The Sacrifice
written by: Cecilia Lovos
Once upon a time, a boy looked outside his window and wondered when his kingdom would truly be his. He fancied himself a grown man. With every passing day, his voice became more like his father’s, or at least like his faint memories of it. Some details about him have started to fade in the fog of time — the exact shade of his father’s eyes and hair colour, the round lines of his face, the echo of his heavy steps as he limped down hallways, huffing, out of breath. Every day, courtiers told him how much he looked like his father, but he could no longer tell apart sincerity from flattery.
Fourteen years old seemed to him like the worst age in a man’s life — too old for childish games but too young to take control of his kingdom or fight in a war. He was king in name only. The memory of the men in his council talking over him, still, after 7 years, filled him with rage. If I take a head or two, will that make them listen? He wondered.
The biting February air made him shiver. He closed the window and sat at his desk, trying to ignore the faint chest pain that kept him indoors, pretending he was much too busy for sport. Surely, it was only but a cold, and he had to learn to rule. The weight of his destiny lay heavy on his shoulders, but God had chosen him to finish what his father had started.
A knock on the door brought him back to reality.
“The Lord Regent, your Majesty,” a guard announced, his eyes fixed on a point beyond the king’s head.
He nodded, and the guard disappeared for a few seconds behind the door to let the other man in.
“Your Majesty,” the Lord Regent bowed. He knew the boy wasn’t fond of pleasantries, so he went straight to the point. “Your reform plans are… brave. But it’s worth considering whether the people are ready for it.”
“It’s not a matter of whether they’re ready for it. It’s a matter of whether they’re worthy of it. Those who are will find salvation, and those who aren’t will be rightfully condemned.”
The older man pondered for a few seconds. The boy had been sweet and considerate when he was a prince before the old king died, and his spirit haunted his young son. “It will be wise to extend the same grace we hope to receive from God. A change so massive cannot be achieved in one fell swoop. At least not without bloodshed.”
“Show me one king who has not shed the blood of his people,” the boy retorted coldly.
“And some kings have paid a high price for that blood.”
The young king trembled. Was it the fever, or was it rage? The Regent wondered. Even behind his cool grey eyes, the tempests in his heart were plain to see — tempests which would only grow fiercer as he became a man. It wasn’t too late to instill measure in the boy, even if it meant saying ‘no’ to him once in a while. “Perhaps Your Majesty would like to ponder about this matter more carefully and ask for God’s guidance.”
The boy nodded, absent-minded, and dismissed the Regent with a gesture. Something about the man bothered him. Maybe it was the scolding tone in his voice, as if he were lecturing a son and not advising a king. Maybe it was how comfortable he looked in the luxury he had obtained for himself. He seemed to tolerate heretics and traitors out of fear of disturbing the peace.
If I take his head, will that make them listen?
As the older man bowed and left, the boy turned to the window, resolute. Only the Lord Regent’s life could pay for the renewal he would bring to his kingdom. He offered this life, the first life he’d ever taken, to God as a token of his unshakable resolution to build His kingdom on Earth.
The pain in his chest made him dizzy. He ignored the pile of unread correspondence on the desk to look for the two most valuable things he owned — a message from his older sister and a small golden locket. Her words were embedded in his mind.
“Dearest brother… learn from father’s courage… and from your mother’s intelligence. She was the brightest star to grace our court, and the most gentle. Learn from her gentleness. Carry her love within you. You are your mother’s son…”
His shaking hands struggled to open the locket. The lock of hair inside it was the same shade of blonde as his hair, but the miniature portrait was so vague he struggled to picture her. His mother. The ghost that never showed her face. Would she still love him if she knew he was thinking about beheading his Regent? Would she whisper in his ear or talk over him like everybody else?
Despite the snowstorm that raged outside, the room felt hot and stuffy. A sudden coughing fit cut his thoughts short. Still holding the locket, he took a few laborious steps to reach his bed. He coughed again, and the metallic taste in his mouth seemed like a sign from God that his gift of blood had been accepted. It wasn’t the Regent’s life he was meant to offer. It was his. For a moment, grief overwhelmed him — grief for the kingdom he wouldn’t reign, for the wife he wouldn’t kiss, for the battles he’d never fight. But he was certain his mother would be waiting for him on the other side.
- The Sacrifice - July 25, 2025
