Prince Barbro did exactly as his brother said. The tent he was given was beside that of Prince Zanac, and as soon as the cot was laid out, he collapsed onto it. He slept for hours, and it was because he slept early, that he woke up when it was still pitch dark outside. The chirping of insects and the hovering of glowbugs were everywhere outside. With his ear attuned to the noise, also heard the sound of passing feet and the crackle of the occasional torch. He got up, but put on no armor, instead he felt his hand around in the darkness until he found the smooth patch of the tent wall, quietly snatching a dagger from his belt, and cut into the fabric.

Every cut and tear sounded like the roar of a forest fire to his panicked, urgent ears, every breath he took, sounded like a gale force wind. And yet he did not stop. He slit all the way up the side, then pushed an arm through the gap.

He then began to slit the fabric of the other tent, ‘The throne is mine, damn it… the throne is mine… you should never have even been in the running! You shouldn’t have been born!’ Prince Barbro quietly cursed that he had a brother, with every cut and sawing motion of his knife he cursed another thing his brother had that he did not.

‘I’m surrounded by people who don’t see me for who I am, everyone is in the way! Well, you’ll get ‘out’ of my way!’ He vowed as the knife reached the bottom of the tent. He listened with care again, nobody was near. He then slipped out of his, stepping carefully around the ropes that held the tent erect.

The towering Prince Barbro ducked down, and gently slipped a foot through the tent of his sibling, his broad muscles were a close fit, and he sucked in his breath, thinning himself by just a little, and sliding himself from darkness, to darkness.

The sound of snoring reached him. Murmurs, mumbling that might have been words in a dream, and the rustle of cloth from a blanket over the sleeping body of Prince Zanac, the smell of spilled wine was in the tent still. Prince Barbro took two long, silent steps and waited while his eyes adjusted.

It had been a game once, between them. “I’m the King today… you can be the King tomorrow!” Prince Barbro had declared as they took turns giving one another orders and pretending to be heroes of old charging toward imaginary enemies.

The game went on until their last session, when Barbro played the role of king, and told his younger brother, “I don’t want to play this anymore…”

The hurt on Zanac’s face that day never truly left Barbro’s memory. ‘Was that where it changed?’ Overnight, Prince Zanac became a rival rather than a brother and a playmate, and it was never the same.

Prince Barbro found the sleeping body of his brother very easily, the snoring was a dead giveaway. He raised up his knife, spread his feet apart, and towered over the short, fat competitor. Zanac rolled over so that he was on his back.

Prince Barbro hesitated, his brother looked so peaceful, a little moonlight made it through the mesh and that served as a dim window, and he could see a smile form on his brother’s face. “Hurray…” Prince Zanac murmured in his sleep. Whatever it was, it was a good dream.

Prince Barbro braced himself, then muttered with quiet resolve, “I. Am. The King.”

He then slapped his powerful hand down over Prince Zanac’s mouth.

“Mhmmpfff! Mmmahffpf!” Prince Zanac struggled to speak, his legs kicked against the soft blanket and made no sound, his fat fingers clawed at the hand he suddenly felt stealing away his breath.

Barbro whispered soft words to the fat little Prince struggling under his hold. “Shhh, shhh, this is how it has to be, brother. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I thought I could just exile you, but it’s clear I can’t stop at that. So… goodbye, I’ll try to make it painless.” He then brought his knife down to Zanac’s heart. The force of his blow pierced through the breastbone, tearing open his brother’s heart, and spilling out his life. The whites were wide as saucers as the pain lanced through the youngest Prince. Fear lit up his eyes as he silently begged with the last of his life’s moments for this not to be real, or for his big brother to ‘save him’. Then Prince Zanac felt nothing, and died.

Barbro didn’t know if his brother could see him, ‘I hope not, though, I hope not. At least he’s back to dreaming again.’

The shocked eyes were held open only for seconds before they slowly closed, and when the body ceased to twitch beneath Prince Barbro’s tight grip, the elder brother and now only living son of King Ramposa III, stood up. He crept back to the slit in the tent, then through the hole he’d made to his own.

He sat on his cot shaking for a short while, every hair on end, and a sense of loss he hadn’t quite expected. How much time passed before he stood up again, Prince Barbro wasn’t sure, it felt like an eternity, but it might have been only minutes.

“Alarm! Assassins! Assassins!” Guards! Guards!” Prince Barbro shouted, his bellowing, powerful voice woke up guards everywhere and snapped those standing outside his tent to attention. He ducked under the tent door and stepped outside, “An assassin! An assassin was just in my tent! He came in through the side! Hurry! Find him!” Prince Barbro barked the order and the clanging sound of guards in metal armor rushing everywhere stirred the camp from its deep slumber.

Prince Barbro stood silently outside his tent, a few guards kept on hand while the rest looked for the nonexistent assassin.

“Check on my… brother.” Prince Barbro said, staring through the darkness that only torches fought against, at the entrance to the tent where his brother’s body lay.

One of the few at his side broke away, and with slow and steady steps, the young soldier pushed aside the flap of the tent, and found what Barbro had done.

The last living son of Ramposa waited for the inevitable. The soldier came back out, knelt before Prince Barbro and with a bowed head he said, “I am sorry, sire. Your younger brother is dead.”

Barbro didn’t have to make the lump in his throat obvious, it was pronounced enough that the torchlight of guards who gathered to report on their failure to capture the killer, danced over it for all to see.

By that time the sun was starting to rise on the distant horizon. The false dawn beginning the day, the Crown Prince gave his first order. He pointed to the two guards outside his brother’s tent.

“Hang those two, they were supposed to guard my brother… instead, he is dead, if they’d done their jobs right, then the peasants wouldn’t have been able to kill him! Either they were incompetent, or they were in on it, and either way I don’t need that!” Barbro’s voice carried the natural air of authority that came with a lifetime of being prepared to rule, and loyal guards rushed to grab hold of the now struggling pair.

“What?! No! No! We guarded our posts! We weren’t in on it! We weren’t! We swear! By the gods no!” They struggled, kicked and flailed their legs about as four of their comrades dragged them over to a nearby tree, fashioned a noose as they continued to beg for their lives, and slipped the ropes around their necks.

“My Prince! Please! Mercy! We were loyal! We are loyal!” They cried out under Barbro’s watchful eyes. He kept his focus on their tearful, fearful faces as two men began to haul the long end of the rope. The nooses tightened and the condemned dangled over the grass, their toes desperate to touch even a single blade of grass, and gain ‘some’ support for their bodies as their own weight strangled them.

The gurgling and gasping noises and their spasming limbs joined the smell of their bodies soiling themselves in death, as one final indignity overtook the pair, and within minutes, the strangled duo swayed like branches blown lightly in the wind. The rope creaking as they moved was the only sound to be had when the sun rose on the horizon and illuminated the day, putting the gruesome ends on display.

When it was finally over and Barbro was satisfied, he had the unit gathered and went to don the armor Prince Zanac had cleaned for him the day before.

Looking properly princely, and now well rested, Barbro strode over to his brother’s horse, flung his leg over to mount it, and then turned it around to face the host. “My brother was murdered by peasant rebels! They’ve killed a member of the royal family! That is an assault on the Kingdom itself! We will avenge that defeat, we will avenge that sin, we will avenge our Kingdom… and the first hundred men to enter the gates of Carne, the home of the rebels, will get three hours of plundering just for themselves!”

Spears, halberds, and swords raised up as the warriors cheered. “Barbro! Barbro! Barbro!”

With that, the Prince gave his next order. “Break camp, and prepare to march, we’ve got a rebellion to crush!”