“A rose?” asked Castor, surprised by his father’s request.
It was a tradition in the kingdom that the king-to-be was sent on a quest by the previous king. It was meant to prove he was brave, strong and capable. It was usually slay a monster or find a treasure or something else equally heroic.
“Yes a rose! Do not make me repeat myself!” said the king. The king had become increasingly irritable since the prediction had been made the week before. Over the generation’s this tradition had become more or less for show but the task was never as menial as to get a flower.
“Your majesty, I except your quest. Tomorrow I will ride to Abdur and-”
“You cannot do that! A desert rose is not good enough. Those that have been bread to grow in our dry dirt is weak and impure.”
“Your highness,” said Castor, growing increasingly upset at his father. “I need to go get a foreign rose? I would need to cross the vast sea! What if it is not in season?”
“Then bring it when in is in season!” shouted the king. “I expect nothing less than a foreign rose in full bloom!”
His father’s request was becoming more and more difficult. Finding a rose in a foreign country was hard enough but having it survive the journey of several weeks on a ship was next to impossible. It became very clear that his father did not want him to succeed and no one expected him to.
Castor looked around at all the faces that surrounded him. They all looked at him sympathetically. Even Polloux seemed to think it was unfair but had no intention of speaking up against it.
Castor felt sick. There was a persistent knot in his stomach and a persistent nauseous feeling over him.
“So what do you say?” askes the king, a sadistic grin across his face.
“I accept your quest.”