Servants scattered, the hall ways of the castle, the previous moment, bustling with the usual morning routine fell silent, deathly silent, almost as though the very stone it had been built with, also held it's breath.
Borghast, sole heir to the Kingdom was angry and he wanted everyone to know it.
Tearing open the doors to his chamber he bellowed, his voice echoing as it bounced from wall to wall.
"BRING ME THE ROYAL PHYSICION.... DRAG THE DAMNED MAN FROM HIS LEACHES AND BRING HIM HERE!...."
Slamming the door behind him, headless of the fact that the shock had knocked his shield from the wall, Borghast turned his attention back on his most trusted assasin.
Striding towards him, his heavy robe sweaping behind him, his hight allowing him to loom over the shorter man, he looked down on him in disgust.
Though his redenned face and glint in his eyes, told the other man otherwise, Borghast's voice had become calm and measured.
".....Why is the old bastard still alive....Did I not tell you to deal with this by last evening?"
Of course, the 'old bastard' Borghast spoke of was his father.
The King had taken to his sick bed several months earlier, but he had refused to die, almost as if it were his last act to spite his son.
It had always been like this...
From the moment Borghast was born, he and his father had never become as they should.
The King had seen him as an immediate threat, he chose at best to ignore him, at worst to beat him and belittle him at every oppertunity, cementing a bitter and often heated jealousy between them that could never be turned back from.
They had vied for the attentions of both a mother and a wife, they faught over her, until the day she took a fever and died.
The King had remarried, which furthered the acrimony, choosing a young woman, that Borghast himself had set his mind to, she had died in child birth.
The child, had survived for a few months, before it too died, in a tragic 'accident', the King may have userped the son in his choice of women, but no-one was going to prevent the son from inheritting his
The loudness of his voice made the man, in front of Borghast, flinch.
Without waiting for a reply, the Prince raised his hand and swiped the assassin across the face, with the back of his hand, so hard that it sent him sprawling onto the hard bare wood floor.
"Don't bother answering...."
Rubbing his hand, to relieve the satisfying sting within it, he adjusted the ring on his finger. Smiling with satisfaction, he wiped off the blood from the large emerald, as he walked towards the window, to look out over what was soon to be his
"Someone had better give me some good news this morning, I hate to start my day like this, it makes me....so....unhappy...."