My life reached a pinnacle.  I have studied, prepared, learned my entire life; finally the time had arrived.  Spending life waiting as an observer, a scholar, I have reached the eventual - my time begins.  The change was instantaneous.  My innocence, my freedom - all gone within seconds.  I thought I had more time.  I thought that the future was far.  I thought...
Apparently, I thought wrong.

My name is Prince Luke, and it all happened a few hours ago.  Yes, it’s true, I am a prince, and my father was king, a magnificent, fearless, passionate king.  My father’s broad shoulders lead his jaunty presence through the halls of our castle; his strong hands break any grip from any foe; his superior and confident yet generous stare made other understand the undeniable fact: my father was King.  He was a gregarious man, one who not only ruled his kingdom but protected it, loved it, lead it.  My father was great.
This morning I had woken late - no one came to wake me.  Father was at war; sometimes he’d be gone for months at a time, but he always came home with detailed stories and another battle scar.  The stories filled with a myriad of marching soldiers, synchronized and solemn.  Two armies would meet in standoff until it’s finally broken by a uncontrollable charge.  My father would unleash his long sword while charging, and our king lead his army into war.  Deflecting long spears skimming his cheeks, punching vile foes with his large shield, wiping out three enemies with one mere swipe - these are the stories I hear after every war, these are the stories I’m enraptured by. This is my father - a warrior, a leader, a king.
Back in the castle I plodded through the empty halls, wiping sleep from my waking eyes.  The sun shone through the stained windows, displacing yellow shadows upon the large tapestries of the castle.  My footsteps echoed; no one was here, no maids, no servants, no workers, no father, no one.  Something was wrong - I shuffled through the halls searching.  This didn’t seem right: usually there are people all throughout the castle, but there was no one in sight.  I scrambled along steps, flashed through doors, yelled for hope of a sound.  Then, I heard it.
Soft and quiet, yet pronounced and darting, I heard crying. Scared and confused, I followed the muffled cries into a side room. 
I froze. 
The room was filled with a large group of people - all who immediately turned toward me.  Eyes were filled with tears; faces, sunken in solemn; frowns, filled with sadness and empathy. I walked forward in a trance as my mind suddenly numbed, filling with my loud rhythmic heartbeat.  I swerved through the mass of people until I reached what they were all crowding around.  My father - and his head, severed from his body.  My eyes cloud in disarray; my legs shake uncontrollably; my mind fills with only one word: how?
Quickly, a young soldier tried to explain what happened: “Your father was in the middle of the fighting, clashing sword to shield, killing foes efficiently, as usual.  Then, shot from the war around him, an arrow flew from the crowd, through the air, and lodged in his thigh.  Grunting, he kneeled to ground, ripping the arrow from its target.  But it was too late.  Looking up, your father’s stare was scared and defeated for once in his life, and with a swift swipe of the sword, he was conquered - his life taken.”
The army continued to fight, driving the enemy away, and my father’s body was brought home.  I stared at his body - who was once so strong, empowering, and proud, now lay lifeless, beaten, and small.  I lifted my sight from his severed head into the eyes of the crowd.  Not one looked at my father, for all hopefully and analytically stared directly at me.  I suddenly begin to I realize.
I am King.

This all happened this morning, but my father’s death still feels like a dream.  This morning’s scene burns in my mind; the crowd’s eager stares, my dash from my father’s deathbed, their yells echoing through the empty halls of the castle.  It was all too much. 
The sun was beginning to set, the sky purpled, the ground darkened.  The large silhouette of my castle sat on the horizon.  I wasn’t ready: I don’t think I ever would be. 
My father was a king.  I am a prince. 
I peered at my childhood home one last time, turned and trudged off into the night. To be a king, one must be strong and brave, and I, frankly, never wanted to be king anyway.