A peak into Prince Ignatius-our bad guy. WARNING: I am terrible at antagonists. Terrible.
| King Haemon of Sanglier brought a great secret with him to his deathbed. As he lay wheezing and gasping for his last breaths, he sent for his son, the crown prince Ignatius. The boy, age 15, with ember black hair and an ashy look of worry on his face, came rushing in to his father's bedside.
"Father," he said, giving a bow. "You called for me?"
"Yes...son," the king said with difficulty. "I must...tell you...something."
"I'm listening, Father," Ignatius said, listening overly intently.
"I'm sorry...I didn't... tell you...before."
"Tell me what, Father? Tell me what?"
The king gasped for breath again, and coughed a few times before he spoke again. "About...your..." Haemon coughed again. "Brother." he finally got out.
"Brother?" Ignatius said, confused. "What do you mean-"
Haemon held up his hand for silence, and Ignatius shut his mouth. "Half-brother," the king wheezed. "His name is... Lysander. He is... older than you...by three years...might try to...take...the throne when...I die." King Haemon dissolved into another coughing fit, falling back into his pillows.
"Lysander?" Ignatius said in wonder.
Haemon collected himself and managed to say, "Ig...I don't want him... on the throne. You are my son...he is...a bastard."
"Yes, Father. I understand."
"Make sure... he doesn't...rule Sanglier."
"I will, Father. I promise," Ignatius said earnestly. "I swear to you, I will make sure that Lysander does not rule this kingdom. if I have to get rid of the bastard myself, I will."
"That's my boy," the king coughed. Ignatius took his hand. "That's my boy."
King Haemon breathed his last.
Ignatius let go of his father's hand, placing it gently on his chest. The prince, soon to be king of Sanglier, grasped the hilt of his sword at his side. He would do as he had promised, no doubt about it. He had given his word.