Kris Kringle
Chapter Three: A House Divided

“I wonder what is keeping your brother.”

The king and his daughter sat at a large table—much too large for just the two of them that sat at it—which stood in the middle of the castle’s spacious dining hall. The ceiling was high and lit torches were hung every few feet along the entire perimeter of the wall. A well-spread meal of pheasant, corn, potatoes, and wine lay before them, but Princess Eva chose only to partake of the warm onion soup. She did not address her father’s remark about the prince’s whereabouts, but rather continued sipping her soup quietly, deep in thought. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

For several minutes, the two sat there in conversational silence. They were the only ones in the dining hall, except for a servant that stood away from the table, ready to take away plates or refill wine when needed. After taking his final bite from his plate and washing it down with drink, the king rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together.

“What troubles you, Eva?” her father said with concern, looking upon her with deep brown, tired eyes. The king was old, but in good health and energy. He had a snow white beard that he kept close to his face. That evening he was wearing his usual royal garb— a silky red robe with white fur that lined the cuffs and edges. He was a good king and a good man, but the management of an entire kingdom had had its toll on him. He was weary of the responsibility he held in Silverbell, prestigious and privileged though it was. He never thought of himself as a king, even though that was the title to which he had been destined to bear from birth, and the role which he had been performing since he was a young man of 21. His wife—the queen—had died many years ago, when Eva was still an infant. That experience especially had left him feeling emotionally exhausted ever since.

“Something is bothering you, dear,” the king repeated when Eva refused to answer his initial query. She did not even look at him, but simply continued to sip her soup as though she could not hear him.

The awkward silence was broken when the sound of the west door of the dining hall was opened, and Prince Renier entered the room in a brisk pace. He immediately took his seat at the table at the right hand of his father and across from his sister.

“Sorry I’m late,” the prince said, as the servant quickly dished up a fresh plate for the new arrival and set it before him carefully. “I got carried away dealing with the organization of our prison. We’ve had an unusually high number of criminals locked up this year, and I am trying to ensure that justice is swiftly extended to each of them.”

The king’s face showed the displeasure he felt at hearing this news. “I find that ‘swift justice’ is often a contradiction in terms,” he warned, “It simply defaults to the penalty that is always quick and certain; that is: execution…even when it is not warranted.”

The prince shrugged and placed a forkful of pheasant meat in his mouth. “When one goes against the law, he forfeits his right to protection and—“

“Life?” the king interjected with a raise of his eyebrows.

Prince Renier looked at his reflection in the polished silver blade of his knife. “Not always,” Renier replied, “But one must often demonstrate power in dramatic ways to ensure those who think of breaking the law consider first the value of their own life.”

The king looked at his only son with tired eyes and a small frown. “Renier,” he said calmly, “Are you really using the phrase ‘value of life’ in the same breath in which you argue for more executions?”

Renier smiled. “You’re right, Father,” he admitted quickly, “I apologize for sounding eager to rid our prison of its contents. They are, after all, the people we have been destined to rule over, and that power should not be treated so casually. I understand.”

The king stood up slowly from his chair. “I’m afraid there is a great deal you do not understand, my son,” the king said straight-forwardly, while the prince looked at him with mild surprise, “You see, we are not destined to rule, and we have no more power than any other.” He gestured to the meal on the table. “Yes, we dine in greater luxury than those living in the villages. And true, we can order the freedom or death of prisoners just as we can sign treaties or declare war against kingdoms. But ultimately, you and I have just as much power as anyone else. Because it is not found in a scepter or throne—those objects only represent as much power as we agree to give them.”

Renier’s face grew red with frustration as he too rose from his seat. “Father, are you actually suggesting that the farm boy and handmaid have as much power as I do? That my position of authority is somehow imagined?”

The king looked his son in the eye, never losing his calm demeanor. “Son, you have tremendous power. Unlimited power. But that power comes to you not by birth into this house, but by birth into this world. A child could be born in a mere stable—among the lowliest of beasts—and yet still be revered as a king by men because of his power to do good. Your power, Renier--your true power--is reflected in what you do, not in what robes you wear or at what table you eat. The power to do good, the power to do evil. That is ultimately the only power any of us have.”

Renier looked at his father intently. “You are a man of poetry, Your Highness” he stated, “I am a man of practicality.” The prince then sat down and resumed eating his meal.

The king looked at his son for a moment and then turned to his daughter and smiled. “Good night, Eva,” he said warmly, “I leave in the morning for the South Kingdom. I have some business to conduct there. But I shall be back well in time for the Harvest Festival. You both take care of each other. Take care of the kingdom.” He kissed Eva’s hand and gave a nod to Renier, who returned it, his mouth full of food and his brow still stern. The servant held open the north door as the king exited the dining hall to retire to his chamber.

“He’s a good man, but he’s a fool,” Renier said to himself, though he knew Eva could hear him.

Eva—who had been quiet during the entire exchange between father and son—shook her head with disgust. “Are you really so blinded by your quest for power and prestige that you cannot see the faces and feelings of others?”

Renier swallowed the large gulp of wine he had just taken from his goblet. “No,” he responded casually, “In fact, guess whose face I did see this afternoon…”

Eva looked back at him, her face showing more anger than interest.

“…in the marketplace,” he added.

Eva’s face softened as she began to suspect he knew about her venture outside the castle.

Renier flashed an evil grin. “Just going to pay your tithes?” he asked sarcastically. Eva nervously bowed her head and played with her napkin. Renier lowered his head to try regain eye contact with her. “Something you want to tell me, sister?”

Eva set down her napkin and looked back at him. “You first tell me what you were doing there,” she demanded.

Renier smiled again. “I saw you leaving the castle without the escort of the royal guard. I followed you for fear you might soon be in danger.”

“How thoughtful,” Eva replied, standing up from her chair to make her exit from the dining hall as well.

Renier leaned back in his chair. “So who is he?”

Eva threw up her hands with obvious annoyance at his question. “Who are you talking about?”

“The man you were speaking to outside the church. Who is he?”

“A beggar, asking for money. I didn’t ask his name. I simply gave him the money he requested.”

“Is that what you gave him? Money?” Renier verified with suspicion clearly shown on his face. “Interesting he would ask money from you, when you yourself were dressed like a beggar. Why were you dressed like that, Eva? So unbecoming of a princess…”

Eva stared back at her brother. “Perhaps,” she admitted, “But then I am not as obsessed with my title as you are.” She began to make her way out of the dining hall and without looking back, said aloud, “And don’t ever follow me again.”

If Kris had a load on his mind on the way to Rudy Chesterson’s, that load had been doubled for his journey back home. He was at a complete loss for coming up with a clear explanation of what anything had meant that day. But of all the questions he still had, there was one thing he was certain of: He would not miss that meeting at the Green Pasture tomorrow night.

When Kris arrived at his small cottage home, he opened the door and lit the candle at his bedside. He had only one window, and the candle itself was small, so the single-roomed home was still mostly covered in darkness. Kris sat on his bed and removed the dirty boots from his feet. From all the labor and running around he had done today, it felt so good to finally relieve the pressure from his feet. He stripped down to his undergarments, stained with dirt and sweat. He knelt by his bedside to offer a short prayer as was always his custom before going to sleep. As he concluded his prayer, he went to pull himself onto the bed, when he froze. A sound of creaking wood came from the corner behind him. It was a loud sound, too loud to have been made by a rodent, and Kris could now sense a presence in the room.

Someone was in his home.

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