When Kings Fall.

Nothing this bad was meant to happen here.

But it did.

The small town of Braidwood was by the coast, encumbered by paradise-green forestry. It was the world’s best kept secret, a well-hidden haven, infringed by sterling silver mountains. The citizens of Braidwood relished in this fantasy realm brought to life.

But the most beloved feature of this sanctuary was its safety. People laid their trust at Braidwood’s feet. Comforted by the certainty that they would be able to raise their family and dwell in a land where their security would never be questioned. From generation to generation, all they knew was peace. But by a twist of fate, all of that changed.

In one fell swoop, this heaven became a hell.

And it all began at the House of King.

It was midyear, late June. The King residence was sequestered from the other neighbourhoods. Their manor house was located at the base of the mountain. An ancestral home that occupied a vast swath of land, running on many hectares.

Samira King was the supporting wife of Valerio King, a tycoon in the corporate world who inherited the family business that owns multiple global companies in different sectors of the industry. Mainly focusing on technology, manufacturing and distribution as well as real-estate.

The Kings had two children; sons. Alister and Eric.

Although Mrs King had an entire household staff that managed the upkeep of the manor. And also had a personal chef. She often cooked the meals herself. She enjoyed it because it kept her busy.

One evening she prepared dinner, she placed four sets of plates and utensils at a twelve-seater mahogany table. She went back to retrieve the platters of food to adorn the spine of the table, accompanied by a bottle of her husband’s favourite red wine: Château Margaux 2009 – Balthazar. And a bottle of ice water with lemon for the boys.

She knew she had to beckon the boys first, especially the youngest. Alister. Always glued to his books, he had a hyper-focus when it came to any task that he was doing that was executed with unwavering diligence.

She strutted down the yawning hallway, making her way to the main foyer and up the carpeted, curved staircase. At the second landing, she travelled the west wing and several doors down. She knocked politely and waited until she was granted verbal access.

His desk was parked in front of the long, arched window. The room was pristine with an organised bookshelf, neatly made bed and dust-swept wooden floors, decorated with a Persian rug. Alister’s athletic frame was hunched over his books, scribbling down notes, already dressed in his activewear. His timer was soon to go off to alert him of his routine run.

“Honey,” she said delicately, her voice saccharine. “I know you like to get your run in, but I was hoping if we could eat together?”

Alister continued obliviously, entrenched in his studies.

She smiled patiently. “Oh, Ali-Ali,” she sang sweetly.

Alister paused. He turned on his chair to face her. “Oh sorry—sure, I think I’ll just go later if not tomorrow.”

“Great, because supper is ready.”

“Will be out in a sec.”

She left the room with a dubious look on her face, gently closing the door on her way out. Two rooms down, she knocked on the door of the eldest. Eric. She knocked again, but there was still no response. Fed up, she entered his room, cringing slightly at the cluttered sight. The heap of unwashed laundry dumped in the corner, the duvet on his bed ruffled, and a strange smell lingered in the air unabatingly.

“You have two tangos on your six,” Eric informed, engrossed in his online video game. “And a sniper on the rooftops—I got him.”

“Eric,” she called out, struggling to rein in her mounting frustration.

“Dude! I totally had him.”

“Eric.”

He jolted in his seat, bony fingers fumbling to take off his headset, his mouth agape.

“Supper is ready. Remember to haul out your brother.”

She left his room to go notify her husband, whose office was in the east wing.

Eric excused himself from the game and trudged out of the open door, heading to his brother’s bedroom. When he arrived, he barged in and posted himself behind his pensive brother.

“C’mon young Sheldon. Even Einstein took breaks to eat.”

He placed his hands on his broad shoulders, shaking him vigorously.

Annoyed, Alister swatted his hands away. “Finals are coming up. These exams pretty much dictate my future.”

“I think you’re being overly dramatic,” he said with an eye roll, stepping away. “Don’t you have like three IV league universities just waiting to make you their student?”

Without looking back at him, he said, “And that takes hard work. Not that you would know.”

“Gee thanks.” Sarcasm coated his words. “Because I’m such a lazy punk for only making it to a local college?”

Alister sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “I’m sorry, bro.” He stood up, almost dwarfing his already tall and thin older brother. “I never meant—I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just—”

“Stressed?” Eric finished and laughed it off good-naturedly. “Don’t sweat it, you can make it up to me by coming down to eat, super boy.”

He nodded. Eric smiled and ran a wild hand through his groomed molten brown curls. Laughing he pushed him away playfully, and together they made their way downstairs.

“So, how’s it going with Rebecca? You made your move yet?”

Eric wrinkled his nose, scratching the back of his head. “I’m going to.”

His face deadpanned. “When? On the thirty fourth of the month?”

He frowned. “There’s no such thing—”

“Exactly,” Alister exclaimed. “You need to forget your one-hundred step plan and just do it. Your opportunity is going as time passes, buddy. You’re an amazing and authentic guy—it runs in the family —you just need to give her a chance to see that.”

Eric nodded several times, buoyed by his brother’s words of encouragement.

“Forgive me if I seem hesitant, brother,” he said, conjuring up a formal accent. “But after witnessing what happened in your last relationship. I am not in a rush to start my own.”

Bitterly, he said, “You had to remind me?”

When they arrived at the dining hall, their mother was already sitting there waiting. But so was their father. The boys had a twin reaction, accelerating their speed to seat themselves at the table. Their father sat there; his face engraved in a regal reserve, his fingers steepled. A signet ring on his pinkie finger with a goat’s head engraved into it.

After Mrs King bid a quick prayer, she dished herself and Valerio a portion from each selection: pan seared scallops, ravioli with sun dried tomatoes, arugula and hazelnuts. And pumpkin ricotta gnocchi with radicchio.

The brothers helped themselves to their preference.

“Eric,” Mr King began sombrely. “How’s your business major going?”

Eric swallowed, nodding carefully, thinking of a worthy response. “Very well, I think. I’m passing all my modules.”

He nodded; his expression completely unreadable. “As is required for the bare minimum.”

Eric smiled tightly. His appetite obliterated but out of respect for his mother, he nibbled at his food.

Alister mentally prepared himself for his interrogation, taking a few deep breaths and pouring himself a glass of water. Studiously avoiding eye contact, he could no longer resist the powerful pull of his father’s stare. Mr King captured his gaze and sent him a questioning look.

“I’m just prepping for finals,” he said meekly. He perked up at the reminder. “Oh, and coach told me that I got several scouts coming to watch me play this weekend.” Expecting disappointment, he asked anyway, “You’ll be there, right?”

“Maybe next time, son.” A phrase repeated from elementary school until his final year of high school. “Unfortunately, I have important affairs that need my attention. I simply don’t have the time to watch you kick a ball around.”

“The scouts would disagree,” Alister said, placing the glass down. “Since they only watch the players they intend on signing, which comes with scholarships—”

“The only people that need scholarships are financially and academically inept people,” his father interjected. “You are neither.”

Alister leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the table. “As well as campaigns and brand deals with the chance to go pro.”

“What for?” He shrugged flippantly. “I thought you only joined the soccer team to enhance your university application. Not to play pro.”

Alister freed an explosive breath. He looked at his mother. “If you’ll excuse me, I actually have work to do.” He rose to his feet.

“Sit down.” His father commanded with cold calm.

Obligated to obey, Alister sank back into his vacated seat.

A while into a dead-quiet dinner, Mr King was almost done and Eric was a few bites away. Mrs King glanced at Alister’s untouched food with a worry line etched between her brows. She looked at his staid expression, composed on the outside, but emotions stormed in his eyes silently.

“Aren’t you going to finish?”

He shook his head stiffly. “Not hungry.”

After dinner Alister marched out of the dining hall, ready to release his pent-up agitation in a run. But he was intercepted by Lucia, the head housekeeper that oversaw the staff.

She stopped the boy, a gentle hand on his chest, staring deeply into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

Not a flicker of emotion to negate his statement. But Lucia knew the truth because she knew him.

“Something’s wrong.” She poked his chest. “I can tell.”

“Let’s just say that there’s a reason why I schedule my daily runs when they have dinner.” Alister stabbed a finger behind him. “I want as little time with that man as humanly possible.”

“Now Alister,” she said sternly, her voice rich with reproach. “That man is still your father.”

“Lucky me,” he spat out.

“You need to cool off, you go for your run and I’ll make your favourite to cheer you up.”

Alister’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “Well, it’s working.”

She nodded. “And then we’ll talk about what you said, mister.”

He groaned. “I knew there was a catch.”

Alister departed. When he emerged outside of the massive oak doors, he trotted down the white double-tiered staircase. He jogged down the prime palaver driveway with a few exotic vehicles that sat on display in the car lot. The linear road was bordered by trimmed hedgerows, a line of closely spaced shrubs, planted to mark the boundary of the open green fields on either side. And soaring black iron gates protected the estate.

The guard in the security booth opened the gates. It opened inward with gradual grandness, splitting the gilded ‘K’ in the centre. Alister waved at the guards manning the booth before he initiated his full-powered run, ignoring his stretch and mobility regiment that he did before. Eager to release the rising frustration that was bottled in his chest.

Excusing today, Alister ran at the same time, same route, every day. He ran down the steep slope and took the trail through the forest. Wood sorrel flecked the blanket of grass that crackled and crunched under his shoes. The knotted arms of the trees rose ever upwards. The trees were hoary fortresses that stood proudly; the sentinels of nature. The ballad of birdsong quietened as night approached. The simpering wind carried a fragrance with it; a spirit-cleansing smell with the mulch mix of the forest’s perfume.

Out of the forest, he slowed to a steady jog through Cypress Lane, which was the nearest neighbourhood. And when his circuit was complete. He took a short recess, walking back for a few meters, admiring the serrated mountains that ever loomed in the distance.

When he was ready, he ran back home. On arrival, Alister went up upstairs to his bedroom, disappearing into his ensuite to shower and change into sweatpants and a plain top. He eyed his table decked with books, tormented on whether he should resume his studies until he was beckoned. But he decided against it and went to the main kitchen on the ground level.

Alister breezed through the archway of the kitchen with limed oak cabinetry that lined the wall. The rustic aesthetic flattered the glazed wooden accents. The floor had a simple backsplash of imported tiles and Calacatta marble to form the elaborate bedrock of the kitchen, which featured Malian textiles.

Lucia stood by the stove wall and swivelled. She watched a harried-looking Alister plop down behind the granite island counter. His chin rested on his folded arms.

“You want me to tell me what was that all about?”

“It really was nothing,” he said jadedly. “It was my dad just being my dad.”

She sighed serenely. “You know your father loves you. Some people just have a different way of expressing it.”

“Well, his love is exhausting.”

“I know he’s hard on you—so hard, but you’re not only doing your best. You are the best. And no one can undermine that. But nothing is more important than taking care of yourself, so that means not skipping meals, and also taking days to rest.”

The concept was foreign to Alister, even finding himself frowning at the advice.

“Rest?” he pronounced awkwardly. “I have soccer practice tomorrow, a tutoring lesson after, and a student council meeting that follows. As well as finishing off assignments and carving out time to study. And that’s just tomorrow. I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

“Alister.”

“It’s true.”

“What is?” Eric waltzed into the kitchen with his hood on, hands in his pockets. “What are you guys talking about?”

“How your brother needs to learn that it’s not healthy to overload himself like he’s doing.”

Eric snickered humourlessly. “We’ve been singing the same song for years. The stubborn bastard still can’t seem to get it.”

He sat down on the stool beside him.

Alister glared at him. “What are you even doing here?”

Eric grinned, draping his arm over his shoulder. “You kidding me? I could smell the pie from my room.”

“Didn’t you just eat?”

“Always got room for aunt Lucia’s pie.”

She smiled at them both. A warm feeling ever-blossoming within her every time she looked at the boys she helped raise from when they were infants. From being so small in her arms, now they looked down at her when they spoke with legs that lengthened into manhood.

Eric looked a lot like his mother with delicate features and a sharp bone structure, both of them had dark hair. And had malachite-green eyes. But Alister was a good mix of the two. He had a brawny stature like his father,with chestnut brown hair, eyes of baked cinnamon and tawny skin like the rest of them.

When the chicken pot pie was done. She served the boys their slices of the crispy pastry with a creamy chicken broth inside, saturated with vegetables. The brothers shared the pie, Alister having more slices since he didn’t eat.

“You know I’m so proud of you two.”

They both gawked back at her with ballooned cheeks.

Eric chewed and swallowed. “Uh, why?”

“Why not?” Confused by their mutual shock. “You are doing so well in college, most kids drop out or take a gap year by their second year but you’re finishing strong. Because it’s not about how you start, it’s about how you end.”

Eric smiled bashfully at his plate.

“And you, Mr student president, where on the long list do I begin?” she said jokingly. “You two are both extraordinary. Good boys that haven’t gotten into trouble, but just focused on their future. I’m just so proud of you two.”

Though the burdens on Alister’s shoulder were heavy, her belief in him lightened them.