The moon was but a sliver, allowing a sea of dazzling stars to glimmer beyond the arched windows. Amidst the celestial tapestry, the lights of Victra's fallen soldiers shimmered like distant constellations, each one a beacon in their own right. Gabriel walked through the castle's hallways, his steps slow and hesitant.
He hadn't spoken to the king since the day Tunklard was dismissed, and his nerves gnawed at him. Sweat trickled down his spine, but he knew this was the only way forward. Lord Loftus could not be allowed to continue his treason. Lovren's words had confirmed Gabriel's suspicions, and though he didn't yet have the complete picture, he knew the missing details would fall into place.
Gabriel wasn’t sure why he felt nervous at all. Maybe within the deep recesses of his mind, he yearned for the king's approval. If he could uncover the truth and protect the kingdom, maybe he would accept him. But there was more to his nerves. Am I doing the right thing in going to the king? Shaking the thoughts from his head, he resolved to speak with the king. Gaining a private audience would prove to be a difficult task, but it needed to be done.
As he walked down the corridor, Gabriel distracted himself by counting the flickering lanterns that hung at regular intervals. Their warm glow paved the way down the corridor. The narrow passageway stretched before him, flanked by stone walls adorned with tapestries telling tales of valor and conquest.
Occasionally, small alcoves with ornate statues interrupted the smooth flow of the walls. The These statues depicted legendary figures, frozen in heroic poses. The majority of the creations illustrated Accamanus; they told the chronological life of his story, starting when he was a child a little older than Gabriel and running all the way through to his wrinkled visage. His eyes seemed to track Gabriel's every move. The lantern light played upon his sculpted details, casting shadows that seemed to summon him to life.
Each step brought Gabriel closer to his destination, his anticipation mounting with every step. As he continued onwards, the corridor seemed to narrow, its walls closing in.
As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of a young maid exiting the king's chambers. Her presence at this late hour seemed out of place, and her disheveled appearance hinted at distress. Strands of her blonde hair peeked out from beneath her headscarf, disarrayed and untamed. Lost in her own thoughts, she walked with an unsteady gait, swaying from side to side, almost as if caught in a whimsical dance.
Oblivious to Gabriel's presence, she remained immersed in her contemplation until they were mere strides apart. When she finally looked up, fear etched across her face, swiftly giving way to a surge of anger. Gabriel couldn't help but find her strikingly beautiful, yet he couldn't fathom why her wrath was directed at him. With a brief curtsy devoid of any words, she hurriedly continued on, as if urgently seeking escape from her current predicament.
After passing 148 lanterns, Gabriel approached the two grizzled old warriors who guarded the king's chambers. The same guards who had scrutinized him during his previous encounter with the king. They respectfully bowed before him, and the taller guard raised an eyebrow, asking, “Prince, what brings you here?”
With as much haughtiness as he could muster, Gabriel replied, “I'm here to speak with the king.” He needed to act as if it were a normal occurrence.
“The king is not to be disturbed,” the shorter guard responded.
“I am the prince, and it is not a guard's position to question those of the king’s line,” Gabriel asserted. Although the words felt wrong on his tongue, he had a role to play.
The shorter guard's gaze hardened, his body tensing. “The king has limited the number of people allowed into his chambers,” he said. Inferring that Gabriel was not among the few permitted entry.
“The king will want to speak with me once he hears what I have to say. It is not your place to prevent me from knocking on those doors.” Gabriel gestured angrily towards the chamber.Anger flared in the guard's eyes, his hand inching towards his hilt. "Where do you think you're putting your hand, Prince?” he scolded, as Gabriel raised his fist to knock.
Gabriel snapped back, “I should ask you the same. Do you dare lay your hand on your sword in my presence?" He feigned rage, trying to assert his authority.
The guard bowed his head low. “Apologies, my prince. It was not my intent.”
Both guards grew visibly uncomfortable, their once statuesque postures now shifting restlessly. Sensing the opportune moment, Gabriel added pressure. “Knock on the door immediately, soldiers. The king will see me.”
The guards exchanged glances, the shorter one shrugging before the taller one’s eye twitched then resolutely nodded He took in a deep breath before softly knocking on the king's door.
A crashing sound echoed from behind the doors, followed by the clatter of plates hitting the ground. Muffled grumbling could be heard from within the room. “This better be damn good,” the king's voice reverberated from behind the door as he swung it open.
Gabriel could see a sneer on the king's face, but as his eyes fell upon Gabriel, it turned into a hideous expression of malice. The king, only half-dressed, asked, “What are you doing here?” Spittle flew from his mouth with each word, each syllable ringing like a bell.
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Gabriel looked up at the king, determined. “I have information that will prove valuable to you,” he replied.
The king's gaze shifted to the guards, his eyes piercing them. “I told you, the only ones allowed to knock on my door are my other children.”
Gabriel had anticipated this response but hearing the words out loud made him feel as though he had been slapped. My siblings are welcome in the king's presence, but I am scorned. Unwanted. A memory of fear and humiliation flooded back to him.He couldn't allow a repeat of the past, couldn't bear the shame once more. Steeling himself, he knew he needed to capture the king's attention. “It's about the wheat that's gone missing.”
The king’s demeanor shifted; his brows rose as if trying to decipher his unwanted son’s words.
Gabriel pressed on “I have the answers you seek.”
With a final glare at his guards—one that promised punishment—the king turned abruptly, wordlessly entering his chambers and leaving the door ajar. Uncertain what to do next, Gabriel looked to the guards, only to be met with looks of with animosity. He knew they would hold him responsible for their embarrassment. He felt a pang of guilt. They would face consequences for failing to follow orders. But I can’t afford to be distracted. Not Now.
Gabriel strode purposefully into the chambers, his footsteps steady and confident. He gently pushed the door closed behind him, shutting out the outside world. The grandeur of the room captivated Gabriel. No distractions. Gabriel remained standing, observing as the king impatiently tapped his fingers, waiting for Gabriel to speak.
He did not keep him waiting for long. “I know what you’ve been investigating.” The king spread out his hands and subtly shook his head, as if Gabriel couldn’t possibly know.
“I know you've been investigating Lord Loftus and his claims of a wheat shortage caused by the winter. I also know you don't believe his excuses and that you suspect he may be secretly selling the wheat to someone outside our kingdom. The missing spy has only heightened your suspicions.”
The king stood from his ornate gold chair and lunged at him, grabbing him by the shirt collar with both hands. He lifted Gabriel off the ground, leaving his legs dangling freely. “How do you know this? Who told you?” The king seethed with anger, his voice reaching a crescendo that rattled Gabriel’s brain.
He whimpered, “No one, my king. Although I am not a warrior. I understand things; I’ve learned this from whispers and intuition, and I’ve studied all there is to know of wheat and grain”.
“I know you are no warrior. But to reduce yourself to learn about farming is shameful,” the king scoffed. “Maybe you should have been born a farmer instead of a prince.”
He paused before resuming. “You have embarrassed me with your displays on the sacred sands. You cower at the sight of your own blood. You are not my son. Your whore of a mother must have bedded a weakling.” With that, the king released Gabriel and stepped back, his hands clenched.
Gabriel stared at the king, his eyes stinging with anger. How dare he make such disgusting accusations against my mother? She would never do such a thing. He had come with a glimmer of hope that the king might see his worth—but in that moment, something crystallized within him. I will not think of this man as my father. I care nothing for him. If he were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t shed a single tear.
“I have uncovered treason that your warriors failed to detect,” Gabriel said, his tone infused with steel. He suppressed his rage, allowing it to solidify into icy determination. He had a purpose, and he wouldn’t stop until he achieved it.
Gabriel recounted what he had told Jessinta and Lovren, not yet detailing that he suspected Lord Loftus was selling to the Galatians. Then he said “King, if you wish to uncover the truth, an investigation into the wheat is necessary. The evidence cannot be found within the Merchant's Guild,” Gabriel asserted.
“You haven't told me anything I don't already know. Is this your only usefulness?”
Taking a breath, Gabriel's plan hinged on his next requests. “I know who Lord Loftus is selling his wheat to.”
“Who?” the king demanded.
“The Galatians.”
Gabriel then told him about the fires Lady Isa had mentioned, the incursions of the Galatians, and the battle with no soldier deaths. Knowing this was not enough, he added, “When wheat is harvested, the evidence of it lasts for six moon cycles. When it is dead from the winter, its evidence stands for a further two moon cycles. And lastly, when crops are burned, we can tell within a further four moon cycles.”
“What’s your point?”
“Loftus has burnt the crops as a contingency, in case you dispatched investigators to examine the fields. However, Loftus is a greedy man. He would not have burned enough to account for the reported losses. To reveal the truth, you could instruct your accountants and merchants to analyze the proportion of wheat Loftus has sold. And to study the size of the damaged and harvested areas. You will discover that Loftus has grown more wheat than he reported. That the winter damage is less severe than claimed and that the fire damage is insufficient to account for the shortfall.”
The king nodded, his earlier rage dissipating. Gabriel pressed on, knowing he had more to share. “Additionally, you can examine the total losses of soldiers from the surrounding provinces, comparing the casualties from Galatian raids to the losses of Loftus's men. The difference will be stark, far too significant to attribute to mere happenstance. Everyone knows Loftus’s demeanour enough to know he would never allow his crops to be destroyed without retaliating.”
He considered the king’s gaze; Gabriel could tell he still had reservations, so he raised one final point. If reason couldn’t convince the king, then greed would.
“Once you have gathered all this information, it will be sufficient grounds for a trial. I am certain the outcome will be predetermined. With your main antagonist removed, you can claim his lands and secure further support from the nobles, who will be at your beck and call. Their insatiable greed for fertile soil will be enough to command a significant price from you, King.”
His eyes sparkled, the thought evidently enticing. The king studied Gabriel, his gaze traversing him as if he were a Balati Stallion. It appeared as though he had discovered an entirely new creature before him. Gabriel paid little heed to the king's newfound interest. His earlier resolve remained steadfast. His sole focus was to protect those that he loved.
The king offered no words of gratitude, simply decreeing, “Tomorrow, you will attend court.”