A Portrait, a Promise, and a Man Descending into Madness

In a hidden manor somewhere beyond the palace walls, the chamber radiated an aura of immense wealth, a fact immediately apparent to any who crossed its threshold. Within a deep purple chamber, the opulence was undeniable. Walls veined with gold leaf framed a magnificent black couch that commanded the center of the space. Heavy shutters were drawn and locked, jealously guarding the manor’s secrets from the outside world. The only illumination came from the soft, dancing light of a fire blazing in the hearth, its flames casting flickering shadows that writhed upon the walls.

A lone figure was sprawled across the black couch in a posture of weary contemplation, one arm dangling lifelessly over the edge, the other draped across his chest. His gaze was fixed on a photograph of a young family displayed on the far side of the room.

“Your son is a menace, sister,” he murmured, his voice a low, raspy sound that seemed to be swallowed by the room’s shadows. “A despot. And the solitary hope of his eventual ruin is all that stays my hand against him.” The man paused, as if expecting the portrait to offer a reply. “But now he has found his ‘other half,’ and she is an absolute imbecile. A blundering girl. A fool.”

After a long moment, the profound stillness was broken by a soft rap at the door.

“Enter!” the man barked without lifting his head.

The door opened to reveal an older man, the butler, who bowed his head slightly. “It’s Mr. Isaak, sir,” the butler announced quietly.

“Send him in.”

With a deferential nod, the butler withdrew. A moment later, the door opened again, and the young man identified as Isaak stepped inside.

“You have something to report?” the man on the couch inquired, his eyes still locked on the photograph.

“The King has begun preparations for a ball, to be followed by a festival,” Isaak reported crisply. “It is to celebrate General Gathersword’s recent victory over the ‘rebels.’”

“Rebels?” The man scoffed, the sound dripping with derision. “Ha!” He finally pushed himself to his feet, a sudden surge of energy animating his frame. “We are a revolution!”

Isaak stood motionless, his expression unreadable.

After a tense minute, the general asked, “Is that all?”

Isaak acknowledged with a faint sound, and the general continued. “I appreciate the update. I will begin making my own plans. You are dismissed.”

“Long live the revolution,” Isaak said with a shallow bow, before turning and exiting the chamber as silently as he had arrived.

Now standing, General Gathersword walked to the ornate mirror positioned above the fireplace. He confronted his reflection, his gaze lingering on the haggard man who stared back. A man with uneven hair, a shadowy beard clinging to his jaw, and eyes that were bloodshot and sunk in dark, weary hollows. Turning away from his own image, he approached the portrait once more. With a hand that trembled slightly, he reached out and touched the face of the lone woman in the photograph—a woman with long, flowing brown hair and gentle brown eyes, bearing a striking resemblance to the reigning queen, though they were not identical.

“Sister, your daughter has fled the country,” he whispered, the sound laden with a sorrow so deep it was almost a physical weight. “Driven away by her own half-brother, who remains ignorant of her very existence.” He leaned his forehead against the cool wall beside the frame and closed his eyes. “Sister, I am going to kill your son. And I pray that one day, you find it in your heart to forgive me for it.”

Morgan

Ever since my placement in the palace, my apprenticeship under Josias, King Stefan's royal physician, had progressed smoothly. Every day brought new knowledge, and in return, I shared with him the little that I knew. I could not, however, fathom why I had been summoned to King Stefan’s private study today.

“Morgan, please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the chair positioned before his enormous, imposing desk. I sat down cautiously.

“Your Majesty,” I began slowly, “if I may be so bold, why am I here?” My eyes darted around the room. We were entirely alone.

“Call me Stefan, Morgan,” he replied, a smile forming on his lips that did not quite reach his eyes. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach, but I offered a gentle nod.

“Morgan, you are a remarkably beautiful woman,” he continued, his voice smooth as silk. “You possess a radiance that outshines any woman I have ever encountered.”

A chill slithered down my spine. I did not like where this was headed. Not at all. This was not a direction I appreciated! My mind raced. I barely knew the King! Our only significant interaction had been when I was treating him for a bout of chickenpox, a decidedly unromantic affair. An image of Markus’s kind, smiling face flashed in my mind, and a pang of guilt, sharp and sudden, struck me. Why did I feel as if I were betraying him? I didn't even like Markus in that way!

“As you may or may not know,” the King went on, oblivious to my inner turmoil, “I have yet to find a queen. There are difficult times ahead, Morgan, and I must secure a successor in the event I am slain in battle.”

What? Was he propositioning me to be his broodmare?

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” I declared, my voice clear and firm, “I have no intention of marrying or bearing children anytime soon.”

The King’s grin widened. What was wrong with him? It was a chilling spectacle, a smile utterly devoid of warmth, a predator's smile. I had just rejected him, and he was grinning?

“I understand this is something you must consider,” he said coolly. “I will give you a few days. Then I will ask you again.”

What? I had just turned him down! D-O-W-N! Where in that sentence did he find the words "I'll think about it"?

I could feel his arrogant stare burning into my back as I rose and quit his study, recognizing a dismissal when I saw one.

Viktor

Despite yesterday culminating in the most mortifying day of his life, Viktor had to admit that the night that followed hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. Waking the next morning to the sight of Natalia’s peaceful, sleeping face beside him, he couldn’t suppress a faint smile. She possessed an unparalleled talent for getting under his skin, yet, he conceded, she wasn’t completely insufferable. With a stretch, he sat up, slipped out of bed, and after preparing for the day and confirming Natalia was still sound asleep, he left his bedroom with that same small smile lingering on his lips.

His steps faltered as he reached Markus’s room. The last time he had entered one of Markus’s chambers, Markus had been—well, it was a memory he preferred not to dwell on. Shaking off the unpleasant recollection, he pushed the door open to find Markus, as expected, still deep in slumber.

Remembering Natalia’s method of waking him, a wry smile touched his lips. The girl was likely having more of an effect on him than he cared to admit. A heavy book Markus had borrowed lay on the bedside table. Viktor snatched the heavy tome and, with a flick of his wrist, launched it with practiced aim. The book sailed through the air, colliding with the floor beside Markus’s head in a resounding thud. Markus shot a foot into the air with a startled yelp, and Viktor chuckled.

“Viktor?” Markus cried out, his voice thick with sleep and shock.

Viktor grinned, perching on the edge of the bed as his friend glared at him.

“You’ve been spending far too much time with Natalia.”

“Seemed to work out well enough for me.”

“Not when my sanity is at stake!” Markus grumbled, but a hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. Viktor chuckled again.

“You’ve changed, you know, Viktor,” Markus said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “In a good way!” he added hastily, just in case. “Back when she first arrived, if we’d tried that little trick on you, you would have killed Natalia and had me severely punished. But I’m willing to bet you didn’t even lay a hand on her last night.”

Viktor fought back a laugh. He hadn’t laid a hand on her, that was true. He had, however, raised a foot—repeatedly stepping on her toes during their dance lesson.

“Do you realize what this means, Viktor?” Markus’s eyes lit up with mischief. “It means I can pull practical jokes on you more often.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Why is it that between you and Natalia, I feel like we have this same argument every single day?”

“Yes. Probably because you do.”

“No. You two are going to drive me insane one day.”

“Yes. Come to the dark side. We have comedy and Natalia.”

“No. Why Natalia?”

“Yes. Because you like her. Like, like-like her.”

“No. You are impossibly childish. What self-respecting adult actually says ‘like-like’?”

“Yes. I know you are, but what am I?”

“You just proved my entire point. And this is never going to end, is it?”

“You forgot to say ‘no.’ I win.”

A flicker of realization crossed Viktor’s face. “Oh, shoot.”