Arthur walked into his room, sweaty and gross. Immediately, he began to remove his armour and piling it off in the corner of the room to be cleaned and polished. As he began to strip away his shirt, he called to his chamber maid, "Kassandra, draw me a bath, I smell worse than the pigs."
He continued to remove his soiled clothing until he remained barely decent. He flopped onto his bed and groaned, morning practice had been quite brutal. He could already feel the bruises forming under his skin. Lancelot had not been going easy on the grieving prince as many of the other Knights had been doing. In a way Arthur had been thankful as he had much anger pent up inside him. He was angry at the sorcerer who killed his father but mainly he was angry at himself for not being able to fight back against the assassin, which ultimately led to the death of his father. He was mad that his father's death was his fault and he was wanting to put somewhere and half assed fighting partners were not the place. Lancelot seemed to understand that.
Arthur didn't want to retire to his rooms though, despite his aches and horrendous smell. For in his room there was nothing to distract him from the loneliness he felt and the emptiness of the castle that was full of people. Tonight at dinner, he would rise, in front of many, and sit in his father's place, in the king's throne. That was the one thing he dreaded most about his father's death, taking Uther's place and Uther took his place deep in the ground. Although he had always known it would one day come to pass, for that was the only way he could ever rise to power and his destiny, it was far too soon. He had been unwise to trust the sorcerer as he knew his mother died by magic. There was a reason magic was forbidden, magic was evil, sorcerers were evil. If he was too blind to see that how would he ever be able to rule a country? He was a pathetic ruler and his decisions seemed to only cause pain.
"Kassandra," he called as he winced and sat up, "Do you think... I'll make a good king?"