“Julian, do me proud.”

The crackly fireplace provided the only heat, warmth and comfort in the cold insides of the king’s majestic room.

Julian knelt facing towards the floor, a grave expression hung over him. His father lay on the throne, he was old but nonetheless grand. He was king. Even though his gnarly hands fought hard to hold on to the armrests, his determination and grit were worn all over his face. Even though his white, frizzy hair hung loosely and unkempt down his shoulders, his eyes never swayed. Even though he coughed and struggled to speak, his words held conviction. He was the true definition of power.

That was what Julian wanted. Power. Or that was what he thought he wanted. ‘Julian Caesar’, his father had once joked with him —— the only time he had ever joked before. Yet the question lay, what would he do with all this power? Would he be granted all the happiness in the world?

“Julian, do you hear me?”

Julian jerked his head upward, “Your Majesty, I have never and will never fail you.” The words came out strong, but his eyes bore something deep within, a lion trying to fight free. But Julian didn’t have time to think. He had a job to accomplish.

Julian strode out of the room towards the palace viewpoint, working through the countless lines of defenses Julian had been familiar with since young to the king’s almighty throne room. He wielded a heavy sword and shield, hanging his weapon over his armored shoulder.

The moment the balcony door was pushed open, he could hear it.

The screams, the clanging of metal, the gallop of horses, the desperate shouts of instructions from the generals.

The sight was even more morbid. Blood was splattered everywhere, whether it was theirs or their enemies, no soldier was clean of blood. The horses were mighty and fast, yet they trip up over the dead, unmoving bodies of fallen soldiers on the ground, with no one batting an eye for them. Yet the soldiers fight greatly, for the glory of what they stood for.

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian spotted her.

Mirren.

Mirren was the king’s precious baby. She was the golden child, the one who knew how to fight in her genes, the one who led relentlessly, who had infallible war strategies and most importantly, a tenacious heart. The king knew who Mirren was from young.

The heir.

The heir of the throne.

That was until, the king found Mirren’s heart lying somewhere else. Her betrayal towards to kingdom due to her love for the Prince of the North. Father kicked her out. She never came back.

Until now.

Mirren’s purpose was clear. You could see it as she held on to her horse, her chants of loyalty as she rode on. She never hesitated, she never bowed down, she never let go of her weapon as she fought off men twice her size, thrice her size, even when outnumbered, she could do it. She was Mirren.

But now, she wasn’t fighting off the enemies. She was fighting off her father’s men, those who taught her how to wield a sword, how to defend herself. She was a part of the North. She came back to bite her father in the back, to take his territory, his position, his power.

Julian stood on the balcony, still. If anyone had an arrow, they could shoot him dead. But no one would notice, in the midst of the battle. His older sister was still forever the same, the North didn’t change her one bit. His eyes shone glassy. The only person who he ever had a dear relationship with him, was the person he was tasked to kill tonight.

But the soldiers fought like hell. The North was evidently on the losing side. If Julian walked out, he could end it.

End Mirren.

_ _The words hung on him. Julian turned around and looked back into the palace. If Mirren died, he was bound to be king, there was no contention. Julian knew his father. This task would solidify that he had the guts to be king, even though he pales in comparison to his shining sister. But what was the point of being king? What was the point of power? Julian always thought he knew that was what he wanted, but was that really the end goal? The thought of having to spend every day planning out battles, trying to end other kingdoms, absolutely bore Julian. The responsibility of the entire kingdom on his shoulders would take him out, and Julian knew it.

But on the other hand, if Mirren wins, and he somehow survives, Julian knew he would be done for. Mirren might have loved him back then, but Mirren would not hold back on holding him captive for her love for the North was as Julian heard from the king, ever so strong to turn on her own blood and the hands that fed her from young.

No.

No.

Julian felt the plan solidify in his head, but the plan seemed unreachable, seemed inhumane.

This felt like all the practices Julian took, on thinking on the spot for battle strategies to save the kingdom. But it felt different.

If Julian were to kill the King himself, and prove his worthiness to Mirren, he would let Mirren rule and beg Mirren to let him go and live a normal life. Mirren would be the only person even likely to take the murder of his father as a reasonable excuse to let him go, as everyone else would assume that would be Julian’s own way to gain power. Only Mirren knew that what Julian wanted in life wasn’t power. If Julian were to gain power after ending Miren, he would have no one to give the seat up to, and if he just gave up the kingdom at that point, he knew the kingdom would never forgive him or let him live the normal life he dreamed of.

If.

But did Julian care? Never once in his life had he actually cared for the glory of his kingdom, and he knew that deep down. And the question of whether he cared for the king? The king never cared for him. There was no reason to repay the unrequited favour.

The decision was made then and there. Julian pushed back into the castle, earning disapproving shakes of heads from the defence soldiers as they assume Julian had backed out from the battle like the coward they claim him to be in comparison to Mirren. He held the sword on his back, breath hitched.

The king’s door swung open.

This time, the king was sitting back, eyes closed, most likely dozing off due to old age.

Julian gulped. That made it easier for him.

“Sir Aston, Sir Ponderson. Please exit. I… have private matters, to speak to the king about.”

The two soldiers at the king’s side walked out of the room. There was no reason, after all, to not trust Julian. He was next in line.

Julian stepped up to the throne. He looked at his father, with his eyes closed. He didn’t raise the sword. He wondered, if he would grieve. If he would mourn for the figure in his life that he was supposed to aspire to be. But then again, Julian thought, if he died, would the king grieve?

“Would you?” Julian whispered, lips quivering as he looked into the king’s empty, even tired face.

He took the sword off his shoulder, hands never shaking. Like he was taught to. He may not have been a natural, but after growing to be a mighty fighter, Julian never wavered in taking the lives of others.

Julian wanted to cry, wanted to stop himself, wanted to have the guilt, to have the will in him to stop himself. To show care.

But he couldn’t. He was the Brutus in the story, not the Julius Caesar.

He thrusted the sword forward.

But the familiar squish and splutter of crimson remains never came.

Instead bore the clang of metal.

Julian looked up, his eyes widening. Strong muscles were holding him back, golden locks of hair flying in front of his eyes.

“Mirren?”

He swung his head to the side, the window was wide open.

Of course Mirren was the only person in thie world smart enough to break the elaborate defense system of the castle.

But in the split second he looked away, Mirren had gained advantage.

She suddenly pushed Julian into the wall, unarming him in the process.

“Still letting your enemies emotionally take advantage of you, Julian? What a flaw you haven’t fixed.” Mirren’s voice was coarse now, tough from the battles she has led. Julian looked over her shoulder. The king was still sleeping. He turned back to Mirren.

“Hello, Mirren.”

Mirren furrowed her eyebrows and stared into Julian’s eyes with an emotion Julian couldn’t read.

“What. Are. You. Doing? Why did you just try to kill him?”

Julian’s mouth dried. “I… I was. Now let me finish the job, I can talk to you after. Once he dies, the power of this kingdom is all yours. I give it to you, Mirren. Just let me do this.”

Mirren looked Julian up and down, her battle face softening for a second.

“No, Julian. I’m not here to kill Father. I… I don’t work for the North. I have told the Prince I will kill Father, but I won’t. I have a plan, but you don’t need to hear it. I will talk Father into giving me power. Killing won’t do me good, for personal reasons.”

What?

A million thoughts ran through Julian’s mind. What does Mirren want?

“I refuse!” Julian blurted. Fire shone in his eyes.

“What?” Mirren let out. “You seriously want father dead?” She whispered right into Julian’s face. Even for an experienced strategist like Mirren, Julian still confused her. Julian confused himself. Why does he want the king dead so bad?

In the moment of confusion, Julian dove under and picked up his sword. He went for the king again, only to meet Mirren’s blade.

“You can’t be this heartless, Julian. He has done so much for us. Killing him won’t benefit us politically, nor emotionally.” Mirren looked into Julian’s eyes earnestly, her voice holding the last bit of conviction in her.

Then Julian couldn’t hold it anymore. He knew the answer.

“He has done so much for you, Mirren! Not for me! I have no purpose here, you are the one fated to live in power. I don’t want it! It is not my purpose, Mirren. Do you know, he still misses you? After your betrayal, he still whispers about you in his sleep, the perfect daughter to take the throne. You were the work of his blood and sweat, he put his all into you! I am here for nothing. So yes, he has done so much for you, yet I thought you were going to kill him today, but I hold no burden. He has done nothing for me. So let me-“

Julian was cut off.

The sentence was never finished.

Mirren’s fine sword pushed right through his armour, the same one made to kill the king.

Julian was wearing the same type of armour as the king.

Julian couldn’t feel the effect. His eyes bulged, his sentence cut off.

All Mirren could do was stare, before sinking down to her knees for the first time in her life in front of her baby brother she just killed. All to protect the king. Ironically, that was Julian’s job.

“Ahem.”

Mirren turned around. The king was awake.

He glanced at his son’s cold and pale body in the pool of blood. No emotion could be seen in the bleak eyes of the king.

“Et tu, Brute?”