The garden had once been a place of music, laughter, and dreams whispered between the hedges. Now, under the eerie glow of twin blood moons hanging in the sky, it felt abandoned — a graveyard of forgotten promises.
Elias walked alone, the Crown of Broken Crowns clutched tightly in his hand, not on his head. Each step he took stirred the fallen leaves into gentle swirls, and the night's cold breath bit against his skin. His royal robe dragged behind him like a chain.
He stopped by the Willow of Sorrows, an ancient tree whose gnarled branches had borne witness to every secret and every betrayal of the royal family. Here, under the moonlight, Elias wrestled with himself — the man he was, the king he was expected to be, and the monster he feared he would become.
The whispers of the crown still teased him, sweet and venomous.
"They betrayed you. They doubted you. Strike first. Rule with an iron hand. Power is your salvation."
He squeezed the crown harder, feeling the sharp bite of the gem-encrusted edges against his palm. Blood trickled down his wrist, but Elias welcomed the pain. It reminded him he was still human.
"I am not them," he whispered into the stillness.
The words sounded frail, but they were true. He would not be another mad king chained to the endless hunger for power. But even knowing that, the temptation remained, heavy and burning inside him.
--
A rustle behind him. Elias turned sharply — hand moving instinctively to the dagger hidden beneath his robe — but it was only Sophia. She approached slowly, her black cloak billowing like the wings of a raven, her silver hair glinting in the moonlight.
"You think you can fight it alone," she said, her voice low, almost broken. "But the crown was forged from despair, Elias. It feeds on loneliness."
He wanted to deny it, but couldn't. Every hour since he had taken the throne, the isolation had grown — a hollowing-out of his soul. Even among the council, among crowds, he had never felt more alone.
"Then what should I do?" he asked, voice catching. "How do I carry a burden no man should bear?"
Sophia stepped closer. Her hand, pale and delicate, reached for his bleeding one. She cupped it gently, her fingers cool against his fevered skin.
"You don't carry it," she said softly. "We do. Together."
There was a sorrow in her eyes that struck deeper than any blade. Sophia knew the price of crowns. She had lost a brother to one. She had lost herself to one once.
Elias felt his defenses crumble. For a rare moment, the king and the man inside him were the same — vulnerable, raw, desperate.
He let her guide his hand down, resting the crown on the mossy ground beneath the willow.
And then, wordlessly, she embraced him.
It wasn't the embrace of subjects to a king, nor lovers lost in passion — it was something deeper. The silent promise that he would not drown alone.
---
The night seemed to hold its breath.
And then — a sharp hiss.
Sophia jerked back, her eyes wide in horror. An arrow whistled through the air and struck the trunk of the willow just inches from Elias's head.
Shouts erupted from the shadows. Figures in black cloaks surged forward — assassins.
Without thinking, Elias grabbed Sophia's arm and yanked her behind him. His dagger flashed into his hand. He dropped the crown completely, letting it roll into the grass.
Five men, maybe six, moved fast, encircling them.
Sophia produced a hidden blade from her boot, and for the first time, Elias saw a side of her she had never shown — cold, merciless precision.
"They're after the crown," she hissed.
"But they'll have to kill us first," Elias growled, blood pounding in his ears.
The first assassin lunged. Elias sidestepped him with surprising agility, driving his dagger deep into the man's ribs. He twisted hard. The assassin dropped without a sound.
Another came at Sophia. She moved like a shadow, ducking under the swing of a sword and slashing across her attacker's knee. The man screamed and fell.
But for every one they felled, two more seemed to appear. It was a trap, well-planned and executed.
And somewhere, in the chaos, Elias knew — this was no random attempt. This was orchestrated. Someone from within the court had betrayed him.
---
Sophia and Elias fought side by side, but it was clear they were outnumbered.
"We need to move!" Sophia shouted, blocking a blow that would have cleaved Elias's head.
He nodded, blood blurring his vision. Together they fought their way toward the outer wall of the garden, but just as freedom seemed within reach — a figure appeared, silhouetted by the blood moons.
It was Lord Arden.
He was calm, composed, as if he had known all along how this night would end.
"You are unfit," Lord Arden said simply. "The crown must return to those who can wield it without weakness."
Elias staggered, the words hitting harder than any blow.
"You..." he managed to say.
Lord Arden inclined his head. "I advised your father. I watched him fall. I advised your brother. I watched him rot. I will not let this kingdom crumble because of a boy who listens to his heart instead of his mind."
Sophia moved protectively in front of Elias, dagger raised.
"You won't win, Arden," she spat.
The old advisor smiled grimly. "I already have."
He snapped his fingers. More assassins emerged from the darkness. Too many. Too fast.
Elias realized the truth with a sinking heart: this had never been about the kingdom's survival. It had always been about power.
---
Sophia yanked Elias roughly by the arm, and together they fled into the night, the sounds of pursuit closing behind them.
They were no longer rulers or nobles. They were fugitives — hunted by the very kingdom Elias was born to protect.
As they ran, the cold air slicing their lungs, Elias glanced back once at the throne, the crown lying abandoned under the tree, and the memories of all he had lost.
"This isn't the end," he told himself, gritting his teeth.
"This is just the beginning."
---