Under the silent cloak of predawn, Luther crept through the shadowed corridors of the palace. His resolve hardened by grief and suspicion, he had decided to spy on Mathew. Every whispered footstep and rustling cloak in the dim light carried secrets—and Luther vowed to uncover them all. He ducked behind columns and slipped through forgotten passages until, finally, he came upon a hidden chamber. There, through a narrow slit in the heavy door, he glimpsed Mathew poring over scrolls and maps, his expression inscrutable yet laced with a furtive intensity.
Luther's heart pounded as he observed Mathew meticulously organizing plans and ceremonial instructions—details that did not align with the story of an unforeseen ambush. With every careful gesture and every whispered word into the dim recesses of his own mind, Luther recorded these clues; a silent witness to the machinations of a man whose ambition might extend far beyond the throne.
—
The following day, the palace grounds transformed into a stage of solemn grandeur. Under a sky brushed with gentle morning light, citizens, ministers, and noble families gathered in the grand courtyard for a ceremony of state. At its center, amidst beautifully arranged banners and resplendent decorations, stood Mathew—now donning the mantle of the new king. His eyes shone with a controlled fervor as he ascended a dais, his voice poised to touch the hearts of those assembled.
"My beloved people," Mathew began in a tone soft and resonant, "today we gather to honor the memory of our fallen king—a warrior whose valor and benevolence united us for a decade. Markas fought for our peace, for our prosperity, and with his final breath, he bestowed upon us the strength to carry on." His speech, both touching and stirring, moved the crowd to somber applause. Ministers bowed with measured respect, while citizens whispered prayers of gratitude for a life lost so nobly.
As Mathew continued, painting a picture of sacrifice and heroism, his carefully crafted words swirled around the masses like a benediction. Yet behind his composed exterior, a darker passion stirred. Each syllable, each pause, was infused with a secret longing—the last thing he ever truly desired was not just the crown, but also the embrace of Selena herself. In the quiet recesses of his mind, while all eyes were fixed on the public display of mourning and continuity, Mathew's ambition unfurled its forbidden wings. He envisioned a future where not only would he be revered as a just ruler, but the queen by his side would be his own—a final prize to crown his triumph over love, honor, and fate itself.
The ceremony drew to a close with a fervent display of loyalty from the ministers and nobles. In that moment of collective mourning and newfound hope, Mathew allowed himself a nearly imperceptible smile—a grim, determined promise of what was yet to come. The people celebrated a new king, unaware that beneath the veneer of honor lay a man fixated on a legacy of betrayal and desire.
And far away, hidden from prying eyes, Luther's vigilant watch continued. He knew that behind the grandeur of the ceremony and the public adoration, the truth of that fateful night was far from over—and that Mathew's ambitions were not confined solely to the throne, but aimed at the very heart of Selena.