writing-prompt-s:
“Your son will take your throne from you,” they prophesized, spitting each word out of teeth clenched tight with hatred. Why they’d bother prophesizing such an event befuddles you; your son is literally your chosen heir, after all.
I wave my hand a little as I speak to my son “now listen okay. Obviously your going to be king. But! I don’t want you to be fuckin around with failed prophecys, hell I don’t want to screw with that. Wizards are weird and bitter. So here’s what we’re gonna do okay, on your eighteenth birthday, your going to to over throw me and "take” the crown, Ill train you more rigourlsy in swordsmanship so we can have a dramatic battle"
My son sighs, resigned and long suffering “dad I don’t think we have to do all that. Wouldn’t me just…. taking the crown out of your hands count?”
I shake my hand and wave him away “nonono I won’t risk I heard of a man that went through something similar and he got turned inside out. Still alive, just having a terrible time. That’s not the kind of life I want for my son, I won’t risk it. Besides, don’t you want to spar with your old man? Really give to me? You could brush up on your planning when it’s time for your coup!”
My son sighs