The Sinister Father
From the high tower of the castle, Fyren stared out of his window, watching down in the garden as the prince kissed the flower girl for the first time. It was at that moment, as Brenn declared his love to Dianthus, that Fyren realized it was time to get rid of the prince.
Soon, Brenn would leave, venture out on his own with his true love and make a name for himself. Fyren had been able to hold him as a prisoner in the castle with threats of the king and queen’s enemies, but Brenn was old enough to believe he could fend for himself.
If Brenn left, it wouldn’t be that long before he found out his mother and father were still alive, and then it would be a very short time after that before the king sent all his men after Fyren to capture and execute him. If Fyren did not kill Brenn now, before he left with Dianthus, then the old cook himself would be dead.
Worse still, Brenn was much stronger than Fyren. Years ago, when the boy had been small and weak, Fyren knew he should’ve done away with him then. Now it was too late, so he’d have to find another means of killing Brenn.
Fyren thought on it for several days, letting the ruminations of his decaying mind work their way through the problem until finally he settled on the simplest plan: Fyren would get the flower girl to do it.
As Fyren had understood Brenn’s wish, he’d made Dianthus to be a servant, subservient and dependent on her elder’s commands. Fyren had always treated her as a slave, and she’d always responded as one, so he had no reason to think differently.
In the middle of the night, when both Dianthus and Brenn were sound asleep, Fyren crept into her room. She woke up startled, but he silenced her when he held up a sharp butcher knife.
“Tomorrow, as the boy sleeps, go into his room and plunge this knife into his heart,” Fyren commanded her. “Then bring me his heart and tongue.”
“Why would I shed his blood? He has done nothing to harm anyone,” Dianthus said. “What reason do you have to even want him gone?”
“Dianthus, my sweet.” Fyren changed his tone to one of loving, and reached out, gently stroking her hair. “Have I not treated both you and the boy as my own? Have I not sheltered you and cared for you the way any good father would?”
“Yes, you have,” Dianthus replied, though she didn’t really believe this was true. She’d never had a father or known one, but the ones she read about in books sounded far kinder than Fyren had ever been.
“Of course I have, and I’ve loved you both,” Fyren continued to lie. “So you must believe me now. It hurts me so to get rid of the poor boy, but it must be done.”
The girl asked, “Why must it be done?”
“He’s grown too old for this palace, for the world he created, and soon he will leave. But when he does, everything he’s wished for will be destroyed.” Fyren told her the story he’d concocted. “I brought him here to save him, but a kind fairy granted pity on him. That’s how he got his power for wishing, but it will last only on this mountaintop. As soon as he leaves, all his wishes will be undone—this castle, this life, even you, my dear girl, you who are a very daughter to me would be destroyed.”
“Can you not ask him to stay?” Dianthus asked. “If he knew it would be my undoing, surely he wouldn’t go.”
“Ah, but he does,” Fyren told her, doing his best to appear sorrowful. “He knows, and he does not care. He told me in my chambers this very afternoon. He’s told you that he loved you as his way of telling you goodbye. In a few days, he will leave, then you will be gone, and I cannot bear that.”
Dianthus seemed to think about it, then she nodded. “I will do as you commanded. I will kill the boy.”