A/N - This is the updated version of the story that got me third in the royalty competition! Enjoy!

Blood drips down my chin, tears leak from my eyes, and sweat caresses my neck. I can taste the blood beneath my teeth, slightly sweet and warm. I force myself to my feet, fixing my crown which lays slightly askew. The pool of my wet hair sends droplets rolling down my bare back and ears. I just look at Romeo blankly, his face contorted with rage. The look of hatred leaving behind wrinkles creased just slightly. His crown beams at me tauntingly, golden like the sun and pointed like a crow’s nest. The whispers of the wind send sudden spurts of chills down the length of my spine.

Our mother strolls into view slowly, she raises a hand as if to say “One of you isn’t dead yet, continue.” So, the fighting continues. Romeo lunges for my neck, but I’m too quick and I tuck and roll out of the way. I send my fingers into his chest like the point of a bayonet. He recoils quickly but maneuvers back around me slyly. I sprint to the nearest tree, reaching up as far as I can to pull a branch down. I snap one off, sending pieces of wood soaring through the air like little missiles searching for their target. I hold the branch like a golf club, swinging it violently around and around. Romeo’s eyes look fearful and pained. I try not to grimace or feel any emotions for that matter. My ice-cold eyes, a fake disguise.

I glance at mother, and I can taste her displeasure on the tip of my tongue. She wants to do it herself, she wants to be the one to stab one of us. She abruptly leaves and begins whispering to one of the guardsmen.

The light from the sun begins to run away as it sets in the west. Speckles of charcoal red, auburn, and a misty blue dance across Romeo’s face, turning him into an old portrait that looks too real.

I let the branch fall to my feet, shaking the ground below. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two silver swords laying face down on the ground. Romeo and I each break out in a run, this is not training! He reaches the swords first but fumbles when he’s trying to pick one up. The sunset reflects off the silvery metal, almost making the weapon look pretty. I twist the hilt of the sword between my fingers.

I lunge forwards, aiming for the heart. I hear the loud shriek of metal as our swords collide. I press harder and sounds of scraping metal rage in my ears. Romeo snatches his sword away swiftly, offering an opportunity.

There isn’t time to hesitate or think about what I’m doing. I plunge my sword into Romeo’s neck, cutting through flesh and bone in one swipe. Time slows as his pain-taken face slides off his body. His head hits the ground quickly and rolls to the left. His knees buckle, sending the blood-oozing corpse to the right.

I violently shut my eyes, hiding them from what lies at my feet. I feel my body be lifted into the air in celebration. I smile for the people, my people. I don’t look back, knowing what I left behind. The children are probably already playing in his blood, tossing his head around like a football. My crown is snatched from my head and is replaced quickly with something new. My head sags to the right with the additional weight. Much like my heart, the crown weighs me down. The crown is the only thing stopping me from joining Romeo elsewhere.

I float down the streets of Pareiamore, the people not letting me fall back down to Earth. The palace slowly comes into view, and I’m dumped off at the gate. Mother says nothing as we walk through the double doors. Once we’re concealed from the public, I fall to my knees.

“I’m brotherless,” I whisper to the ground. I feel the sharp pain from mother’s boot, which strikes me square in the back.

“Grow up Julian,” she bluntly snaps. I rise to my feet, sucking back tears. I dart the opposite way as mother, rushing to the throne room for security. The room smells strange, like leftover blood not scraped away.

I approach the king’s throne, my throne now. Its blue velvety patterns drape around the perimeter of the chair. I plop down but regret doing so immediately. The chair feels wrong, just wrong. The chair is like a rose bush, covered in prickly needles. I dash out of the throne room, trying to find any place of comfort.

My room is too cold, the kitchen too bare, the balcony too loud, and my heart too heavy. I see a place in the gardens near a small oak tree. I rest my head on my hands. I run my fingers slowly through my hair, this is my life now.

I gently pluck a petal from a carnation. I rub it gently across my palm like Romeo would do after a particularly ruthless day. I tuck it in my pocket and head back inside.

Memories fly at me like baby birds searching for their mothers after a storm. But, nothing comes for them. No one is there. They are alone, as am I.

“Heads will roll.” I think. And one day so will mine.