Chapter 36: Ch36 Just A Game
A cup hit the floor with a sharp bang, porcelain skittering across the tiles and spraying dark tea like ink.
Mark’s temper snapped. He snatched at the nearest maid before she could bend to pick it up; her hair was yanked hard enough that she cried out. Her skirts rustled as she scrambled backward on unsteady legs.
"Who told you to do that?" he barked, breath ragged. The room smelled of rain and citrus oil from the servants’ baskets. His voice was thin but vicious, like a sting in velvet.
"I—I’m sorry, si—sire... I won’t do it again... please," she begged, voice wobbling. The tug on her hair turned her face pale. She tried to compose herself, scrambling to the fallen cup with trembling hands.
Mark shoved her with the flat of his palm. "Tell anyone what you saw today and you can kiss your neck goodbye." His jaw worked. When she nodded frantically and bolted, Mark threw himself onto the bed and kicked a cushion into disarray.
He stared at the ceiling, which bloomed with the carved dove of the Temple—white and gold filigree that had always made him feel small and watched. He spat a bitter laugh. "Why did he open his mouth? Why would that idiot tell anyone the prophecy is real? Do I look like a fool?"
The room was an island of carved stone and lacquered wood. Mark flung his shoes aside and clutched at the bedcovers as if they were a shield. He raked a shaking hand through his hair and dabbed his face with a cup of water, more for appearance than thirst.
He looked to be planning for something, but for who?
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Your Majesty," a voice intoned. "The Emperor is here."
"Come in," Mark said, a practiced wheeze stitched to the word.
The door opened and King Darius Asme IV filled the doorway. A golden crown endorsed his head, dressed in the ceremonial gold and white of the temple robes, trailing like history. Hale, the advisor, moved behind him—lean, efficient, perchance a little too fond of bad news. The king’s face was an island of restraint; worry lay in the soft line of his mouth.
"Father," Mark attempted, pushing himself up in a fragile imitation of strength. The act cost a cough; he let it sound grotesquely real.
Darius’s voice was clipped. "Didn’t I tell you not to rise when I arrived?" He tilted his head. "You’re already as weak as a newborn bird. I won’t be the one to break you." There was a teasing cruelty there—affection disguised as annoyance. Anyone listening would assume paternal care. Mark hated the assumption.
He swallowed and forced a faint smile. "But father... would it really be wise for me to attend the Prayer Day?" His tone was contrite. He had practiced it—palms folded, eyes far away, the sick prince who inspires pity and attention.
Darius studied him, the long years of rule and weariness in his eyes. "Why would that be a problem?" His voice was measured, steady like a stone tossed into water.
Mark’s chest tightened. He looked around the bedchamber—velvet curtains, a tapestry of the Empire’s lion crest, the soft bloom of lamplight—and then back at his father. Tears he didn’t feel welled at the corners of his eyes; he let them frame his speech.
"I may be ill, but I hear things. I know what the council whispers. I know the townsfolk call me weak—’a disappointment’... ’a disgrace.’ Would you be happy if such a son led the prayers?" His voice broke on the last word, a studied crack that winced even at him.
Darius let silence settle like dust. Footsteps approached—another intruder to break the fragile tableau.
"Wouldn’t Eilan be better?" Mark added in a smaller voice.
Of course as he spoke the name the door decided at that moment to be swung wide.
"Father... Brother..."
Mark froze
’Uh... speak of the devil"
"Did he seriously have to bring him’
Eilan barreled into the doorway like a sunbeam—twenty years old, untamable brown waves, a grin wide and entirely shameless. Where Mark took after his father, Eilan had been forged in their mother’s image—scheming, hungry, loud.
If history didn’t know their mother as a greedy person, who thirst for money and power, maybe the image would be cute. But Eilan, like their blasted mother also inherited something from her.
Her inability to shut up.
"Oi, brother!" Eilan crowed, running up and flopping into Mark’s lap like a child whose mischief was forgiven before it happened.
Mark tried to maintain his act.
"Ah!" Mark groaned, a glare pointed straight at Eilan whose smile just grew larger.
’How in the world did those women fall for such a brat’
’There must have be colorblind’
"Your highness, I think it’s best you come down" Hale said as he gestured for him to climb down.
"NO!"
"I’M NOT COMING DOWN!" Shouted Eilan as he kicked and screamed.
Damn it!
Shut up you brat!
He let Eilan clamber up, then, at the perfect moment, clutched his collar and hurled him off the bed. Eilan landed in Hale’s arms with a yelp. The courtier’s face was a picture of practiced amusement.
Darius eyes turned into a glare but Mark just coughed louder to hide his expression.
’Yeah right’
’What a foolish man’
’I can read you like an open book, your favoritism shows so bright’
’Atleast have some dignity to mask it’
Mark scrowled, getting annoyed by their presence.
Darius sighed, bored. "That’s enough. We must go." He turned, cloak slung over one shoulder, and Hale fell in step.
A bang and Mark let out a sigh.
Finally, those airheads were gone.
But then.
His bed weight shifted, as if someone had climbed on top.
Mark dared himself to prey his eyes open.
"What’re you thinking?"
Mark wanted to curse.
Why was Eilan still here.
Eilan smirked as he pulled the blanket off Mark waist and jumped down. He moved it to the couch and left it.
"So... you ready to talk?" Asked Eilan, his expression now serious.
Mark shrugged, already hating this.
’Oh thank you mother for giving me such an adorable sibling that I wish I could just strangle him to death’
His face didn’t change.
"I have nothing to say"
Mark replied, but it seem it wasn’t what Eilan wanted to hear.
"Uh ah..."
"You don’t get to chicken out of this"
Eilan moved to grip Mark cloth, his knuckles white.
"It was you wasn’t it"
Mark looked bored.
"Me... what?"
A sudden, loaded silence made the air between them a blade.
"I’ve been in bed all day." Eilan’s voice was a low scrape. "I haven’t done anything to deserve whatever you think I did." His hand shook now; the facade dropped. "So tell me: what did i do?"
Mark’s lips parted a fraction, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
"You..."
"..."
"Mom?..."
"You killed her didn’t you?"
"You killed our mother!" Eilan questioned.
Mark remained silent.
Eilan anger grew as he gripped Mark collar tighter and shaked him. "You—" He said, rage blowing his face into a red mask. "You bastard—what did you do?"
Silence
"...."
"Haha..."
"Hahahaha!"
Eilan moved back. Mark was laughing like a lunatic.
He stopped, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.
He stopped.
A sickly smirk appeared on his face. He smiled sweetly to Eilan.
"And so what?"
"What would you do if I said.."
"...."
"Yes..."
"Yes!"
"I killed her"
"Come on!"
"Go on. React!"
" I killed her. Is that what you wanted? To get some truth? A confession to hang on your tongue and roast me with?" Mark giggled.
"So now, tell me..."
"What’re. You’re. Gonna Do About It"
Eilan lunged.