger for power and bed drives him to kill. The empire would suit itself; I would be a red blip in a line which was already wobbling. I leaned on the railing and lifted my foot off the floor, and in a few seconds I found myself plummeting down the ten storied castle.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...