The Tyrant's Pet

The night before the scheduled execution of some royalties and noblemen who opposed this forced new dynasty. The shouts and yells in the capital had grown fiercer, condemning the crown prince for the ridiculous news of his succession. Some were still weeping for the 'death' of the emperor.

The citizen of the Maganti Empire wouldn't question the crown prince's succession if it happened days before. However, with more and more victims coming forward, who survived the atrocities done to them with the help of the Valiente Group, the opinions about the crown prince continuously went downhill.

Now, from a divided opinion: one was simply asking for the crown prince's explanation and the other asking him to step down, now cursing him as a rebel and a traitor of the empire. To control the angry masses protesting outside the imperial palace, the royal knights had no other choice but to exercise violence.

This had been the situation of the empire, with bodies continuously piling up to get buried in thick snow. It only took two nights to suppress the unarmed people and instill fear they had never imagined would reign in this great empire.

The situation inside the imperial palace grounds was no different. Noblemen involved in royal courts were stuck inside the inner palace. Some were quick to kneel before the new emperor, while others stubbornly voiced their opposition. Which warranted them a spot in a dark prison to await their scheduled execution, which would be held tomorrow morning.

"Fuck… I'd freeze to death before my head rolls over tomorrow," Ismael grunted, rubbing his body and squeezing himself into the corner of the cell they held him in. His brows rose when a cape landed over his head, pulling it down, only to see Modesto shaking his head.

"Thanks," the third prince wrapped the cape around him and tried to keep the little warmth he could to survive the night.

Ever since they were imprisoned, they only served them one meal a day, and it was barely called a meal. The food they served them was already rotting. They were prisoners on death row, so they couldn't really complain.

Fortunately, some of Ismael's knights would slip bread for everyone, which they would split into equal pieces. Therefore, no one had died yet. Although they would all die eventually if this cold season extended more.

"There was a time I was patrolling the eight east district years back." Climaco's low voice pierced the thick silence, sitting on the narrow bench with his arm over his legs and hands linked together.

Ismael and Modesto set their eyes on his dull and disheveled figure after being locked in this place for days now. Since they had to keep themselves sane for as long as they could, the two listened to what this person had to share. Not just them, but everyone locked in the other cells was listening. It was pin-drop silent that they could even hear a person's breath from the other cell. So Climaco's voice sounded louder than it normally should.

"While we were walking around the town, I saw this young girl walking in the middle of the night," Climaco continued. "I approached her and offered help since I thought she was lost. It was quite heartwarming and at the same time, I felt the pang of guilt for someone like her to rely on a knight such as myself, who didn't even know the purpose of the uniform he was wearing."

"As I walked her home, I noticed she didn't seem afraid of the dark street. So I asked out of plain curiosity if she was afraid of the night," he added in the same dull tone. "She said, 'I was… when I was alive.'"

"Damn…" Ismael shivered at the sudden horror that crawled under his skin. "Did you snap now? I thought you were serious!"

Modesto shook his head in disbelief. He knew they needed to stay sane, but Climaco's mental health seemed to decline faster than everyone. He then heard faint snickers from the other cells where the knight templars and the noblemen who joined them a bit later were locked in.

"Now that I think about it, my son back home once asked me if ghosts are real." Suddenly, a man's voice from the other cell erupted. "I asked him why he was suddenly curious about such a thing, and he said his nanny told him they were real."

There was a momentary silence as they automatically listened. Even Ismael, Climaco, and Modesto were listening to this knight templar's story, guessing it was just as nonsense as Climaco's story. And they were correct.

"The problem is, we're poor as fuck, and we don't have a single servant." Low chuckles followed the knight's story, slowly shifting the grim mood in the dungeon a little lighter to bear.

"What do you call when two ghosts fight each other?" another one chimed in, waiting for a few seconds before breaking the stupid joke. "It's called fighting spirit."

Ismael kept his poker face for as long as he could, but every ghost joke that any of them knew and threw broke his defenses until he also joined the fun.

"Hey, Minister." He clicked his tongue to get Modesto's attention, waiting for the latter to return his gaze before speaking. "Do you know what a ghost professor says to his class?"

He grinned, pausing to keep the suspense. "He said, 'Keep your eyes on the board while I go through it again.'"

Modesto kept his poker face, but musing about the unfunny joke executed poorly broke his straight face. The joke wasn't funny, but it was so unfunny it was funny.

For men who were about to stand on the gallows in the morning, the dungeon that was initially dark and silent was slowly filled with men's voices and their ridiculous jokes. One might think they had lost their minds, but the lively atmosphere that was supposed to be reigned by dread did not please Hernan, who came to check the situation.

*****

Joaquin stood in the open hallway connecting two buildings with his hands on his back. His eyes were fixated on the burnt castle not far away. The air surrounding him was sentimental.

'No matter how many times you try to erase our child's traces... it'll all be futile,' he thought after staring at that burnt castle for minutes just like how he would stare at it habitually without no one knowing.

Suddenly, a knight came forward to his side. With his fist across his chest, the knight stated his reason for approaching.

Joaquin laughed at the report he received just now. "Let them all laugh." His lips curled up into a smirk and his eyelids drooped until they were partially closed.

"They won't be able to laugh tomorrow, anyway."