Savage

      Even in a dream, Phongsakorn is not left by the memories of that night in the mountains, the crown of allamanda flowers and what happened after. It was as if a wall of sharp stakes had been erected between them. They saw each other less and less often, except for those situations that the status of both suggested. They hardly spoke. And that rare smile of Kornwit was perceived as a mirage.       Sometimes Phongsakorn wonders what his life might have been like if he hadn’t come here. Perhaps his father would have found him a bride, and they would have been engaged in their own household with the whole family: they would grow rice, catch fish, and live like most other people in their village… But fate decreed otherwise. Once among the future royal warriors, he did not know what a full bowl of soup and fresh bread were until he was fifteen. Many did not live to this age, exhausted by endless workouts, lack of normal sleep and poor nutrition. Only those who were lucky enough to reach the age of fifteen began to be fed “in an adult way”. But the sudden nighttime “alarms” and the daytime training fights that did not spare the body did not stop.       The king is still preparing an army in order to gain power over the whole of Siam in the most brutal battles. And Phongsakorn knows that any fight can be his last one.       If only he survived in it…       The days are so similar to each other. Since that night’s conversation and the yellow flower in his hair, Kornwit has not noticed him. He’s been especially sad lately. The king’s new young wife is about to give birth to another heir. Many foretell his fate, which befell most of the royal children — all of them, except for Kornwit, did not live up to a year. A girl may also be born. And if she is born weak, it will certainly turn away husband’s favor from the unfortunate queen: in such cruel warlike times, only strong and healthy children are valuable, those who can grow up into a fearless warrior.       Today is a special. The king’s younger brother arrived with his son Anakinn. Phongsakorn knows that he and Kornwit don’t like each other. Their fathers often “mocked” their sons, forcing them to fight in a show battle. And so far, Anakinn has never lost to Kornwit. “Your chance,” the king nods to the heir.       Warriors lined up around the perimeter, among whom Pongsakorn will be watching the upcoming duel most closely. He knows that Kornwit feels more confident in hand-to-hand combat than with a sword in his hands. He had noticed it a long time ago, ever since their fights when they were teens. But Anakinn is unlikely to miss the opportunity to prove his superiority once again and thereby prick his uncle’s vanity, as if saying to him: “Look, you are the king and your son will inherit power, but he will never prevail over me.”       Kornwit fights bravely. Anakinn is not inferior to him in anything. The young men are naked to the waist, and soon the chests and sides of both are covered with crimson-purple marks of bruises and abrasions. It does not slip away from Phongsakorn, how both fighters are exhausted, how each blow is getting harder and harder, but until one of them is lying on the ground, the fight will not stop.       There is a crackling in the crowd of an unknown nature, Kornwit is distracted, which, of course, Anakinn is in a hurry to take advantage of: with a painful cry, the heir turns out to be on his shoulder blades.       The fight is over.       And, judging by the contemptuous look of the elder master, Kornwit once again did not justify his expectations.       This is followed by duels between the other warriors. Phongsakorn beats everyone. But he does not expect that two pairs of eyes are closely watching his victories today. “What’s your name?” it is heard above him, washing the abrasions. “Phongsakorn, khun” he straightens up instantly.       Anakinn jerks his chin up. “You fought very bravely, Phongsakorn.” “Thank you, Khun.” “And if I ask my uncle, will you go to serve me and my father?” “No,” Kornwit suddenly appeared next to them, “Phongsakorn serves us, and so it will be until his death.”       Anakinn grins indulgently. “You have a lot of worthy warriors. Why do you care about one of them, eh, Kornwit?”       The young master stands right in front of Anakinn’s face and almost spits out every word. “Mind your place.”       Anakinn raises his eyebrows and mockingly replies. “Of course, Khun. After all, your place,” he looks at the ground near his feet, “you know very well.”       Kornwit pushes back a long curl that has escaped from the high-gathered hair at the back of his head. Anakinn grins one last time and leaves them alone.       Phongsakorn is not sure that he can withstand the look with which the young master burns him. “What? Probably, you would be glad to serve such a brave warrior?”       The young man silently lowers his gaze. “Anakinn is no slouch. He immediately found out who to put his insolent eye on.”       Phongsakorn tries to object quietly. “Don’t get angry, Khun. Your cousin just asked it to laugh at me. I don’t think he was serious.”       Kornwit is hailed by his father. Anticipation of something dark fills the air, and the feeling of waiting for an impending storm is almost palpable. “Your life costs exactly what I’m willing to pay for it. Never forget that,” Kornwit tells him before leaving.       Phongsakorn swallows a heavy lump in his throat. It seems to him that the sky is about to crumble and collapse right on his head.       Late that evening, while on guard duty, he notices the silhouette of the young master leaving their location.       But who is he to stop him?       Phongsakorn hopes only for one thing: Kornwit will not do anything stupid.       And that he won’t give up.