After the words left his mouth, Victore sank back into his seat. His head tilted upward, eyes tracking the stars painted on the ceiling. His expression went blank, as if only now truly hearing what he'd just said.

  The host's white mask glimmered in the stage light. He leaned against the chair's arm, posture relaxed—but his fingers drummed against the wood, tap-tap-tap betraying the calm facade.

  The tapping stopped.

  Victore exhaled, shoulders deflating.

  The host's chest froze mid-breath. Behind him, countless eyes bore into the stage—some glaring daggers at Victore, others leaning forward with amusement, most simply watching with hungry curiosity.

  Victore's mouth opened, then clamped shut. His jaw worked. Something invisible pressed against his throat, forcing the words up.

  "How much do you know about Valanis?" The prince's voice came out strained.

  The host broke eye contact, spinning away with arms spread wide in an exaggerated flourish. "A colorful place to last, but a lot seems to have transpired there recently." He gestured to the audience. "A chaotic place, now."

  "Shame. People there were already having hard times."

  "Everything was fine when I was born. Grandpa was in charge." Victore's fingers curled around the armrest. "Why didn't he last a bit longer?"

  "Didn't he lose a war?" The girl in the audience with glasses and purple hair gave him a mocking smile, her head tilting. The words dripped with honey-coated venom.

  The tavern lights shifted, a spotlight slamming down on her seat. Another stretched back, laughing—that familiar, amused sound growing louder. Somewhere in the crowd, a robotic sigh echoed.

  The host waved his finger in a no-no gesture, his whole hand shaking playfully. "Hey, now—"

  He snapped.

  Tape materialized across her mouth.

  Her face flushed crimson. Fingers clawed at the adhesive, nails scratching. The spotlight vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The host launched himself upward, landing on the highest platform just above the light source, perched like a cat.

  Victore's shoulders shook. He pressed his lips together hard, trying to maintain composure, but a mischievous smile cracked through as the tavern lights swung back to him.

  The host snapped again "sorry my dear guest but interruption aren't allowed.

  Victore's head jerked toward the sound.

  "Well, keep going." The host's voice came out uncharacteristically calm, flat.

  Victore straightened in his chair. Pride swelled in his chest—he could feel it burning alongside something darker, harder to name.

  "Valanis was a powerful kingdom. It was where the High King started his liberation, after all. It was so beautiful." His voice softened, each word careful. "So much history in everything."

  His expression went distant, peaceful. Lost.

  "Okay, let me help you a bit here. But this is one time only, as you apparently lack the—"

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "I'll get to the point myself, okay?" Victore's hand sliced through the air. "I lived in place where very long ,Humans used to serve tyrants called Apostles of Envy, and races created from their blood lived in containers where I grew up. Eventually, a human had enough. He became the High King, the Liberator of Humanity. He managed to kill the tyrants but failed to eradicate their army. He also went missing after the last tyrant was slain. His generals inherited his mission, founding their kingdoms."

  Victore's chin lifted. "And I am a proud descendant of one of those generals. The Crown prince of Valanis—the kingdom founded by Plutus."

  The host clapped slowly, each strike of palm against palm echoing. "One little correction." He looked at the audience with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm confident the High King is dead."

  The purple-haired girl snapped her fingers. A microphone materialized in front of her mouth, hovering. Her lips struggled against the tape, but the microphone spoke in her voice anyway:

  "Founded? Yeah, fancy substitute for a power grab. Didn't they start fighting each other, completely forgetting they were still in a war when he was gone? Nearly lost everything. Well, we now kno—"

  The microphone sparked. Died. Tavern light shone on it for one brief moment, like a funeral beam, then faded as if mourning what it had to do.

  "Unlike you, I lived there!" Victore shot to his feet, arm swinging dismissively toward the audience. "So shut it!"

  The host opened his mouth. "That isn't how—"

  Tape appeared across his mask.

  The host clutched his chest, staggering back as if wounded. He waved his arms angrily at the tavern ceiling, then dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in dramatic pleading toward the stage.

  Victore's eyebrow arched. His mouth twitched, fighting a smile at the exaggerated performance.

  A moment later, the host jumped to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes. He bowed deeply to the audience, then turned and bowed to Victore—the gesture a servant would give to his king.

  Victore's composure cracked. His shoulders relaxed, guard dropping.

  Eyebrows rose throughout the audience. Perplexed faces stared at Victore as laughter burst from his chest.

  When the host felt the moment settle, he straightened back to his normal posture—still looking odd with tape across his mask.

  "I don't like the color black, even though it was always there. After all it was colore of royalty" Victore's voice dropped. "The palace was painted black with black gemstone everywhere. I was the only prince in Valanis, which added more fuel to my parents' reputation. Not that it made a difference." He paused, fingers tapping against his thigh. "You know, remembering the first decade of my life—everything was so perfect that if certain events hadn't happened, I might have never known how rotten the house of cards had gotten."

  Victore finally settled fully into the chair. Without the host's encouragement, he continued.

  "Of course, as was to be expected, I was homeschooled and treated as I should be. But life can be difficult sometimes."

  Several scoffs erupted from the crowd.

  "When I was twelve, I grew curious about the outside world. What lay beyond the palace walls?" Victore bit his lip, his face softening with warmth and nostalgia. "I naively asked myself. About how people are living in city maybe, if they did a better job as parents. Instead of giving me skills I needed, they wasted time putting me in a golden cage."his was quite as he grinding his teeth

  "You know, in stories I found in the city where I spent quite a time trapped—there was always a moment when a prince makes friends with commoners and learns a valuable lesson. I can say half of it was true." His expression hardened. "I went out for a while. I was disgusted, then turned myself in. It was terrible. No—it was awful."

  A grimace took over his mouth.

  "Of course, after that event, I went back to the palace—the walled paradise. And I wondered how much longer we could keep kicking the problem down the road. I knew the war decades ago did leave a festering wound on the kingdoms, but I didn't think it would be this bad." His voice dropped to an uncharacteristic quiet, struggling to cram so much into so few words. "The people in the palace were celebrating. It was like a complete different world—one side living in delusion, the other too starved to even rob."

  "You know, I was always bad at recalling people. At telling people about myself." Victore's hands spread, helpless. "People aren't scary or even uncomfortable. They just aren't me. But I lived in a detached world—I don't know how to put it into words. You did something to me, didn't you?" He glared at the host. "Sadly, it doesn't fill in for one of the few skills I lack."

  The host shrugged, giving him a thumbs-up. The tavern lights blinked in rhythm with the gesture, then a spotlight focused on the thumb. The tavern seemed to agree.

  "It wasn't long before that part of my life came to a close. It all came burning down." Victore stood, slowly. "I wasn't shocked, but yet I felt regret. I never got any say in it. I had a good life, but my time never came. Everything burned before that."

  He looked at the host—so much he'd never told, never could bring himself to say.

  "It's been decades since that cursed revolution. Failed to even make life better for those poor fools who rose up." Victore's hand moved to where his sword should have been, fingers grasping empty air. "I met one of them when I was leaving, sword in hand. It was quite a special weapon, you see. Of course, I encountered resistance on the way out. But instead of lashing at me with anger, instead of being happy for justice, he didn't. He just looked at me and asked if I knew a name—Julie, I think. He later clarified it was the name of his wife who died during one of the famines."

  His voice rose, color draining from his face as the tavern lights intensified on him. "Why the hell did he tell me that? Hopefully he met her after our conversation."

  "I keep thinking—what if my father wasn't an idiot? What if Grandpa didn't start this war? What if it was me who was king? What if I was the one with power?" Victore's glare at the host intensified, searching for something impossible, something that would validate him. "The ending would have been—it should have been different!"

  But the host looked at him with excitement. No compassion. Just entertainment and curiosity glittering behind that mask.

  "I am not my father!" Victore's fist slammed against the chair arm. "I am not that incompetent fool who should have never worn the crown. He took my chance. He ruined everything. I could have—no, I would have fixed everything if I'd had my chance. I would have made Valanis great, and they would have loved me. Or learned to love me."

  He paced now, feet pounding the stage. "And this stupid revolution? They'll start a war that will never end. And for what?"

  His voice grew louder, angrier as he spun back toward his seat.

  "For goddamn what? Some people dying from hunger?" He threw his arms wide. "People die! People struggle all the time! Great kingdoms are built on the endurance of their citizens!"

  The words hung in the air.

  Silence crashed down on the tavern like a physical weight.

  Victore stood frozen, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.

  Their was silence their was break ,but their still more this story is far from over