1

From the outside darkness, the castle’s great hall’s windows shinned brightly. A celebration of sorts, a gathering of the weary yet proud house Lecemaire and its guests, and a night’s refuge from the seemingly endless war.

King Edmon Lucemaire’s intentions were clear. He thought of these events a necessity, an opportunity to come together, to lean on each other in these times of great strife. Wine poured, distracting everyone from their troubles, musicians played, entertainers juggled, told jokes. Scrawny roasted chickens——the best the king could do, laid on tables for everyone.

Many of the nobles welcomed this brief escape, finding relief from their arduous, over bearing every day life. But among seemingly coping faces, several in the shadows sulked. Nobles who thought of this feast a bothersome waste of time. Their hearts broiled with rage and heavy from ones they lost. The everyday routine——battle called out to them, only there could their hearts feel light as a feather, only there could they get a trickle of compensation for their grief while greedily trying to take——everything from their enemy.

King Edmon could see this in their burdensome eyes as he walked around along with his guards. Their sentiment was clear, even if they tried to hide their restlessness from him out of respect.

The king would single them out. “Have a drink with me, friend” he invited them. He walked to them, smiling while pouring some wine unto their cups. A minor respite to their restless minds.

The nobles would make worthless political idle talk and praise the king. But sooner or later one would get the courage to ask about the war. Then it seemed like everyone would stop and listen. The king would have rather have had something else to talk to them about other than warfare. But it was inevitable, it seemed like its all they knew about. King Edmon could only indulge them.

King Edmon had earned his subject’s respect even if he wasn’t fond of war nor was he the greatest warrior. He was an accomplished military strategist who had managed to match his father’s capability. He had pushed back the eastern kingdoms into a sort of stalemate. Battles these days were mostly fought on the far borders to the east and with mountain and forest raiding bandits to the south.

It had been eerily quiet the last couple of years. There were still daily battles to be fought, but they were mostly small skirmishes here and there. Sometimes it wasn’t even a battle, more like taunt and retreat, like a long bothersome game of chicken. King Edmon didn’t like it, he could feel it the air. His subjects felt it too, they knew the ways of war. The eerie quiet was a calm before a storm.

Later that night, as bellies were full, guest drowsy with wine, and the feet of the dancing ached, the feast had gone into its own calm, and quiet phase. King Edmon, along with his queen, Maehda had gathered in a sort of social circle with some of the guests. The talking subject had not moved on from war, and it seemed the nobles became more expert with each drink.

The king’s brother, Lord Tomasan Lucemaire was sitting in a near table, intently watching the king. No one more seemingly unhappy than him. The look of resentment he tried to hide was seeping out more than ever. He could never forgive Edmon for taking his place as heir. Even if he got kidnapped for so many years, he thought he would still have the claim to the throne upon his escape. Yet, upon returning, he was advised, even by some who he thought to be most loyal, not to pursue his claim. The people had a king and he had their support. Tomasan had retreated to the shadows, tugging at strings here and there, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

The queen’s mother, lady Elirian was also near by. She had five year old prince Artas wrapped in her arms and on her lap, while the royal jester entertained him with dramatic underhanded tricks. She got up to get some wine, leaving prince Artas for what she thought would be a moment. As she poured her self some wine——the storm came.

There was a sudden small breeze toward King Edmon that seemed to stop time, sucked air made by muffled gasps of the crowd around him, followed by a brief silence. Then, breaking the silence like a thunderstrike opening a storm, the king’s goblet fell to the ground, shattering. Everyone turned fast enough to get a glimpse of the king staggering back, wobbling before falling to one knee.

Screams filled the hall. Queen Maehda tried to reach the king but she also staggered back, the king slipping through her fingers. It seemed her legs were giving out. With a last mighty effort she lunged herself towards the king, falling face first in front of him. Her hand slipping on his shoulder. The king finally fell to the ground as well.

Some guests, along with a healer rushed to check on them. The healer franticly turned over the king’s limp body, put his ear on the king’s chest, then he opened the mouth, looking around the tongue, finally, he opened the king’s eyelids one by one. “Poison, they’ve been poisoned!” he yelled “no one drink the wine!” he warned. Some stood still in shock, others who had drank wine went into a confused frenzy.

Lady Elirian approached the fallen king and queen. She was limping heavily, murmuring as she stepped. The healer’s eyes widen as he noticed a purple liquid running down the conner of her mouth into her chin. She stopped and stood before the king and queen, teary eye. Her legs struggled to support her, before finally giving out. She collapsed besides them, with a soft weep from the crowd.

“Brother! Brother!” Lord Tomasan yelled as he quickly made his way to the king. He knelled down, picked up the kings upper body, supporting the head on his chest and wrapped the king tightly in his arms. “What have they done to you, brother” he yelled for everyone to hear. He buried his face between the king’s neck, only his unkempt hair showing. His hard sobbing was indistinguishable from loud muffled laughter.

Then a second, stronger storm revealed itself. At first it was like distant thunder, a horn that only few heard, they hoped they were mistaken in their hearing, that it was just the drunkenness. But then another horn was heard, this time by everyone. It shook them to their core, making even the most drunken snap into cold sobriety. They waited, hoping for all there wasn’t a third horn.

When the third horn came, it was the closest and loudest. Everyone looked at each other, anguish in their eyes. But before anyone could panic, a solder kicked the door of the hall open, entering with great urgency. He walked to the center of the hall “My king, I bring grave news” he shouted, looking around, trying to pick out the king from the crowd. “My king!” he repeated.

“The king is dead!” Lord Tomasan loudly proclaimed, drawing the messengers attention to him. The messenger staggered, then came to Tomasan where his pace came to standstill at the sight of the fallen king and queen. “Speak” Lord Tomasan said. No response. “Speak!” he repeated, filling the hall with a loud echo.

“Ri-Right!” the messenger gathered himself “The eastern kingdom’s armies marches towards us, it looks like a full on assault” It was worse than everyone thought, even for Lord Tomasan who planned it all. He had been betrayed or outwitted by a eastern army general.

Lord Tomasan stood, carelessly letting Edmon’s corpse fall limp to the ground. He reached down and grabbed the crown that fell from King Edmons head. “Looks like it was destiny, friends. Just like my father before me… and my brother, in this time of darkness this kingdom needs a king and I, Tomasan will answer the call”. He put the crown on his head and drew his sword raising it above “I will command the army and push back the eastern kingdoms!” No one objected, nor could they.

That same night, new King Tomasan rode to meet the eastern kingdoms in battle. It was a costly battle on both sides. Some say the victory was due to King Edmon’s army that he left behind, others swear it was all King Tomasan’s military genius.

As for prince Artas who had lost almost everything in one night. Even so young, he knew it was his uncle, Lord Tomasan who had killed his father and mother. For now he hid his rage deep inside, feigning the ignorance of a child. He would have to wait for his own opportunity to strike. Little did he know, in a den of snakes, he would become a snake without tail.