The Stilled Prince: A Game Of Blood

The Gamble

The hall fell into silent as all eyes snapped toward the source of the voice.

Sweing who it was, a few students snorted under their breath, muttering things like, "Of course, it's always someone from Shardfell."

Every kingdoms in Oros were divided into Blood Duchies, mighty territories ruled by Blood Dukes or Duchesses who swore a blood oath and answered only to their king.

In Elyria, there were five such duchies: Springfell, Silverfell, Veinfell, Shardfell, and Mountainfell.

And the voice that had just spoke belonged to young Lord Kael, son of Blood Duke Thalor of Shardfell.

Everyone knew Kael is answerable to the Prince of Elyria in theory, but they also knew the bad blood between Shardfell and the royal line.

Blood Duke Thalor and Shardfell as a whole were always against Rhaegar and his father, King Sigismund.

Rhaegar did not say a word. He just held Kael's gaze for a moment before shifting his eyes away.

Rhaegar knew that, just like his father, Kael was wanting for a way to start trouble that may result to war.

Then a female voice sounded. "Shut your mouth, Kael. Shardfell always thinks they are untouchable, moving around like they have got the Source in their pocket." The voice belonged to young Lady Alysanne of Springfell. Her father was Blood Duke Harlan of Springfell.

Her family had been loyal to king Sigismund and the crown for generations.

Rhaegar's eyes turned cold. He had overheard his father in council chambers, discussing it out with some dukes about about Duke Thalor working under the directions of the king of Zephyr. Duke Thalor had been stirring the pot, trying to start a war. It was obvious they want to dethrone Sigismund.

Kael's mocking smile widen when Rhaegar stayed silent. He opened his mouth to throw more words, but the lecturer's voice cut him off. "Enough, Lord Kael! This is a hall of learning, not a tavern brawl. Mock the prince again, and I'll have you scrubbing the floor till your fingers bleed. Shardfell pride won't save you from a failing mark."

Kael swallowed his words, his face flushing red as he glared at the lecturer. He muttered something under his breath but turned back to his table, fumbling with the bottles.

As Kael returned his attention to his rabbit, the atmosphere eased back to normal. The lecturer continued elaborating on traditional medicine, her voice steady as she explained the properties of each herb mix and how they bound wounds without a weave.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of her period, the lecturer gathered her notes. "That'll be all for today. Remember, the Source may fail, but knowledge endures." She then left the hall.

As she left, the atmosphere shifted again. Some students started packing their bags and filing out, while others gathered in groups, chatting in low voices.

Just as Rhaegar reached for his bag, he knocked over one of the leftover bottles. The mix spilled across the table in a sticky puddle. "Shit," he muttered, grabbing a wipe to clean it up.

"Your Highness," a soft voice murmured nearby.

He paused with the wipe still in hand, and looked up.

It was Serra. She was standing close with a smile. She was fair-skinned, with a blonde hair falling in loose waves and framing her face. Her eyes were a clear gray and she wore Groveward uniform, but it fit her well, clean and pressed thanks to the help Rhaegar had shown her.

Rhaegar returned the smile. "Serra, I've told you... just Rhaegar does fine."

She ducked her head a little and her cheeks flushing. "I wouldn't dare, Your Highness." Her eyes shifted to the spill, then back to him. "Here, let me help."

He chuckled softly. "No, it's..." But she was already snatching the wipe from his hand and wiping the table.

The move drew different eyes from across the hall. Boys standing by their tables had to stare, with something like envy flashing in their eyes.

Rhaegar leaned back as he watched her. "How's your mother? The leg fully mended?"

She lifted her head, brushing a stray of her hair from her face with the back of her hand. Her expression softened. "Yes, Your Highness. The healers fixed it proper. She is walking without the crutch now, even tending the garden a bit." She paused, her voice dropping. "It's all thanks to you. Without that healer you sent... I don't know what we'd have done. She'd still be bedridden or worse."

He nodded, with a real smile on his lips. "Glad I could help. That's what friends are for, right?"

Serra bit her lip, her eyes suddenly tearing up. She fought back the tears as she blinked.

She remembered the day they had met last year. Education in Elyria was free, but materials and uniforms? Those cost coin and her mother could not afford it.

So, she had been sneaking into Groveward without proper registration, and hiding in the back rows, until a guard caught her.

The guard had dragged her out. Just when she thought she'd get whipped or worse, Rhaegar appeared out of nowhere to vouch for her.

Before that, Serra had hated the royals. She blamed them for the war, for her father's death in the fighting. If not for that Stilled prince and the chaos he brought, her father might still be alive.

But in that moment, she couldn't forget the prince who had helped her, ensured she could attend Groveward properly, and provided everything she and her mother needed at home.

Not only that, when her mother's leg broke and they could not afford a channeler but only relied on roadside herbs, Rhaegar summoned a healer. Now her mother could walk, though not far distances yet.

Because of him, Mira could boast of eating healthy meals, of looking nice and clean instead of ragged and starved.

This sudden shift from being invisible to the center of attention felt unreal to her. There were times people gosip that Rhaegar only helped her because he fancied her looks. But she just smiled at that. Only she knew what she looked like when they first met.

Rhaegar's voice pulled her back in a teasing tone. "If you keep scrubbing like that, the table might turn white. Or vanish altogether."

"Huh?" Serra blinked, snapping back to reality. The table was already clean but she kept wiping the same spot over and over. Her face turn red with embarrassment. "Oh... sorry."

Rhaegar chuckled again. To shift the awkwardness, he nodded toward her bag, where a beginner's weaving scroll was showing. "How is the weaving coming along? Making progress?"

She hesitated, glancing at him. She knew Rhaegar was Stilled, so she avoided anything related to weaving or channeling. She didn't want him feeling useless or left out. But he asked, so she swallowed and answered. "Good, actually. Professor Alden says if I keep at it, I might level up to two faster than anyone in the class."

Rhaegar nodded, his expression like a proud brother. "That's great."

It made him exceptionally pleased.

He added, "If you keep this up, getting into Universal College won't be hard. I'm glad my effort to secure that slot for you won't go to waste."

Universal College was the most prestigious in all of Oros. It was the only place where students from all five kingdoms studied together. It didn't care if you were from Elyria, Aquis, or Terran. Talent was all that mattered in UC.

Mira suddenly looked uncomfortable, shifting her gaze away from Rhaegar.

Rhaegar noticed it and furrowed his brow. "What is wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," she murmured, her voice small. "I... I lost the slot."

Rhaegar was stunned for a moment. "What do you mean, lost it?"

She couldn't meet his eyes so she bowed her head. Before she could stammer out an explanation, a girl at the next table chimed in, voice piping up. "It was that sly bastard, Draven. Serra needed a book for an assignment. She could not afford it on her own. So she went to him. He said he would lend it if she wagered her Universal slot in a fight. She lost, and now he's got it."

Rhaegar's eyes turned cold. He turned to Serra. "Why did you not tell me? I'd have gotten you the book. Universal college has been your dream since day one."

Her voice was barely loud, her head still down. "I did not want to bother you, Your Highness. You've done enough already."

He sighed, with frustration, but softened it. "You are not a bothering me, Serra."

Securing slots for the Universal College examination was over now. There was no way to get another one for her.

His gaze shifted to the corner, where Draven was with his crew, laughing.

Rhaegar shoved his bag aside and strode over.

Serra reached out. "Your Highness, wait... don't!"

Rhaegar did not listen. He stopped at Draven's table and immediately, the laughter died.

Draven looked up, looking surprise. "Yer 'Ighness," he muttered in that rough street-kid British accent.

"Give the slot back," Rhaegar said.

Draven shifted his head back dramatically. He glanced at Serra, then back at Rhaegar.

He had a creeping smile. "Afraid I can't do that, mate. Yer know 'ow I work." He leaned in. "I was even kind enough to give 'er the book after she lost the scrap. Fair's fair."

Rhaegar sneered. "Give it back."

Draven held his ground. "Prince or no, rules is rules. If ya want summat, ya wager summat. Fight for it. Win, ya get it. Lose, I take yer stake."

"I need that slot," Rhaegar said. "So I'm challenging you. Right now."

Draven's face twisted in mock shock. "No offense, but yer Stilled, 'Ighness. Unfit opponent, innit? Wouldn't be right, beatin' on a bloke what can't weave."

Rhaegar leaned in, his voice low. "Scared a Stilled prince might kick your ass?"

Draven muttered, "No shit," under his breath, then his face turn serious as he straightened. "A'right, but what's in it for me? Ya know the drill, wager summat if ya lose."

Rhaegar put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver ring etched with Elyrian runes. It was worth a few coins.

Draven snorted. "That? Not worth the spit, mate."

"Dammit," Rhaegar gritted through clenched teeth.

He walked back to his table, rummaged in his bag, and brought out a Pendant. It's a royal heirloom passed down from Sigismund's line. It was glowing faintly with embedded Vitality crystals.

He walked back and slammed it on Draven's table.

Seeing it, Draven eyes widened in shock before he masked it.

The remaining students in the hall gasped. The value of that heirloom was beyond gold. Money could not buy it. And now the prince was risking it for a girl.

Serra stepped forward. "Your Highness, you don't have to.."

He ignored her. "Changed your mind?"

Draven's eyes shined with greed. His tongue darting over his lips. "Couldn't refuse with that beauty on the line..." He paused, smirking. "But a'right. Just don't go cryin' to yer da or punishin' me when ya lose, eh?"

"You have my word," Rhaegar said. "No punishment when you win."

Draven let out a laugh. "Ahh, settled then! Wait for me at the practice ground, 'Ighness. Bring yer sword, ya'll need it."

****

Note from the Archives of Oros:

​"To the common man, a gamble is a game of luck. To a King, it is a calculation of will. But to a Stilled Prince, a gamble is a weapon. When you have nothing left to lose but your pride, you don't bet on the cards, you bet on your ability to flip the table. History is not written by the safe or the cautious; it is written by those who looked at impossible odds and decided that their name was worth more than their life."

​— From the 'Lessons of the Throne,' recovered after the Siege of Elyria