1 year ago…
Jaysynn was at his usual perch. The late afternoon sun bathed Thyrion in yellow-red light. Trumpet blasts mingled with obligatory cheers resounded in the streets. The prince caught glimpses of crowds lining the streets leading to the Palace. A squad of uniformed guards blockaded the gate. Downstairs, he heard the muffled commotion of his family and the servants scrambling to make last-minute arrangements to impress the reporters, photographers, and gossip columnists. But Jaysynn wanted nothing to do with it.
Shar was coming home.
At first when he heard his brother—and Dracon—was coming home, he thought about watching it from a rooftop and tracing his way back home. But not only would he risk being spotted and possibly shot on sight as a perceived assassin, he simply did not want anything to do with this façade. This warm welcome was nothing but a mask.
The war was lost, he thought. But even in defeat, my brother does no wrong. He clenched white-knuckled fists and forced himself not to punch through the window. At least Dracon is coming home, too. Should I tell him about my nightly “strolls”? Would he understand?
He debated this internally, as if daydreaming, as he watched the parade slowly march toward the Palace, but his mind’s scales never tipped to either side for long.
Finally, he saw the procession round a corner onto Imperial Avenue, the cheers getting closer and louder. His brother, once again, rode a white horse surrounded by four soldiers on motorcycles and rovers. A squad of soldiers carrying the Thyrian flag marched before and behind them. Shar wore an artificial smile as he waved at the crowds from horseback. Sometimes he even blew kisses to the young women. As they reached the gate, Jaysynn saw that one of the soldiers on the motorcycles was Dracon, whose smile was just as sketched on.
The first troop of soldiers marched past the gate, which was opened to welcome the prince and the general. The two stopped in front of the gate, dismounted their respective rides, and strode through the gate escorted by several soldiers.
I better get downstairs, thought Jaysynn. Mother and father will expect me to be there to welcome Shar home personally. He huffed at the thought.
He swiftly ran out of his room, through the hallway, and down the stairs. The elevator was easier, but he preferred the stairs. They were faster and more fun.
In no time he joined his family, who had crowded around the front door in the grand hall. They were smiling, but Jaysynn saw through their phoniness. They wore masks for the public to see. The Emperor often said that a smile could make people forget failures faster.
They had been wearing these phony smiles a lot lately.
So, Jaysynn put his “mask” on, too.
The big door opened. Shar, Dracon, and their escorts, all wearing green Thyrian Army field uniforms, entered. The guards were first, followed by Dracon, whose smile instantly morphed into a scowl once inside. Shar, appearing to be in good spirits and almost silhouetted against the flaring flashbulbs, waved at the reporters who bombarded him with questions. He gave a few quick answers, but finished by saying, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see my family. Two years is a long time to go without them. Goodbye!” As he closed the door, trying not to slam it, his smile melted into an angry grimace.
The Kyzer royal family dropped their masks.
Jaysynn’s siblings gave Shar a wide berth as he stomped forward. Jaysynn, however, reluctantly extended a hand to his brother. “I’m sorry you—” Shar shoved him out of the way without even looking at him. He walked toward the Emperor and Empress, who welcomed him with open arms and showered him with praise. With their arms on the heir’s slumped shoulders, they walked away from the crowd. One by one, the rest of them left, leaving only Jaysynn and Dracon.
The general stood with his arms crossed, staring blankly.
Jaysynn wanted to say something, but everything went without saying. What question could I ask that would lead him to explain it better?
Then in a low voice, still staring, Dracon said, “The son is as great a fool as his father. The Emperor was stupid to appoint him as leader of that campaign. He had no real combat experience or competence. His bad tactics and poor leadership cost us the war. I lost too many good men because he treated everything like a game. The glory he sought was dashed against the rocks, yet his father dresses the boy’s failure up in a faux glory. They are disgraces to Thyrion. Their arrogance will destroy the empire.”
Dracon seemed to be saying this to Jaysynn, yet he did not make eye contact with him. Is he talking to himself? To no one? To someone else?
The general uncrossed his arms and hardened his face. “Something must be done to stop this.” He slowly turned aside and walked away.
Jaysynn, alone, stretched his hand out to the general, but a strange paralysis overran him. It’s like he didn’t even know I was there. Has he forgotten me, too, now?
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