A Prince Tried to Expel His Half-Brother from a Royal Arts Competition, Not Knowing the Medallion Proved His True Bloodline
Alaric’s desperation intensified with each passing day of the Exhibition. My continued success, fueled by my renewed purpose, was a visible affront to his carefully constructed image. The whispers Lord Percival had sown were failing to dislodge me, and my presence remained an uncomfortable reminder of the truth Alaric feared. He knew he needed a more direct, yet still deniable, method to remove me.
I was in my workshop, adding the final touches to my next piece, a delicate silver filigree sculpture, when a messenger arrived with a summons. It was from the Exhibition judges, requesting my presence along with all guild masters. A mandatory session, it stated, regarding “new regulations affecting artisanal participation.” A cold knot of apprehension formed in my stomach.
Upon arriving at the judges’ chambers, the air was thick with tension. A handful of guild masters sat stiffly, their faces etched with concern. Prince Alaric was there, seated beside the lead judge, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Lord Percival stood at a small podium, clutching a roll of parchment with an air of theatrical importance.
“Gentlemen,” Percival announced, his voice booming slightly in the hushed room, “we have uncovered a most egregious historical infraction. One that, regrettably, affects the very foundation of certain artisanal guilds.”
My gaze met Alaric’s across the room. His eyes, usually arrogant, now held a glint of malicious triumph. This was his doing, I knew. He had found a way to weaponize bureaucracy itself. This was the calculated, institutional cruelty of power, twisting history to serve its own ends.
Percival then unrolled the parchment. It was a royal decree, ostentatiously sealed with a prominent Vesper crest. Its ornate calligraphy and archaic phrasing were clearly designed to lend it an air of unquestionable authority.
“This ancient decree,” Percival declared, puffing out his chest, “dating back three centuries, explicitly forbids the participation of any artisan associated with the ‘Stonehaven Guild’ in official royal exhibitions, due to an ancient, unredressed slight against a minor noble house.”
A low murmur swept through the room. The Stonehaven Guild was a venerable organization, one of the oldest in the realm, and my own guild, the Silverpine Artisans, was a proud offshoot, sharing its core charter. This was a direct attack, not just on me, but on the very integrity of my entire artistic community. It was a sweeping injustice, designed to crush many simply to target one.
“As the Silverpine Artisans Guild is a direct descendant and beneficiary of the Stonehaven charter,” Percival continued, his voice dripping with feigned regret, “it regrettably falls under the purview of this historic prohibition. Therefore, effective immediately, all members of the Silverpine Artisans Guild are disqualified from the Grand Starlight Exhibition.”
A wave of shock rippled through the room. The other guild masters exchanged furious glances. One master from a rival guild, Master Borin, a stout, white-bearded man, stood up, his face reddening.
“This is outrageous!” Master Borin exclaimed. “The Stonehaven Guild has contributed to the Court for centuries! No such prohibition is widely known, nor has it ever been enforced!”
“Perhaps,” Percival replied, a condescending smile playing on his lips, “because this particular infraction was so deeply embarrassing to the involved noble house, it was quietly erased from common memory. But the decree, as you can see, is quite explicit.”
He gestured triumphantly to the parchment. The words “unredressed slight” and “historic prohibition” felt like a direct blow. It was a specific, petty cruelty, inventing an ancient grudge to justify a present injustice. The thought that so many innocent artisans, colleagues and friends, would suffer because of Alaric’s vendetta against me made my blood boil.
“This is an affront to justice!” another guild master cried out. “Many innocent careers will be ruined!”
Prince Alaric remained silent, merely offering Percival a subtle, approving nod. His calm demeanor, in the face of such widespread outrage, was a chilling display of his callousness. He was perfectly content to destroy the livelihoods of dozens of people if it meant securing his own position. The sheer disregard for the lives and reputations of others was a stark demonstration of his corruption.
“The laws of the realm must be upheld,” Percival declared, his voice ringing with false piety. “Regardless of personal cost. The integrity of the Exhibition demands it.”
I stood frozen for a moment, the enormity of Alaric’s ruthlessness sinking in. He wasn’t just trying to remove me; he was trying to shatter my community, to discredit the very foundation of my craft. This was a direct, personal assault on my identity and everything I stood for. The falsified decree was a physical manifestation of his fear, a desperate attempt to sever my connections to the world I knew.
The lead judge, a stern-faced man named Lord Eldrin, looked troubled. He took the parchment from Percival, his brow furrowed as he scanned its contents. Even he seemed to recognize the suspicious nature of such a suddenly unearthed “ancient” decree. The very existence of such a document, kept secret for so long, felt inherently wrong.
“This is highly irregular, Lord Percival,” Lord Eldrin said, his voice hesitant. “Such an expansive prohibition would surely be codified in the Royal Edicts, not in a single, isolated decree.”
Percival merely puffed out his chest. “Indeed, my Lord, but the King’s personal decrees, especially in matters of… delicate inter-noble disputes, were sometimes kept from the broader record to preserve peace. This document is authentic, I assure you. It bears the royal seal.”
He pointed to the wax seal, a confident smirk playing on his lips. Alaric leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on me, clearly enjoying my predicament. The arrogance was back in his gaze, a predatory gleam. He truly believed he had won, that this elaborate deception would finally rid him of his inconvenient half-brother. The frustration of being unable to immediately counter such a brazen lie was almost unbearable. My mother’s warning to protect my honor now rang with a new urgency.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours