Chapter 15: Ch15 The Lion’s Cage
A golden cup shattered on the carpet with a resounding hiss, wine spraying like blood onto the royal seal stitched into its fibers.
Outside, rain lashed the palace windows in an endless torrent, as if heaven itself was displeased with him. With each rumble of thunder, the walls of the room hummed, light for an instant illuminating the furious face of Crown Prince Mark Asme, heir to the Lion Crest of Evarra. His blond locks, usually shining like gold, stuck damply to his temples from the rivulets of sweat running down his forehead.
"How! Say how, you cursed fool!" His voice splintered like the storm, venomous in the room. He spun around to the hooded figure on his knees.
The figure did not move. Bowed head, cloak flowing from passage through the storm, he was still even as the Prince’s fury tore the room apart.
"How did you let such a stupid knight set out on a quest for the Sacred Sword?" Cursed out his words, Mark slammed a hand on his desk, sending papers—military reports, counterfeit ledgers, cryptic letters—all now blowing about in the wind from the vibrating windowpanes.
"My lord," the man in the hood at last said, voice low and steady, "the sword was carefully hidden. Its resting place was guarded by ancient wards and surveilled by the fiercest of the forest’s creatures. It is almost impossible for anyone to find it, much less lead it out alive."
Mark laughed harshly, humor-free and full of madness. He paced back and forth in the room, fingers tugging at his golden cuffs. "Impossible? Impossible?" He whirled around again, blue eyes flashing like lightning. "And yet Liliana has disappeared. She, of all anyone, has the audacity to destroy my plans. That maddening girl and her self-righteous ideals and her blind loyalty to her line. Do you think I do not know her? Do you think I do not see her obstinacy?"
The hooded man lifted his head just a little. "Even so, my prince, surely she cannot—"
"Cannot?!" Mark bashed his hand on the desk again, the thunder underscoring his rage. "Duke Aithur is with her!"
For the first time ever, the figure’s serenity wavered.
Mark leaned forward, golden curls falling onto his face, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "How can you say it is well hidden when that man has gone into the woods? Do you think I am a fool? The Duke does not take action for nothing. If he is there, then he already knows something."
He sank into the high-backed chair at the rear of his desk—the throne of his private office—and blew a rough breath out. For a moment, he looked up at the vaulted ceiling, painted with lions devouring snakes. His lips curled into a sour smile. "The best, you said... but the best always seems to fall apart where those two are involved."
Neither of them said anything, the only sound being the rain drumming against the glass.
Finally, the hooded man did a throat clear. "Forgive my interruption, my lord, but it was not only them who entered the forest?"
Mark spun his head around. "What are you saying not only them? Tell it out."
"There was. another." The man’s tone was cautious. "A boy. Teenage, no more than seventeen. They said he was their guide."
"A boy?" Mark frowned, tapping his fingers on the desk. "What boy?"
The figure shrugged. "No records. He is not a knight, nor a noble. Just a commoner plucked to lead them. Insignificant."
For a heartbeat, Mark was silent, weighing the words. Then he gave a dismissive snort. "Insignificant or not, he walks beside them. That alone makes him a problem." He leaned back, gaze sliding toward the storm. "Always... always something comes to ruin what I’ve built."
The count threatened a question. "My lord, are you in fear that they will prevail?"
Fists were clenched at Mark’s hips. His voice trembled with repressed hatred. "Indignant? They’re ruining years of my scheming. Do you think my father would ever consider his wretched, idle son capable of masterminding this kingdom’s shift of authority? I’ve played the weakling, the handicap, the disappointment—so well that even the council feels sorry for me. All so that his eyes would never fall on my footsteps. And now." He nodded at the rain. "Now, the two have the audacity to go straight into the middle of the forest. Into my hiding place."
He leapt up, the head of the chair shattering behind him. He strode to the window, his palms thudding against the cold glass as lightning ripped the sky. "I will not allow them. They cannot—will not—excavate it. Even if they succeed, their corpses will be where the trees stand. I’ll handle it."
The hooded man stood at last, brushing the dust off his knees. "Then shall I ready the mages, my lord?"
Mark spun about, a cruel grin slashing across his face. "Yes. Send them. Let the forest itself be their grave."
The man bowed. "Of course."
But Mark was not finished yet. He strode back to his desk, slumping against it as he snarled: "Liliana..." He spat the name like venom. "Was she not meant to be my fiancée? The daughter of House Fiorie, paraded as the jewel of the empire?"
The figure nodded. "Yes, my lord. Many thought the engagement would remain."
"Hah!" Mark released a brief, contemptuous laugh. He shook his head, distaste twisting his lip. "For a woman who understands only her sword arm and not her place, she is not far from the yielding wife I require. Strong, yes. Brave, yes. But loyal? Submissive? No. She would never surrender, and I have no place for a lioness in my den. I want prey I can control, not a predator who bares fangs to me."
The man tilted his head to one side. "Then she is off the list?"
"Off the list," Mark snarled, sweeping the papers scattered across his desk off in a single, angry motion. The parchments flapped like wounded birds across the room. "Let her play the knight. Let her seek glory. But I will not let her ruin what I have created. Not she, not that accursed duke, not this. boy guide of theirs."
The storm crashed a second time, lightning illuminating the room silver. Beneath its brief glow, the prince’s sneer looked close to monstrous.
He sat back once more in his chair, voice low but unyielding. "Send the mages. Raise the barriers. Even if they get their hands on the treasure, they will not take it out alive."
The hooded man bent low, cloak brushing the floor. "It shall be done, my liege."
As the servant vanished behind the door which closed, Mark was left standing alone, the storm raging in harmony with the storm within his soul. He lifted another goblet, clinking hands, and set it down untouched. His reflected image in the black window snarled back at him—golden-haired, blue-eyed, no longer feeble.
He addressed himself, the thunder muting the words:
"This world will be mine."
The storm roared back.