The King rose to his feet, confusion knitting his brows as he took in the sight of his bloodied brother. The metallic scent of iron clung to the air, thick and suffocating. His brother's sword, slick with fresh blood, gleamed under the candlelight.
"Brother… are you okay?" his voice wavered slightly, his instincts screaming that something was terribly, terribly wrong. "Are we being attacked?"
But his brother said nothing.
Silence stretched between them, an eerie, suffocating weight pressing against his chest. The King turned his gaze toward Elizabeth—his beloved Elizabeth, but she refused to meet his eyes.
Her head was bowed, her delicate fingers clutching the hem of her gown. Like a child standing before her parents, guilt-stricken after committing a grave sin.
His heartbeat quickened.
"What's going on?" he repeated, his voice edged with something raw, something close to desperation.
Then—
BANG!
The doors to his chamber burst open, a man stumbling in before crashing to the floor. Blood seeped from his chest, his hand clutching desperately at his heart as he gasped for air.
It was General Caelum.
The King's most trusted man. The one who had stood by his side since the days when he was just a soldier, fighting on the battlefield with nothing but a rusted blade and dreams of a united kingdom.
The general's trembling gaze locked onto him.
"Your Majesty… you must hurry and escape!" his voice was hoarse, his breath labored. "A mutiny has occurred—"
But then his words faltered.
His eyes flickered to the man standing in the center of the room. The King's brother.
Understanding dawned upon him, and his pained expression twisted into something furious.
He drew his sword in a swift, practiced motion, pointing it toward the traitor.
"Your Majesty—get away from him!"
His voice echoed through the chamber, raw with urgency and betrayal.
Then
"You traitor!"
With a battle cry, the general charged, his blade aimed straight for the prince's throat.
But he was too weak.
Too wounded.
The King's brother sidestepped with ease, twisting his sword and driving it through the general's throat in one, brutal motion.
The general froze.
His eyes widened as blood gurgled from his lips. He turned his head toward the King, his fingers twitching, his hand reaching out, pleading, urging.
Run.
But the King couldn't move.
His body refused to listen as he watched the light fade from his most loyal companion's eyes.
Then
With a sickening sound, the sword was ripped free, and the general's body collapsed to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
The King's chest heaved, his eyes burning as he whispered, "Brother… I never thought you'd go this far."
His brother exhaled through his nose, gripping his sword tightly. "You left me no choice."
"No, your greed left you no choice." The King's voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it.
The King's gaze darkened.
"You made a mistake, brother." His voice was low, cold as winter frost.
His brother tilted his head, amused. "Oh? And what mistake would that be?"
"Not killing me early on," the King said, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "And trying to face me in battle."
He took a step forward.
"You know you're not a match for me."
Then
A crimson sword materialized in his hand.
It shimmered with an eerie glow, the blade pulsating with power, as if responding to the fury rising within him.
With a single step, he positioned himself in front of Elizabeth, shielding her from harm.
His brother chuckled darkly, shaking his head.
"Oh, brother, you've always liked to remind me that you're stronger than me. But the truth is, you're weak."
The King's grip on his sword tightened.
"You're a coward," his brother continued. "Afraid of taking more, even when you have the means."
"If gaining power means becoming corrupt, then I would rather remain a coward," the King shot back, his voice like ice. "Sending more people to those mines is inhumane. I will not allow it. And I'll stop you here."
His brother smiled.
A slow, knowing smile.
"You see, dear brother…" His tone was almost mocking, as if he had already won. "I know I'm not as strong as you. That's why I took precautions."
The King's heart lurched.
Then
He felt it.
A strange, unnatural pounding in his chest.
Slow at first.
Then
Faster.
Harder.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, growing erratic. His vision blurred, his breath hitched, and suddenly, his legs gave out beneath him.
Poison.
The realization struck him like a blade to the gut.
He collapsed to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp as his body convulsed. His fingers clutched at his chest, desperate to still the roaring storm inside him.
His vision swam. His mind was a haze of pain and confusion.
Elizabeth.
Is she okay?
He forced his gaze upward, toward his beloved—toward the woman he had cherished above all else.
But the angel he once saw in her…
Was gone.
Standing in her place was something else entirely. A serpent cloaked in golden silk.
She hadn't moved. Hadn't screamed. Hadn't reached for him in horror.
No—
She stood there unharmed.
Unbothered.
He tried to speak, tried to call her name. "Elizab…"
But his voice came out as a mere whisper.
She poisoned our wedding wine.
The thought slammed into him like a death sentence.
He had been so blind.
He wanted to scream. To demand why? Why had she done this? Why had she betrayed him?
But he didn't have time to think—
Because his brother was already moving.
With one swift motion, his sword plunged into the King's stomach.
A sharp, blinding pain tore through him.
He gasped, blood spilling from his lips as the steel carved its way through flesh and bone.
His brother leaned in close, his voice a whisper in his ear.
"You should've seen this coming, brother."
The King's vision dimmed.
His strength faded.
And for a long time in his life.
He felt cold.