The Just Kingdom

 

The Crown

King Dylan ruled with an iron fist. Feared by all, he conquered neighboring lands with reckless zeal. His people obeyed his every whim—not out of love, but survival. Yet they prospered. The kingdom of Justicia overflowed with riches: fertile fields, gold mines, and skilled artisans. To them, Dylan’s cruelty was the price of strength.

He had two children.

Prince Maxwell, the heir, was nothing like his father. Where Dylan demanded discipline, Maxwell chased wine and women. He refused the sword, preferring brothels to battlements. The king had tried—drills, tutors, threats—but gave up. There is a kingdom to rule when I’m gone, Dylan thought, and my son is a drunk.

Princess Margaret, however, burned with ambition. She trained daily with sword and bow, becoming the finest archer in Justicia. She craved war councils, border patrols, danger. “I will protect our people,” she vowed, “even if it kills me.”

Far from the palace, Jordan cared for none of it. A commoner, he kept to himself, spending days deep in the Whispering Woods—a place others feared. Rumors spoke of a two-faced spirit that mimicked your face and stole your soul. Jordan laughed. He had met the spirit. It was no monster. Just lonely.

One day, hunting, he was ambushed by two masked men. Blades raised. No time to fight.

Then—a blur. A figure, too fast to track, disarmed the attackers and vanished into the trees.

Jordan stared, heart pounding. When he found his voice, he shouted:

“I’ll find you tomorrow. This I swear.”

That same hour, in the palace, King Dylan fell.

A poisoned arrow pierced his chest during a border inspection. He knew at once: Arrow Kingdom. He had dismissed them as weak. A fatal mistake.

Carried to his chamber, he summoned his children with urgency.

They knelt beside his bed.

“Maxwell.” Dylan’s voice rasped. “It pains me… you are my only failure. I could not make you a king.”

“Father, I’m no failure. I have… other strengths.”

“Listen. The crown is yours. Be stronger than me. Wiser. Arrow used magic. They will come for you.”

Maxwell swallowed. “Yes, Father.”

Dylan turned to Margaret. “Margaret. You are my pride. Support your brother. Defend the throne from vipers.”

“I will,” she whispered.

With trembling hands, Dylan removed a golden chain bearing Justicia’s crest. “Find Kula. He is the Defender. Show him this. He will protect you.”

Then the king died.

Margaret did not wait for her brother’s coronation. She rode into the Whispering Woods alone, the chain hidden beneath her cloak.

Jordan, meanwhile, had kept his vow. He found the blur—Kula, an old man with eyes like winter steel. Kula taught him everything: swordplay, stealth, magic. First, he bound a fragment of the two-faced spirit to Jordan’s soul—unlocking power beyond flesh.

“When you draw your blade,” Kula said, “mean it. To kill. To defend. Or to protect what you love.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I’m not your master. Just Kula.”

“Yes, Master Kula.”

Kula sighed. “Fine. Keep training.”

He sensed Margaret approaching. Slipping into the shadows, he intercepted her.

“Halt, lass! Who dares enter my woods?”

“Who are you to question me?”

“My home. My rules. Name yourself.”

“I seek Kula. Sent by the king.”

Kula glanced at Jordan, still practicing, oblivious. “No Kula here. Just an old man teaching his son manners.” He nodded toward the youth.

Margaret watched Jordan move—fluid, lethal. He’s magnificent.

She revealed the golden chain.

Kula dropped to one knee. “Your Highness.”

“Rise. Call me Margaret. My father is dead. Arrow killed him. He said you could save us.”

Kula stood, eyes sad. “Your father was my friend. But the kingdom’s fate… is not mine to carry.” He pointed to Jordan. “It’s his.”

“Him?”

“I’ve passed my arts to him. Convince him—if you can. He hates royalty.”

Margaret returned to the city, mind racing. How do I turn a loner into a savior?

She was lost in thought when she collided with Big—the general’s son, a mountain of muscle with a handsome face and a cruel heart. He’d long pursued her hand.

“Careful, Princess,” he smirked.

“Move.”

“Your brother says you’re to be mine.”

“Keep dreaming.”

Big laughed with his cronies. “Wait till I have you in my bed!”

Margaret walked on, fists clenched.

Jordan strolled through the market, ignoring jeers. He played weak—never entered tournaments, never showed his strength. Let them laugh. I answer to no one.

Big blocked his path, cronies circling.

“Hey, boy.”

Jordan sidestepped. Big blocked again.

“I’m talking to you.”

“How old are you, kid? Thirteen? Just big bones?”

Joe snickered. “That’s his name, idiot.”

Big flushed. “You mocking me?”

Jordan smirked. “Explains the stink of entitlement.”

Big swung. An arrow thwacked into the ground an inch from his nose.

Margaret strode forward, bow drawn. “One more word, Big, and you’re dead.”

Big fled, shouting over his shoulder: “This isn’t over, freak!”

Margaret turned to Jordan. “You okay?”

“I was fine. Didn’t need saving.”

“I could’ve waited. Seen how you’d handle him.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “You think I can’t?”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled. “I’m Margaret. And you are?”

“Leaving.” He walked away.

At the palace, King Maxwell lounged with a servant when General Boyle burst in.

“Your Majesty—Arrow’s troops are massing on both borders!”

Maxwell waved a hand. “Mobilize defenses. And find out why my Western commander—your son—abandoned his post.”

Boyle paled. “I… he was… distracted.”

“Out.”

In the woods, Big and Joe fled Arrow patrols, panting.

“I can’t run anymore,” Joe whimpered.

“Shut up or I’ll leaveh—”

An arrow pierced Joe’s wineskin. Ten Arrow soldiers surrounded them.

“Two rabbits,” the sergeant sneered. “That one pissed himself.”

Big drew his sword. “Kill us and be done.”

The sergeant disarmed him with a single blow, breaking his nose. “Pathetic.”

Joe looked up—eyes wide. The sergeant turned.

Jordan strolled into the clearing, unarmed.

“Enough. You’re ruining my nap. Sheathe your swords and crawl back to your hole. The two idiots come with me.”

The sergeant laughed. “Ten against one? Hammer—kill him.”

Hammer charged. Jordan sidestepped, using the man’s momentum to slam him into a tree—out cold.

“Your Hammer’s blunt,” Jordan said. “Next?”

The rest attacked. Jordan moved like wind—blurs of steel and shadow. In moments, nine lay dead. Only the sergeant remained.

“Please, I’ll serve you—”

Jordan’s blade flashed. The head rolled.

He turned to Big and Joe. “Speak of this, and I’ll find you. Swear it.”

They cut their palms, blood dripping. “We swear.”

Back at the palace, Maxwell raged at his generals.

“You sit idle while Arrow burns our villages? Information is power! Where are their forces?”

The Eastern general spoke: “We repelled them with catapults. They’ve shifted west.”

“Good. One front. We can crush them—if the West wakes up.”

Margaret burst in. “Maxwell, give me fifty men.”

“Are you mad? We’re invaded!”

“I’m going to the front.”

He laughed bitterly. “The brave princess needs soldiers?”

She leaned close. “I need them to find him. The one Father trusted. The one who’ll end this.”

Maxwell’s smirk faded. “You mean…”

Margaret held up the golden chain. “Kula’s heir. And he’s coming—whether he likes it or not.”