Dear Charles,

My darling boy. If you are reading this letter, I am gone and you are now the King of Aramdeau. I can only hope that many years have passed since this was written, and that you are prepared to face the road ahead of you. I do not pretend to be a wise man, but if I can give you any advice, let it be this: let Love be your guide. Love for the kingdom, for your family, and for the Lord God. In time, you will find balance. Compassion is a form of Love, but so is duty, sacrifice, and strength.

It is our fate that I will not be able to offer support in the moment you will most want it. But you do not need it. You have all you need within you.

Love,

Your Father, King Edmund Ternhaligon of Aramdeau

Charles gripped the parchment tightly. How could it be so short? It irritated him. As did his burning eyes and the awareness of his toes barely reaching the floor. The letter had been written less than a year ago. He flipped the page over and back, again and again. Nothing.

There was a gentle tap on the door, and a warm-looking woman let herself in.

"Mother!" Charles hopped down and ran to the woman, who knelt to embrace him.

"Tell me what to do, Mother, please." He cried into his mother's shoulder as she gently comforted him. Then she pulled back and rested a hand squarely on his shoulder.

"From now on, I cannot tell you what to do. No one in this world has that right."

Charles could now look up into her eyes, but his tears had a mind of their own and would not stop.

"I will always be here to help you or advise you," she continued, "as will your father's-your-council, but not one of us can tell you what to do. For the sake of Aramdeau, you must now be strong and follow your own will." His mother's look softened, and she kissed Charles' damp cheek. "I am so sorry, my son."

In a moment, she rose and curtsied to her son for the first time. Just before she left, she said, "I will tell you to do one last thing. Do not let them see you cry."

The following morning, Charles walked purposefully to the council meeting. The gilded collar of his doublet scraped at his chin, but the hard tap-tap of his rigid shoes on stone made him feel a little grown-up.

He steeled himself and waited for the servant to open the door for him. A dozen men rose and faced Charles as he entered as boldly as he could muster. Some were stern, others sympathetic, but all focused entirely on him. He took his seat as soon as he could and bade the meeting commence.

There were reports on trade and crime and taxes, financial reports, defense reports, plans for his coronation, and squabbles amongst the castle staff. Charles listened and responded to each as best he could. His role was mostly to agree with the councilor's plans, but it was still exhausting. He found himself constantly searching the faces of each councilor to gauge their reactions toward him. No one pointed out the obvious issue, that Charles was still a child. They acted like it was completely normal to be taking orders from a boy not yet eleven years old.

"Your Majesty, there is one pressing matter that remains." The voice came from a gray man with a long wispy beard. It seemed to blend into his gray robes without ever ending.

"Proceed, Baron Lansing."

"It is the question of war with Brasador."

"With Brasador? But we achieved peace not one year ago. They surrendered the Eastern Territories."

"That is so, but I believe... I believe they may try to take advantage of the passing of the late king to attack once more. They have recruited many troops in the last six-month."

"Oh, nonsense," said a slick man to Charles' right. "Our forces are unchanged and still easily outnumber the Brasadorans. They are of no concern."

Baron Lansing began to respond to Lord Sutton, but Charles held up his hand as he had seen his father do many times. "I know my father was a great strategist. Even if every battalion is the same as before, we are weaker as a nation for his loss. There is no need to act as if the situation is unchanged on my account."

"I have a suggestion, Your Majesty." It was Charles' uncle, Duke Pearson, who spoke. He was a handsome, fair-haired man who looked strikingly like the late king.

"The Brasadoran king has a daughter quite close to you in age. An engagement between yourself and the princess may be enough to ensure peace for many years."

An engagement? That was the last thing Charles expected from his first council meeting.

"Marry the Brasadoran princess? Whatever for?" Lord Sutton nearly jumped out of his chair. "Surely we are in no danger, and you will be disappointing countless Aram nobles who have already made up their minds that you will marry their daughters," he said with a forced laugh.

Charles did not care much about the disappointed nobles, but he was also in no hurry to marry some stranger. He wanted to do what was best for the kingdom, but this was not at all what he had in mind. "What say you, Baron Lansing?"

The old man thought for a moment. "It may be enough," he said. "Brasador has as much to lose as they have to gain, and may be looking for an excuse to make peace."

"Very well, I will consider it." Charles stood and looked at the clock on the wall. "We have gone over the allotted time. I thank you for your patience. Keep me informed of Brasador's movements."

He stepped out the door and made a beeline to his study, where he sat at the desk and rang for a servant.

"I will take my dinner here, and then I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon."

He scarfed down some hearty bread and lamb seasoned richly with rosemary and thyme. Then he threw off his shoes and jacket, fell onto a couch, and took a long nap.

In many ways, life changed dramatically for Charles after he became king. He was terribly busy with council meetings, and had decisions to make and orders to approve. But some things carried on as they always had. He was many years away from being done with his studies, so most days he sat with his mother, who gave him lessons in mathematics and writing, or with Baron Lansing, who taught him history, geography, and battle strategies.

"When was the last time you played?" his mother asked him one day while they were reading the annals of the kingdom.

"What?" Charles had been staring listlessly out the window.

"I suppose you haven't gotten to play at all."

"Do not forget that I am king now, Mother."

"How could I forget?" She rose to her feet. "We shall study outside today. The weather is fine."

Charles rose and began to collect his books.

"We won't need those," his mother said.

They walked outside the castle and down the slope behind it to the stables. His father used to take him here occasionally, but he had not been down this way since his succession. In fact, he'd hardly been outside. The dowager queen stopped in front of a particularly mucky stall with no horse in it. A solid boy of about thirteen emerged. In surprise, the boy swept off his wool cap and bowed awkwardly at the royals.

"Your Majesty. Your High-I mean-Your Royal Highness. What can I do for you?"

"Charles, this is Mr. Phillips. From now on, he will be your riding tutor," his mother declared. The boy reacted awkwardly to being addressed in such a way.

"Riding tutor? I have known how to ride for years," Charles said.

"To be sure, but there is always room for improvement. Many Aram kings and queens were famous for their horsemanship both on and off the battlefield. You will practice at least twice a week, and as often as you can when you have time."

She kissed him on his head (which was embarrassing both because the Phillips boy was his new teacher, apparently, and because they were so close in age) and left the two boys alone together.

"I'll just get the horses ready, Your Majesty." Phillips said.

"You need not call me 'Your Majesty'," Charles said.

"Is that so?"

"Ordinarily, I am to be called 'Your Majesty' when I am greeted for the first time, but I am called 'sir' or 'my lord' after that," Charles explained stuffily. Most people around him just knew these rules, so spelling it out felt awkward. "However, in this situation, since you are my tutor, you need only address me as 'Charles'."

"Really?" Phillips said. "No, I can't believe that."

"You can look up the law yourself. The court of Aramdeau has always treated its teachers with the highest level of respect. My great-grandfather believed that education was at the core of-"

"Well, alright then," Phillips interrupted jovially. "I'll call you Charles and you can call me Thomas or Tom since that's my first name. I've never been called 'Mr.' in my life and I won't start now. Let's shake on it and go out for a ride."

And so they did, and rode for many hours until there was barely enough light to get home by. Charles had been upgraded to "Charlie" and Tom had transitioned entirely from tutor to friend.

The next day at breakfast, Charles was handed a note by a breathless messenger.

Five thousand Brasadoran recruits spotted ten miles east of the southeastern border.

While he hoped they were merely training, Charles knew they were nowhere near where Brasador performed its regular military exercises. He needed to discuss this with the council at once. The danger had shown itself to be too real, too imminent. Aramdeau was not ready for another war.

They needed a more sure treaty between their two countries. Charles would have to propose an engagement with the Brasadoran princess.