My station gives me the right to marry three women, so I did; Ofelia, Costanza and Furya. My three wives gave me three sons, birthed on the same day on the same hour, equal in age to the second; three sons, three heirs with equal rights to my throne.
Guided by their mothers, my sons grew to be the handsomest, vilest, most scheming three men in the kingdom. Costanza’s Pedro first attempted to kill Ofelia’s Dario when they were still five, practicing with blunt swords in the palace yard. Pedro tried to bludgeon Dario with the wooden hilt. Furya’s Rodrigo just stood and watched.
Dario then retaliated not a month later when my three boys were in the woods with the stewards learning how to hunt. Three well-practiced whistles and the dogs were on Pedro before the boy could blink. The stewards dove in and tore the dogs away. Rodrigo just stood and watched.
As the boys grew older, so did their attempts to kill each other grow bolder. Their mothers would come and whisper in my ear at night, pitting me against my own blood.
I sat back and waited, one of them would succeed eventually, only then would I need to act. As long as they were at each other’s throat, my own throat was safe.
One did succeed in the end. We were all at dinner around our table, thirty feet long. Looks were exchanged, cold as the lemon sorbet. Hate was seething, simmering in the air above us, as hot as the sizzling suckling pig laid out in the middle of the table. The footmen distributed the soup. As I was swallowing my third gulp, I knew I’d been poisoned. What confused me was that the heat rising up my neck, entwining around my throat, choking me, was mirrored in both Costanza’s and Ofelia’s faces, but it was Pedro who dropped first, followed by Dario right after. The last thing I saw was Rodrigo’s face, calm, looking around, watching.
Today’s word was Blood:
I was watching Game of Thrones before I wrote this, hence the theme I guess. Hope you like it.
Thank you, Trifecta, for putting me in third place this week. But I have an ever bigger thank you for the great, great compliment you paid me in your review. Short of printing it and framing it on my wall, I’m going to put it up here, for me as a reminder:
‘Sandra borrowed from history and seemed to take inspiration from other literary geniuses, but at the end, the talent was uniquely her own. We’re still not sure if Sandra is capable of writing anything less than a stellar piece.’
*wipes away a tear!*