The Mighty Word
“Sunshine is here
Bright as a chandelier
Open your eyes
And drown in my arm’s maze
Sweet little dove
Come, fall in love.”
Albert’s young bride giggled at his sudden burst of poetry.
“Oh, Sirrah! Thou are resplendent with verses today. Did a zephyr coming from your mother’s chambers blow at your beautiful face?”
Instantly, the charm in Albert’s face vanished. He cocooned under the multitudinous layers of sheets that carried his past.
Knock! Knock!
“Your Majesty! A messenger awaits at the royal court for your presence.”
Albert, The XVII jumped upright from his drowsy bed. He left his chambers decked up with a crown, a mantle and a sceptre in hand. As he dashed along, he paused at his mother’s chambers. And stole a glance inside. His mother was gapping at the golden sword that adorned the wall. It was almost like a ritual, his mother would wake up and stare at the sword for hours together. If you asked her why? She would rhyme,
“A startling day it was
But happiness came with a clause
And the kingdom took a pause
Sword in his hand
The king catapulted to command
But when he went for the dreaded hilt,
His heart ached in a split
Down to the floor, he thundered
As history repeated its blunder
Alas! The kingdom broke into a fragment
When left with a queen, insane, widow and pregnant”
Albert never understood what she meant but he denied believing in rumours about a prophecy. It declared that no king could meet his prince.
His mother pulled him closer and kissed his cheeks,
“My little calf,
Non is loved more on your behalf
Thee are unbeknownst
That time is all knowest
A knock on the gate
Will be your fate
Never touch, never read
Anything more is only greed.”
Albert sighed, “Mother, I love you.”
He left for the royal court.
The messenger said, “Sire, King Louit says - King Albert, The XVII, surrender your castle or bleed in war. We await at your gate. ”
Albert stomped his feet fiercely. No king ever raged war against a small-town prince with a mad mother, that was a principal. Albert was the centre of all jokes made on imbecile lineage. This was his time to shine. He had to pick the golden sword and march towards the gates and prove his might. He rushed towards his mother’s chamber and held the sword in hand.
“Beware, more than the sword,
Mightier is the word.”
His mother cautioned.
“Mother, I respect thee. But no one can stop me today.” As he pulled the hilt out, the shock of his life awaited him. There was no mighty ancestral sword. A scroll sheet fell on the floor. He picked it up to read.
At that instant, his new wife came running towards him, “Darling, I am pregnant.”
Albert, The XVII looked at her for a bit, then held his chest tight, as an infectious pain spread through his heart, he read the manuscript, “Run”.
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