---
Brisk footsteps echoed through the marbled corridors of the palace as Awin stormed toward his father's chambers, each step sharper than the last.
They were already thirty minutes late to their scheduled visit with Tyvard. It troubled him more than he'd like to admit. Lately, the king had become distant—withdrawn into himself, melancholic. Meetings with Tyvard were constantly delayed or canceled, and Awin didn't like that. Not one bit.
Normally, he wouldn't concern himself with his father's odd moods. The king had always been a peculiar man. But something about this felt different. Ominous.
Just as he rounded the final corner toward the king's quarters, a gruff voice called out—
"Halt."
The Head Guard stood rigid, blocking the entrance to the west wing.
Awin raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"The king is occupied."
"I wish to see him. He's—"
"I said—he's busy."
Awin exhaled sharply, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. Just what was his father playing at today? His patience, never great to begin with, was already fraying. There was a reason he rarely missed the meetings with Tyvard. To Awin, Tyvard's work had always seemed noble—essential even. He was helping their family unlock its legacy. The pursuit of immortality was no longer a myth, not when Tyvard was so close.
And now, all of a sudden, the king had grown cold toward him?
"You've worked under my father for years, haven't you?" Awin asked, voice cool, measured.
The guard kept his gaze forward. "Since I was a boy, Your Highness."
"Then you should know how this palace operates."
"Why do you ask, Your Hi—?"
He never finished the sentence.
Awin's hand moved like lightning, plunging a slim dagger into the man's abdomen. The guard staggered back, his eyes wide with disbelief as he looked down at the blood blooming across his tunic.
"Pathetic," Awin sneered, kicking the man aside. The thud echoed in the hall like a drumbeat of treason.
He stepped into the king's chambers, determined to speak sense into the man who was supposed to be a ruler.
---
Inside, a storm of words was already brewing.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" the queen snapped, her voice sharp with disapproval as she stood behind her husband. Arthur faced the window, his back to her, arms clasped behind him like a statue of an ancient ruler.
"I'm doing what I should've done years ago," Arthur said calmly.
Delilah clicked her tongue in disbelief. "Just let her stay with my relatives like always. Why disrupt everything now?"
"She's our daughter, Delilah. Why should she live apart from us any longer?"
"Oh, now you remember you have a daughter?" she scoffed. "Why did you send her away in the first place?"
Arthur's shoulders sagged slightly. "I had lost my way."
Delilah let out a hollow laugh. "And you think bringing Zarela here will somehow fix the past? Honestly, Arthur, you're more naive than I thought."
From the doorway, Awin's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Who is Zarela?"
Both parents turned in surprise. Arthur's expression darkened.
"You will meet her when the time is right. Why are you here? I gave orders that I wasn't to be disturbed."
Awin shrugged and took a seat across from them. "Really? I came because we were supposed to meet Tyvard."
Arthur's face hardened. "That's been canceled. We won't be seeing him anymore."
Awin blinked. "What? Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not an answer," Awin snapped. "Tyvard has dedicated years to this family's future. To immortality."
Arthur's tone dropped to steel. "We no longer have business with him. The matter is closed."
Awin stood, fists clenched. "Is this because of Zarela?"
Arthur sighed and sank into a chair, rubbing his temples.
"Delilah, take your son back to his quarters. I've had enough for one day."
The queen gave Awin a quiet, apologetic look. "Your father… he's just confused. He'll come to his senses soon."
But Awin wasn't convinced. As he followed his mother out, he looked back at the man who once commanded armies. For the first time in his life, Awin didn't see a king. He saw a stranger.
And whether it was fear or fury that twisted in his chest, he couldn't tell.
But one thing was clear—he would not let his father throw away everything they had worked for.
---
The maids bustled through the corridor, whispering behind gloved hands as they prepared the guest chamber.
"Can you believe the princess is finally coming?"
"I know! She was just a little girl when they sent her away. I heard she walks like a queen already."
"If Prince Awin takes after the Great She-King Athinia, they say Zarela is the spitting image of Lady Amelia—Eastford's Regent Queen."
"Hush, someone might hear you," the other maid whispered, glancing around.
"Did I say something wrong?" They were both whispering now.
"Of course you did. Why would you compare the prince and the princess—and then juxtapose them with the most controversial monarch and the most beloved?"
"Oh, my mistake. I just meant that Prince Awin has the resilience and charisma She-King Athinia had."
"He also has her cunning and malevolence," the other maid whispered, straightening with a tight-lipped look. "I'm just telling you—don't say that again."
Their hushed chatter faded as they scurried away to their next task.
Awin watched them leave from the shadows, his expression unreadable.
"I'll have their heads for that nonsense, once I become king" he muttered under his breath.
A voice broke through his thoughts. "Your Highness, the king calls for you."
---
Awin descended the staircase, his stride unhurried.
"You called for me?" he said, his tone clipped.
His parents stood waiting. And beside them—her.
Zarela.
She was older than he expected, with warm eyes and a smile too wide for Awin's liking.
"This is your sister," Arthur said. "Her name is Zarela."
Awin blinked slowly. "Where did you get her from?"
The queen gasped. "She's yoursister, Awin. She was born fragile and needed time to recover. She stayed with my grandmother."
"And now she's suddenly fine?"
"She's well," Arthur said. "And it's time she came home."
Zarela stepped forward, arms wide. "We met once! But you were just a baby."
Awin stepped back before she could embrace him.
"Why is her room opposite mine? She could take the Red Wing."
Arthur's voice was calm but firm. "I want you two to be close. You'll be attending classes together"
Awin's face paled. "What? But I attend succession classes"
"Yes," the queen added nervously, "but… Arthur, those are succession classes—maybe we should—"
"Awin," Arthur interrupted, voice darkening, "why did you stab my guard?"
Awin scoffed. "What does that have to do with—"
"He could have died."
Awin scoffed and turned away from his father's heavy gaze "And? If the king's guard can't handle a teenager, maybe he shouldn't be guarding the king."
Silence hung in the room like a guillotine.
Arthur studied his son for a long moment. What have I created?
"Your lack of remorse proves my point," the king said quietly. "Zarela will stay close to you. You need her influence more than you realize."
He turned and walked away without another word.
Zarela offered a weak smile. "So… will you show me to my room?"
Awin ignored her completely.
"Mother, I'm going out."
He brushed past them, gaze lingering on Zarela with disdain.
He didn't like her. Couldn't explain why. Maybe it was the servants' whispers, or maybe it was how her arrival coincided with his father's unraveling.
Whatever it was, he'd already decided: Zarela was nothing more than a shadow on the wall. She existed, yes. But she didn't matter.
Or at least, that's what he thought.
It began with a moment Awin wasn't meant to witness.
Behind the half-opened doors of the royal solar, Awin paused when he heard his name.
"I understand his education is complete," King Arthur murmured, his voice tired, "but I'm uncertain now… if he is suited for the throne. His instincts are... tainted. Zarela has something more. Something unspoiled."
"You're speaking of the princess as a viable heir?" the succession coach asked cautiously.
"She may be our nation's last hope," Arthur whispered.
Awin felt the words lodge in his chest like a blade. Not suited?* *Unspoiled? His fists clenched.
—
Later that afternoon, Awin and Zarela stood at the archery range, their tutor beside them with parchment notes and courtly composure. The air smelt of straw and sun.
"Before we begin," the tutor said, holding up a scroll, "answer me this, both of you:
A kingdom stands on the brink of rebellion. The cause? The king's silence over a grievous injustice. To restore peace, he must either sacrifice a loyal general or his own reputation. Which should he choose, and why?
Awin answered first. "He should sacrifice the general. Peace matters more than loyalty. One man is expendable." His arrow flew wide.
Zarela nocked her arrow, thoughtful. "Neither," she said, her tone measured. "He should speak the truth, acknowledge the injustice, and allow the people to see that accountability exists—even at the highest level. Then, rather than sacrificing anyone, he leads by example and preserves both loyalty and trust."
She released her shot—it landed near the bullseye.
Awin's jaw tightened. "That's unrealistic. The general goes. People care more about peace than idealism." His arrow flew wide, nearly missing the target entirely.
Zarela, calm and poised, loosed another arrow with precision.
Awin watched her, jaw tight.
The tutor scribbled something, pausing only to glance at Zarela. "An elegant solution. One not easily reached."
For the first time, Awin felt fear and anxiety and he knew why, Zarela was going to steal the one thing he had longed for his entire life, he had to do something soon. It was that desperation that led Awin to the Dukedom of Chastivy, he wanted to win his father's favour and what better way than to remove his father's enemies?
---
Awin entered the throne room with blood still fresh on his gloves. He dropped the burlap sack at his father's feet.
The head of the Duke of Chastivy rolled out, the mouth frozen in a final, slack-jawed horror.
Arthur didn't speak. He stared at it as though it might explain itself.
"I did it for you," Awin said quietly. "You always said he was a problem."
Arthur raised his eyes. "So you beheaded him?"
"You said we needed loyalty. Unity. He was an enemy of the crown."
The king didn't answer. He sank slowly onto the throne, one hand dragging across his tired face.
"I've done what you couldn't," Awin continued. "That should mean something."
Arthur's voice was quiet. "It means you have no idea what you've just done."
"I've done what a king must."
"No," Arthur snapped, sudden fire in his voice. "You've done what a butcher does."
Awin stepped forward, fists clenched. "You say I lack discipline. You say I'm not ready. But you should be thanking me. I've proven I will not hesitate to protect this kingdom."
"By murdering one of our oldest vassals?"
The king's voice cracked. "You think cruelty makes you strong, but I've lived with blood on my hands long enough to know—cruelty only eats away what's left of the man beneath."
Arthur stood now, chest heaving. His eyes held something Awin had never seen before. Not anger. Not disappointment.
Fear.
"I wanted better for you," the king said.
"You don't want me," Awin spat. "That's the truth, isn't it?"
Arthur didn't deny it.
Wrath like Awin's doesn't fade. It calcifies.
He bribed one of the king's trusted pages—a boy barely fourteen—for access to the king's correspondence and personal reflections. In those stolen notes, he found confirmation: Arthur was planning to pass the crown to Zarela.
"She is untouched by our sins," the letter read. "Born of my blood but raised far from our rot. She is the hope we denied ourselves."
Awin snapped the letter in half with trembling fingers.
Hope, he decided, was overrated. If Arthur wasn't going to give him the throne, he'd just have to take it, Awin decided to embark on a purge and get rid of all his obstacles, his entire house would met their ends at his hands. It began at dawn.
The royal wing was silent as Awin moved through its halls with a dagger in his hand. His mother, Delilah, was the first. She rose from her sleep, startled but smiling at the sight of him.
"Awin?"
He said nothing.
And just like that she bled into her sheets before the smile had time to fade.
Next were his cousins—three of them—found in the eastern chamber. Then an uncle who barely had time to lift his head from prayer.
He reached his father last. Arthur stood by the window, reading, as if waiting.
"So," Arthur said, not turning, "is this the end of our house?"
"You ended it," Awin growled.
Arthur faced him. "I tried to save it. You only saw the crown. Never the weight."
"You gave it to her."
"I gave it to someone who might heal what we broke."
Awin thrust the dagger deep.
Arthur slumped forward, whispering, "And so the rot continues…"
—
Zarela's cell was next. He had instructed his men to imprison her because he wanted to save the best for the last. He had her tortured but now he was going to kill her and relish seeing the one person who'd always made him feel small being vanquished.
She looked up, bloodied but defiant.
"You'll die with them," Awin said, his voice like the chilly arctic
"No," she whispered, "because the signet is with me."
He froze.
"What?"
"The royal signet. Without it, your reign is illegitimate. It's passed through generations. You'll never find it if I die."
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded.
"You leave to see another day"
—
Awin let her leave with plans that he would kill her once he got his hands on the royal signet. But Zarela wasn't one to cave under pressure no amount of torture made her confess. Awin knew the only way to get her to tell him was if she said of her own volition, if she was utterly docile to him.
And he knew just the thing; the oculus plant.
The Oculus plant grew deep within the royal greenhouses. It dulled pain. Clouded memory. Bent the will.
He ordered her meals laced with it. For weeks, Zarela was fed nothing else.
Her mind fogged. Her body slumped. The fire in her eyes dulled to ash.
When he visited, she did not speak. Only stared.
He smiled.
—
[Ten years later/ End of Flashback]
Awin sat upon the throne, his crown heavy but secure.
He had sacrificed sentiment. He had burned the bridges that tethered him to softness.
And now, finally, he felt it:
He was closer to his goal than ever before.
Meanwhile...
Melinda reached for her bell, she needed her maid to get her some ointment for a head massage.
Ding dong "Zarela" Melinda called.
Melinda called for a few times before Zarela came in.
"What's the matter? You took forever to arrive" Melinda asked
"Sorry, I had a migraine" Zarela muttered with a small smile, one that Melinda noted as unusual for her normally quiet maid.
"Are you okay now?"
"I'm fine, my lady, there was something I had to remember"
Zarela answered a knowing valiant smile. Awin, won't you just love to hear this news?
To be continued...