The Heir

The teacher looked around her classroom. Young sons and daughters of noblemen crowded together close to the right wall and its open windows, painting on small canvases leaning on desktop easels. They were copying a brightly lit photograph of the royal gardens. She noted the time and exhaled. We have nearly reached another midday together, she thought. Most of us, anyway.

The janitor finished mopping around a pile of smashed furniture on the left side of the room, still splattered with spilled red and yellow. He tipped his hat and left as quickly as possible, tracing a wide berth around the heavy metal cage in the center of the left wall, nestled between bookcases. Something sat inside, more than twice the size of her other wards, dressed in purple and gray. The small silver crown inlaid with a single large oval emerald swept blue hair back from his forehead, accentuating the red spiraling horns that curved down around his ears. His facial hair was stained. He was running a large dry paint brush over the thick fur on his left forearm and around the bony spikes closer to his elbow. He made a cooing sound in a soft baritone. The rest of the class fidgeted.

The teacher adjusted her cornette and stood, walking past her students. Two girls in the back of the room were painting rainbows and butterflies on each other’s faces. “Margaret and Elizabeth! We are all saving that activity for the afternoon.” The girls giggled. “All of us.” They fell silent and resumed work on their canvases. The teacher nodded at the boy sitting by himself in the front of the class, working with a small brush and silently weeping. “Very nice progress on your hedge highlights today, Louis.”

The boy sighed. “Charles would have thought so, too.”

“Yes, child. Your brother shared your eye for the small details. Are you not excited that your cousin James is joining us this afternoon?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The creature in the cage growled. Elizabeth squeaked and knocked over her easel, spilling a cup of murky water and three brushes onto the floor. Louis broke his brush in his fist. The boy winced, pulling splinters from his palm.

The teacher pulled a small flute from her robes and spun around to face the cage, but he was cooing softly to himself again. “Louis, you may see the nurses, but join us in the dining hall directly after.”

“Okay. Thank you, ma’am.” Louis pulled on the heavy classroom door and sprinted away.

The teacher put her flute away. “Everyone, finish what you are working on for now. We are nearly ready to gather for lunch. Elizabeth, dear, I will clean that up.”

A blast of trumpeting fanfare echoed down the hallway and through the open classroom door. The students stood up and mirrored the pose that their teacher assumed, bowing their heads, clasping hands together in front. A tall, very thin man walked through the door, wearing a light tweed suit. A white series of boxes arranged in an uneven set of columns were etched on the black obsidian pin that held a deep blood red cape around his shoulders. He looked at the cage. “Again?” He counted heads. “Tell me not both, sister. The Duchess of Bamfordshire will likely die from the shock.”

The teacher shook her head. “No, His Majesty’s Schedule Master, sir. I must sadly report that young Charles made a joke at the expense of His Grace after morning tea. I intervened before the tantrum escalated further, sir. A member of the Crown Prince’s Guard has already been dispatched to retrieve our new student. Young Louis briefly is with the nurses, sir.”

“May the prestige and renown of your tutelage provide comfort to the family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He turned back to the cage. “Your grace, your father is waiting in the Headmaster’s office to join you for your meal. It is best to not keep him waiting any further.”

The creature dropped his paintbrush and growled. The teacher tutted and said, “Listen to the Schedule Master, Frederick.”

Frederick growled again, lifted a book upside down, and ripped it in half. He pounded twice on the cage door, heavy padlock bouncing in return. His third shove broke both hinges. Frederick batted the door aside to hang askew on its padlock and bellowed into the classroom. Children screamed as they ducked behind chairs. Margaret smeared her rainbow into Elizabeth’s sleeves as they cowered in the back corner.

High pitched music cut off Frederick’s roar. He stepped forward calmly, whistling in response. The teacher and Schedule Master both lowered their flutes. She said, “That’s a good lad, Your Grace. Your father is waiting for lunch.”

“Hungry,” he growled and danced out the door, carrying the tune down the hall.

The Schedule Master said, “Perhaps I should broach the subject of private tutoring again, sister.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you take the role, if offered to you?”

She reached for the symbol hanging from a simple leather cord around her neck. The royal bloodline’s curse had not manifested for several generations, but everyone knew the rumors of prior inhabitants in the lowest dungeons, walled off in recent years, and their realm’s strange history. Surely this approach was all more – humane? Is that the word? she thought.

Dishes crashed to the floor in the hallway. A woman screamed. One of the King’s Guard stumbled into the classroom, face bloodied, his armor punctured through in several places. He collapsed to the floor, panting, and sputtered. “His Majesty has been attacked and killed, sir.”

Poor young Edward stood up first, looked down, and saw that he had soiled himself. He poured his paint rinse water over his head.

The Schedule Master frowned at the teacher. “Long live the King.”


Reddit WritingPrompt [WP] Traditionally when a royal couple give birth to a cursed baby the infant is locked away in a dungeon to grow into a murderous beast. You however order that your child instead be taken to the royal nursery and raised properly as your heir. Mad respect to all educators out there!


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