-----
Just two days before he rode valiantly into town, riches and spoils in tow.
"Prince! It's good to see you have returned!"
"It's been months! Tougher than you had expected, eh?"
"Finally! We're rid of them!!"
"Who would dare face us now?!"
The cheers and shouts were deafening. But one voice carried over the rest.
"LET US CELEBRATE!!"
The festivities were heard through the night. It was their first respite in four months. The campaign had been painfully long, there was no denying it. The winter had been cold. Men, lost. The nights, restless...
-----
"Just wait. There is hope yet," he said. "The enemy's camp is growing impatient. They don't have much time left."
"But we've only a week's provision left! We can't ration it out any longer than we already have! Our men will starve soon!"
"... Then tonight we feast! Tell the men we're taking our victory tomorrow!"
-----
Of the enemy, there was but one survivor. But of all the men to have survived, it was that man. The one known as the most cunning of the enemy forces. He slipped into the Prince's chambers and stole his crown. As though to prove that the Prince's life was in his hands...
-----
They stood face to face. Both well aware that this battle would be hard fought.
The rain poured down.
-----
Finally, silence. Complete silence. Nothing but ragged breathing, but even that fades away.
The victor rises to his feet.
And the crown once again where it belongs.
