Chapter Text
"Welcome to the Southern Kingdom."
The sun catches your eye as you look up to meet the gaze of the guard, towering near the entrance. Wincing, squinting, and missing his facial expression, his features remain unknown. The temperature is hot and sticky, clothing pulling in awkward places, from the sweat. You wipe your brow and ponder the guard as you walk past him, his flat words seeming empty. An expected emotion missing, your ears are left questioning.
Citizens here tower over you, the shortest average height still above your own gaze while scanning the crowd. You're not small of stature, and assume this must be what 'those' friends feel like every day. A sea of chins, necks, and throats are at eye level; chests and shoulders fill your frame of view. Looking up, to meet the guard's eyes; and the eyes of most everyone in the plaza; in this blinding sun, is excruciating. It's a busy day. The monthly half moon festival happening, a Southern tradition. You know about it, and it's just a matter of time before you cave and go down there, living out in the 'shorter' walls like you do it's a full day trip.
A blessing of the Mysteries. That's what the scholars are calling it, and whenever someone came back from one of those 'half moon festivals' they had the most incredible items. Robin was the newest Mystery convert, talking incessantly at The House; your local gathering place; about the 'static cloth' and how it magically attracts the dirt.
"Just shake shake shake, and it's clean again!" Robin must have said that so many times, the new saying, stuck in your head. It didn't help that they added a little dance and melody to it when they said it. Sweet voice rising and falling just slightly as they spoke, hips swaying with the words. Sometimes things just stuck with you like that; fitting just right to the words; in a way that your brain holds onto. The dance, the tune. It's appealing.
Now stuck in your head, the tune pops in when you least expect it to. Random motions and sounds evoking the memory. It's distracting you now, from the crowd and the sunlight and the faces, so you almost don't notice the commotion going on. A high pitched scream catches your ear, and you turn toward the sound. A fast motion, twisting and wrenching your side as you are whipping around.
"Stop! Please!" The inflection in the voice was desperate, and you can't tell if it's a male or female from the tone, but the pitch is high and panicked.
You are running with the crowd. Your feet, carrying you before your mind catches up, finding yourself in the midst of a mob. These tall southern citizens blocking your view. Shoving through, an urgency in the shout pulling you forward, driving you through the towering bodies. You push to the front.
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Jasper is being attacked by 5 guards; a sixth standing close with his baton ready to hit; in the middle of this chaos in the open plaza area. One wrenching the prince's arm behind his back sharply, pinning him on the ground with a knee to the spine, two more of the large bodies pinning his legs down; the men kneel on Jasper's calves; crushing and smashing him into the dirt.
"Help! Please!" Jasper screams at the crowd, his voice rising and falling with emotion and panic.
"Turn around. We are establishing order." Monotone. The guards repeat their statement talking to the crowd, left hands holding the baton threateningly, and right hands gesturing to push the crowd back.
Silence descends as the crowd disperses. The prince is left pinned in the dirt by three guards. Wrestling his arms behind his back, the men use one of the Mystery items; a cinching rope; when tightened the wearer cannot loosen it. Guards carry them for detaining citizens, and now they have captured the prince.
"What is this." Flat tone, a guard picks up a green cloth covered rectangle from beside Jasper's splayed body.
"It's nothing. It... it is nothing!" Jaspers sounds are sharp and piercing, the sound ringing through the plaza as dirt is kicked up from the struggle intensifying.
"Blank. Sir." The guard passes the book to the 6th guard that's been standing and watching the scene unfold. Guard six opens the book and flips through the pages, glancing up to meet the eyes of the struggling prince.
"Bring him to the sub-captain." Six has a deep voice, and the others move at his command. The two sitting on Prince Jasper's legs, stand. The one pinning his spine removes their knee. No chance to get away, the two remaining guards; apparently on standby just for this; grabbing him under the armpits and lifting him from the dirty ground, legs dangling. Body aching.
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Jasper is small when compared to the rest of the inhabitants of the citadel; innermost part of the southern hold; where the royal family and their close retinue reside. Traditionally the largest, tallest, and of the strongest stature reside within the high walls of the citadel. He is an anomaly; weak body needing protection; and frail like the embroiderers and paperers in the city. He cannot fight back like the other guards and towering residents.
Jasper sniffled, his nose stuffed from the dirt and the dust that had kicked up in his face, covering his clothing. Incredibly sore, his arms wrenched and twisted behind him, wrists pressed flat together. He was seated on a tiny footstool, his arms dangling and going numb, a tingling sensation beginning at his armpit and slowly descending.
Uncomfortable, his knees were drawn up close to his chest, and they had tied his feet with a similar bind as his hand, Mystery style. His final discomfort came from the rope that pulled these two bindings together, threaded through his wrist restraint, underneath him, and then cinched tightly at his ankles. Jasper let his head fall back, and looked at the ceiling in the empty room.
*splash* "Ptua!" *cough* *cough* "H... How... How... Dare-"
"Cease speaking." Monotone, deep voice, Kota wrenches Jasper's hair. It's drenched with the water that Kota; sub-captain of the guards; had just violently poured onto his face.
"You are accused of harboring Mystery text." Kota's deep voice fell flat in the dead air of the questioning room. "Explain this book." The sub-captain held up the wrapped package Jasper had just received.
"Well, you see, sir." Jasper strained to talk, and Kota held up a hand to silence him.
"Speak properly. Or I will have you beaten." He held the baton in his left hand up threateningly. "Flatten your tone." Kota glared with each word, deep voice a lonely monotone.
A guard that Jasper hadn't seen; behind him the entire time; kicks the stool, and stomps on Jasper's stomach. Sharp pain. Prince Jasper has never been treated this way, his body carefully protected and cared for by doctors. No baton fighting, horse riding, or fast paced activities that had him at risk for injury. The Southern Prince remained indoors, reading, and being tutored by the scholars of the Mysteries.
*crash* "Ugh." "AH! Stop. Stop!"
The shouting is involuntary, a reaction.
——
"King and Queen. An urgent matter." An attendant calmly walks into the throne room where king Ristoren and queen Linora sit during the day. They place a large slate; writing a deep green-blue color due to the turquoise Mystery stones; upon the podium before the rulers. Arranged so, they are able to read the text from where they sit, and the king leans forward, brow drawn in, eyes troubled.
"I am removing the text." The monotone statement, said after five minutes of contemplation, was standard. Ristoren held his hand up; to stop them; and looked at his wife. Silent communication passing between them, words exchanged in a way that only lovers with an intimacy as deep as half a decade can manage.
"Please." Linora speaks to the attendant, in place of Ristoren, and she stands, elegantly. No one watches as she leaves the room. Her hands shaking and sweating; she begins to rush; her feet moving faster and faster through the inner halls. These designated emergency passageways that only the royal family use. These passages are narrow and awkward to navigate, her shoulders brush against the rough stone walls, dim lighting making it difficult to see. Linora draws her arms in to prevent the scratching as she quickly finds the guard captain's post.
"Sir Kelton." Her voice low and urgent, the older guard recognizes it immediately. His eyes opening wider as he nods to her respectfully.
"A matter.... the prince." She tried to keep her voice flat, but it shook and cracked, words getting lost.
"Jasper, ma'am?" Kelton stepped forward and put his palm on her shoulder, gently comforting. "I'll bring him back again." She gripped his wrist, her left hand squeezing him desperately.
"Take him..." Words lost again, Kelton couldn't hear her. The queen was pale, cold, lips white and eyes wide and teary. Voice shaking as she struggled to keep the neutral tone of the south. "Take him away." Eyes overfilling now, a struggle to remain composed, the queen is making Kelton's stomach upset, her discomfort is so apparent.
"They've found Dethal. The Mystery scholars are marking him as next in line for the throne."
——