I try to rise but strong hands shove me back to the pillow. “Where is Sir Gray?”
A figure points to the corner to the outline of a man sitting in a chair, motionless. “He is resting while I look after his charge . You mustn’t fret so much, as I was saying, or you’re going to die, my King.” The darkness hides his face but I swear I can sense a smile behind his words.
A chill of absolute fear circles my spine causing screams to form in my lungs. I clamp my mouth down with my hand. I must not make a fool of myself. This mysterious man could be exactly who he says he is, and I have no real reason, other than the madness of being named King and a potential assassin running about the castle. I am King. I cannot believe it.
The figure beside silent stares as I try to compose myself. “Who are you?”
The man shifts closer to me. “My name is Jonathon Verch. I am a King’s Guard.” His hand grips my shoulder. “Be calm, sire.”
A sigh like a kettle on my mother’s stove seeps between my lips. I let myself relax. “I cannot believe all that has happened today,” I say.
The hand tightens on my arm. “Yes, it was shocking to learn that one of the lesser nobles was named over more legitimate claims. Have you any idea why the King named you?”
I shrug away from the iron grip on my shoulder but the hand remains clasped like a bird of prey on a rodent’s broken neck. I shake my head at his question, but realize he probably cannot see me in this dimly lit room. “I have no idea. It was as much as a surprise to me as anyone. Have they located the King’s assassin?”
“Surely there must be some reason for the King to name one such as yourself as his successor. Were you and the King confidants in secret?”
The panic in my chest blossoms again. I notice he ignored my question. The insulting nature of his words should anger me but fear is my only response. I have never been a brave man. My mother always said I would do best finding a strong-willed woman to bolster my passive nature. My mother always said passive. I always heard coward. Cutting through the fear is a longing for my mother to know that her only son has been named King. The very thought makes a tiny chuckle roll through my lips.
“Did I say something amusing, sire?” Sir Jonothon growls.
“No, I was just thinking of -” I stop myself. I am King. I do not need to explain myself to a mere guard. As a mere noble, I would never have tolerate such insolence from a servant, so as King I surely do not need to take this from a guard. “I am tired. I wish to rest. Please leave.”
The guard makes no attempt to move. His hand remains locked upon my shoulder. His entire body tenses and I can feel his eyes on me, burning into me with malice. I suddenly have no doubt that this man means to harm me. “You are no King. You do not deserve to be King.”
“Sir Nigel!” I cry out to my Captain sleeping in the chair. “Help me!”
Sir Jonathon turns toward the still figure in the chair again. This time he chuckles before turning back to me. “Sir Nigel will not be helping you, Keravin. He died quietly and unspectacularly as he lower you into the bed.”
A knife point touches my chin.
“He was so determined to protect his new King that he forgot to check his back as he entered the room carrying your useless body. Why were you named King? I must know.”
Tears well up in my eyes. My thoughts go to my mother. I remember as a boy he used to call me a Prince. It was a term of endearment, or so I thought at the time. I never knew my father and my mother was a beautiful woman. Was it possible the King and my mother…
This was the thought that I died with. The assassin swiped across my thought and I could feel the warm blood pooling beneath my neck and head. The last words I heard were “You were never to be King. Whatever reason the King had for naming you does not matter. He may as well have cut your throat himself. I want you to know that…” The words faded and a lightness came over me.
I laughed out loud as I thought of my reign as King being a footnote in history. My only significance will be the shortness of my time on the throne. What throne? I never had the chance to even sit my ass in my new throne.
The world around blurs and swirls. I am swimming in air and feeling truly free of all worry and fear. I am never to be King - he said, but I was - I am King.
My mother is at my side, holding my hand, and behind him stands the King. I know instantly that he is my father. He gazes at me with eyes that speak of sadness and pride, and also anger. He pulls me in close and pats my back. My mother kisses my cheek and tells me how proud she is. I am happy. I never wanted to be King but I am glad I had the chance.
The King looks into my eyes with a steely expression. “This isn’t over my son. No. We have the means and the cause to carry on. You shall be King. You shall be avenged .”
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