While Vera grappled with her horrifying new reality in the squalor of the capital's poorest district, Lord Ainsworth, in the opulent heart of Eldoria Castle, was consumed by a different kind of torment: pure, unadulterated fury.
The physician, Alaric, had been dismissed hours ago. His two most trusted guards, brutish men loyal only to his coin, had been posted outside Valerie's study door. Yet, when Ainsworth had finally, with feigned reluctance, allowed the physician back in at dawn to "confirm the inevitable," the room was empty.
The Queen was gone.
"Gone?" Ainsworth had roared, his carefully constructed mask of grief shattering. "What do you mean, gone? A dying woman does not simply vanish!"
His personal guards, a burly man named Borin and his equally thuggish companion, Gav, now pale and sweating, stammered their ignorance. "My Lord," Borin began, "we saw no one enter, no one leave! We swear it!"
"Swear it?" Ainsworth's voice was a low snarl. He strode towards Borin, his face contorted. "You were posted here! Your only task was to ensure no one disturbed her final, sacred moments! And now you tell me she has simply… evaporated?"
"But, My Lord, the door was sealed!" Gav chimed in, wringing his hands. "The windows barred from within!"
With a sudden, vicious movement, Ainsworth backhanded Borin across the face. The crack of the blow echoed in the study. "Silence!" he shrieked. Borin stumbled back, clutching his cheek, fear now stark in his eyes.
"Do you take me for a fool? Perhaps she sprouted wings and flew away? Or did you both drowse on duty, dreaming of the ale you'd buy with my coin?" They were the only two besides himself who now knew this terrifying truth, and their incompetence was galling.
"No, My Lord! Never!" Borin insisted, his voice trembling.
"Fools!" Ainsworth paced like a caged panther. "How could this happen?"
He knew Valerie should be dead. The assassin, the poison – infallible. Someone had intervened. His mind immediately leaped to Duchess Sylvia and the Tower Mage, Clara. But the immediate problem was the vacuum of power, and the dangerous secret of a missing Queen.
He summoned Captain Regis of the Castle Guard. When Regis arrived, Ainsworth had composed himself, a chilling calm settling over his features.
"Captain Regis," Ainsworth began, his voice devoid of its earlier panic, now holding a steely authority.
"A... situation has developed." He lowered his voice, ensuring only Regis could hear him clearly. "The Queen's body is... no longer in her chambers. Removed. By whom, I do not yet know, but my personal guard," he gestured dismissively at Borin and Gav, who flinched, "saw nothing. A vexing mystery."
He watched Regis's stoic face. "However," Ainsworth continued, his eyes glittering, "the physician was clear. Her Majesty was succumbing to the poison. She would be dead by now, regardless of this... removal. Her death was, and is, inevitable."
"As her closest living relative and rightful heir," Ainsworth pressed on, "the stability of Eldoria falls to me. Therefore, as of this moment, Captain, you address your King."
Captain Regis, whose loyalty was more to the crown itself than any individual, met Ainsworth's gaze. With the Queen presumed dead by her brother, and Ainsworth asserting his claim, his duty was to the seat of power. He gave a stiff, formal bow. "Your Majesty."
Ainsworth's lips curved into a slight, cold smile. "Good. Your loyalty is noted. Now, this information about her body's... absence... is to remain strictly between us and my two guards. Understood? To the world, she died in her bed."
Regis inclined his head. "Understood, Your Majesty."
"Excellent," Ainsworth continued, his tone becoming even colder. "Your first task, then, is critical and requires absolute discretion. You are to find a body. A woman, of the Queen's approximate build and coloring. Procure it, Captain, no matter the means. This body will be presented as the Queen's for the state funeral, which will be held next week. It must be… convincing. Ensure it is unrecognizable enough to forestall questions, perhaps after some unfortunate 'damage' suggesting a struggle or the effects of her 'illness,' but undeniably deceased."
"Eldoria needs closure, Captain. They need to mourn their 'departed' Queen before they can fully embrace their new King."
His gaze sharpened. "You will ensure the court is informed that Queen Valerie has, tragically, succumbed to the illness that so grievously afflicted her following the traitorous attack."
"The narrative is simple: the Queen is dead. I am King."
While Captain Regis, his expression unreadable, departed to carry out these grim and ethically challenging orders, Ainsworth began his next moves.
He convened an emergency council of nobles, many still bleary-eyed and shocked by the summons. As they assembled, Ainsworth scanned the room, a predatory gleam in his eye. He was particularly keen to see Duchess Sylvia's face, to witness her crumble in terror and despair. But neither she nor the Tower Mage were anywhere to be found. A frown creased his brow – their absence was unexpected, perhaps even problematic. But then he dismissed it with an internal sneer. Let them hide. He didn't truly care if they were there to witness his ascension; his priority now was the grand performance, to act the part of the grieving brother forced to become King, to 'avenge' his sister. Their personal reactions were, for the moment, irrelevant to his larger ambitions.
With a masterful display of grief, his voice thick with emotion, Ainsworth addressed the assembled nobles. He paused, his shoulders visibly trembling, as if struggling to contain his sorrow.
"My Lords," he began, his voice cracking artfully, "it is with a heart heavier than any stone that I… that I must impart the most grievous news."
He dabbed at his eye with a linen cloth. "Our beloved Queen Valerie… my dearest sister…" He choked back a sob that sounded utterly convincing. "Despite the valiant efforts of Physician Alaric, despite all our hopes and prayers… she has… she has succumbed."
He allowed a moment for the shock to ripple through the chamber, then continued, his voice resonating with feigned anguish.
"The cowardly assassin's poison… it proved too potent for even her strong spirit. She passed from us in the darkest hours of the night, leaving our kingdom bereft, and myself… shattered."
As sorrowful murmurs and gasps of disbelief filled the chamber, he raised a hand, his expression shifting to one of grave determination. "She is gone from us, a light extinguished too soon!"
"In this dark hour," he declared, his tone shifting to one of grave responsibility, "Eldoria requires strength and decisive action. My sister, in her... tenderness... perhaps overlooked certain fiscal realities. To ensure the stability of the crown, to fund the necessary strengthening of our defenses against those who would harm us, and to prepare for a future where Eldoria stands unshakeable, we must make hard choices."
"Therefore, my first acts as your Regent will be to implement immediate and substantial tax increases across all baronies and trade guilds. Furthermore, certain... unnecessary expenditures, such as the extensive state funding for the idle poor, must be curtailed. We must all bear this burden for Eldoria's greater good."
A stunned silence followed his pronouncements, broken only by a few hesitant nods from those too cowed or opportunistic to object. With the kingdom reeling and no other clear claimant, Ainsworth was swiftly declared Regent, tasked with overseeing the upcoming state funeral and guiding Eldoria.
By midday, a tragically mutilated female corpse had been 'discovered' in a remote part of the woods – a testament to Captain Regis' grim efficiency. This 'confirmation' of her death paved the way for Ainsworth's formal coronation as King Ainsworth I, which he announced would follow the period of mourning.
Ainsworth's true nature, now unleashed, began to emerge immediately. The new, crippling taxes he had proclaimed were levied without mercy. The cessation of aid to the poorest districts caused immediate hardship, which he dismissed as necessary austerity. Old grievances were settled with swift, merciless edicts. Eldoria, once a kingdom of justice and measured prosperity, began to groan under an iron fist.
Days later, in the dead of night, with the 'Queen's body' – a heavily veiled and artfully damaged corpse that had been procured and meticulously prepared – now lying in state, and funeral preparations underway, King-to-be Ainsworth stood alone in what had once been Valerie's private chambers. The room had been hastily 'redecorated' – her books and simple tapestries replaced with ostentatious hangings.
He poured himself a generous goblet of Valerie's finest Arbor Red.
A slow, malicious smile spread across his face. He raised the goblet.
"To you, sister," he purred. "All your meticulous planning, your selfless dedication... And where did it get you? Soon to be in a very public, very final grave, though not quite your grave, is it?" He chuckled softly, the secret knowledge adding a perverse spice to his triumph.
He took a long, deep draught. "This," he said, his voice a low, triumphant laugh, "is all mine now. All the power you wielded so… cautiously."
He threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, ugly sound.
"You worked so hard, Valerie. And I," he took another swig, "am reaping all the rewards. Sweet dreams, dear sister, wherever your actual, inconvenient body has flown."
All your quaint notions of 'duty' and 'sacrifice' for these peasants... They'll soon learn what true authority feels like under my reign. You were always far too soft, sister, far too trusting."
The laughter echoed, a testament to a dream nearly fulfilled, and a kingdom steadily plunging into darkness, built upon an even deeper layer of deceit than most would ever know.