Garrison Witt, the Prince of Astua, recognized the extravagant R14 waiting outside the palace and felt anger rise within him. He had an audience with his father, hoping for a time to re-bond, but the sight of that ship made him uneasy. Suspicion and concern filled him as he wondered what had been happening here while he was gone.
Trudging up the steep stairs to the Grand Hall, Garrison wondered why these stairs were built like this. The height made it difficult to climb. As he walked up the steps towards the gigantic marble columns that held up the roof of the old stone building, he pondered that question.
The gargoyles that sat above the columns glared down at him as if they were judging his worth.
He turned and gazed back over the city. The view was magnificent. He hadn’t seen it in a while, even forgot about it. He loved this planet. It was his home, and he loved this city he had been raised in. As he looked out over the roofs of houses, over the trees, roads and parks, watching the river wind through the city’s center like a glossy snake as the sun shone on the water, he understood why the stairs were so lengthy.
Catching his breath, he walked in through the enormous open doors, nodding to the guards. His footsteps echoed from the heels of his boots as he stepped onto the marble floor. The ceiling was high and covered in stained glass depictions of Astuan battles and myths. The walls were painted with murals of the same. Large crystal chandeliers hung glimmering in the sunlight as it came in through the ceiling windows. Rays of sunlight made their way onto the marble floor, exposing the dust in the air and adding to the ominous atmosphere of the hall.
He had seen this all his life; he paid little attention to it when he was younger. Now, as he watched the gods of Astua fighting for their people, saving them from dragons and sorcerers, it awed him.
Tearing himself away, he turned towards his destination, noticing the guards who stood in Astuan military uniform, appearing like dwarfs against the enormous door of solid wood and iron hardware that led into his father’s conference room.
“Gentlemen, I have a meeting with my father,” he announced, as he approached them.
“Your father is speaking with Count Franco,” one guard told him. “I will let his secretary know you are here.” The guard lifted a device out of his pocket, pushing a button.
A rush of irritation ran through Garrison at the mention of the Count Franco. The man was here two nights ago.
“Tell me, gentlemen,” he said to the guards.
The guards nodded.
“I was wondering,” he asked discreetly, “how often does the Count come to the palace and speak with my father?”
When he entered the room, both the King and the Count stood up to greet him. Garrison didn’t like how friendly his father was with the Count, and he didn’t like the victorious gleam in the Count’s eyes as he spoke to him.
The Count smiled a wide smile. “Young Witt, so good to see you again.”
“Sir,” Garrison said, acknowledging the Count and wanting to wipe the smile off the man’s face.
“I was leaving,” the Count said, turning to the King with a self-satisfied grin that gave Garrison chills up his spine.
“Good day, sir,” Garrison said cold and apathetic.
“Your Highness,” the Count bowed to the King. “We will talk more again soon, I am sure.” He studied Garrison, patting him on the shoulder in an overfamiliar manner that gave Garrison the creeps.
As the count tried gracefully, considering his rather large body, to leave the room, something fell from his jacket to the floor. A book with papers stuffed in it, medical records from the Astuan archives. Garrison moved to help the count pick them up, but the Count brushed him away and grabbed at the documents and stuffed them inside the book, and back into his jacket.
“No need, no need,” the Count said, holding out his hand to keep Garrison from coming close. “I can get them.”
It astounded Garrison at how fast the Count moved, as if his life depended on it.
The fat man stood smiling at the King and the Prince as he straightened his jacket. “Excuse my clumsiness, Your Highness. I will see you soon,” he said and walked confidently out the large wooden doors.
The King motioned for Garrison to sit and poured him a glass of wine.
“What business do you have with that man, Father?”
“The business I have with Count Franco is why I called you here,” he said.
“I don’t trust him, he is a snake, more than likely, the father of all snakes,” Garrison said. “You know what kind of man he is. What is going on?”
His father scrutinized him, as if knowing a storm was about to brew.
Garrison understood his facial expression. He was ready for a fight.
“I’ve been in negotiations with Beres Franco for you to marry his daughter,” the King said in a ‘take that, you cocky little bastard’ kind of way.
