“All hail the High King! Hail House Mara!” Jubilation filled the Great Hall of the Regalian Keep. Three days had passed since Alastor Alden’s betrayal, and two since the lack of Alden forces had caused them to retreat from the battle outside the realm’s capital. Lord Harley, Alastor’s heir, had not seemed to mind that only his brother was to blame for how the whole situation played out. No matter what anyone said, whether it be an oath of no hostilities or promises of retaliation should he leave, he had left and with him went the entirety of their house’s forces.

That betrayal among other things made it difficult for Haryn to enjoy his father’s victory. House Alden had been staunch allies of every royal house to rule the Mithrocki provinces. For each and every legend who managed to usurp the throne, there was a legendary Alden beside them. Samaryn Mara had Absolom Alden. Theodore Reagan had Yusuf Alden when he had claimed the throne and Mariana Alden when he crushed a hearty rebellion. Even the leader of that rebellion, Bharnam Yhorn, had Temerius Alden as his most trusted adviser!

Alyn Mara had Elias Stormrite, though Haryn was unsure whether or not bastards counted. They likely did. Three hundred years down the road, some historian would likely name him Elias Alden and all would likely agree that it had always been his name. The Crown Prince could hear the bastard. They were both seated on the high dais, Haryn to the right of his father and Elias to the left. Rows upon rows of feasting tables lined the hall in front of them. Smells of hams, beaten potatoes, ale and wine permeated throughout the hall. Small orange orbs of Ether floated in the air above the tables so that they may light and heat the room. The work of his father’s mages, they were truly a sight to behold.

Servants walked by with great haste. They carried trays of pies, small glazed cakes, and lemon squares. For the second time in his seventeen years, the Crown Prince had no appetite. When he looked at these servants, he saw those they had found when they had taken the castle the night prior. Corpses upon corpses had been bundled together, nearly every inch of the hall covered in death and debris. Someone had destroyed the hall’s great doors and, in doing so, killed everyone in the throne room. The doors had been promptly replaced as preparations for the feast were underway. Strong alder wood doors with metal hinges stood tall in what had momentarily been an empty frame.

The fact that someone killed Regis and his servants bothered him as much if not more than the sheer number of dead they had found. It had to be a mage. Only magic could turn a door into a weapon like that. Could that murderer be here now? Was it one of their own, or was there someone outside of their faction who had wanted Regis dead? Would that person stop at Regis, or did they have disdain for anyone who sat on the Regalian Throne? There were so many possibilities to ponder, each accentuating his paranoia more than the last. Paranoia had been the death of many dynasties all over the world. Haryn couldn’t give in when he had only been the Crown Prince for half a day. Maybe eating would be a fine distraction, or listening to the folks around him. Anything but thinking, really.

Haryn could hear the bastard boasting about how he had outmaneuvered the Great Phoenix. From what Haryn could gather, it sounded more so like a cowardly back stab than a great feat.

Elias was managing to make Alastor sound like beggar’s change despite the fact that he had taken on six enemies at once and killed five. Don Poe. Leann Poe. Miles Declan. Logan Reagan. Haleigh Faelor. Four heirs to great houses and one of their siblings. There had been no sign of Don. He had likely been disintegrated by Alastor’s lightning. Leann had been found with a scorched hole through her chest. Miles and Logan’s necks had been burnt to crisps. Haleigh’s head was found two hundred paces from her body. No matter how Haryn felt about the mockery of a great warrior, he was glad that Alastor was dead. There would not have been much that his father could have been able to do if the man lived to put Gwendolyn on the throne. Besides, he could respect greatness, but he did not have to like the man for it. Haryn had enjoyed Haleigh and Don. The others he had been indifferent toward, but they were his subjects and it angered him to see them taken from the world by the Would-Be-King.

“My Prince?” A soft voice roused him from his thoughts. Looking up, he noticed that the Lady Juniper Faelor stood before him. Elderly and plump, the High Lady of Ranidor seemed as silently angry with the world as she had when news of her daughter reached her. Haryn could not see her husband near. To look at him was even worse. Where Juniper had turned her daughter’s death into anger and passion, Boras Ridelos-Faelor had been broken. Tears were never far from his cheeks and his words were hardly more than murmurs. Conversations with him were impossible to hold and he more oft than not would excuse himself once pleasantries were exchanged. Haryn could understand, though. House Ridelos were bannermen to House Alden. The man had likely made the journey to see Alastor born, blessed him as a baby and even kissed his forehead. There weren’t enough thrones in the world worth going through what Boras was.

Juniper, on the other hand, at least had a semblance of composure. Sure, her brown eyes had a tinge of anger to them. Her stark white hair, normally in an unnaturally neat bun, was a bit disheveled, but she was still there. The way she was meeting his eyes, the High Lady must have been talking and was likely expecting some sort of answer.

Honesty would always go the longest way with subjects, or so Alyn Mara had always said. Well, men had fought and died to make the man the High King. Some of his advice had to be good. “In all honesty, my High Lady, I was deep in thought and didn’t hear a word you said. I am sorry.”

“Oh, tis not a worry in the slightest, my Prince. Might I ask what you were thinking on?”

“I was just thinking on the war.”

“The war is over, my Prince.”

“It was my first. I pray it is my only. I-“ He cut himself off. There was no need to go in that direction. Not tonight, not during the eve which signaled the revival of the Maran dynasty.

“It’s okay, Haryn. I can hear it.” Some might have minded being referred to so informally in this setting, but he did not. Haleigh had been his friend and her mother knew that.

“I am just, I am so sorry. I wish she was still here. I hate that our rise to power resulted in her death-“

“Child,” Juniper replied curtly. She reached for his left hand and cupped it in both of hers. Tough, much like the woman herself. “Never was Haleigh’s death your fault. Nor was it your father’s. It wasn’t your rise to power. It wasn’t your rebellion. Alastor Alden killed my Haleigh and he lies within the dirt, his ashes spread along the wind and away from the graves of his homeland.” She grew quiet so others would not hear, but her intensity rose as her words descended into a whisper. “I know my daughter. She took on her duty for you. I’ve no doubt she was thinking of her duty when she stuck her dagger into the Great Phoenix. I pray you won’t take offense to this, my Prince, but I’ll not have you treat my daughter as a victim. She died a hero. She died fighting for her prince, and I would rather hear you talk about her as such.”

A hero. Aye, that she is. “They will sing songs of her bravery, my Lady. From Nya Norr to Ranidor, I swear they will.”

The High Lady of Ranidor strengthened her grip on his hands for a short moment and gave him a smile. She looked up to Haryn’s father and gave a deep curtsy. “Blessings upon you, my prince. May your father’s reign last two dozen summers.”

“The Mother bless you, my Lady. Thank you for helping my son see the way of things.” Haryn flinched. Alyn Mara had a way of sneaking up on you that was uncanny for a man so large. Haryn’s father looked every bit a king. His blonde hair ran long and was worn down to his shoulders. His beard was thick, his eyes gray, and a few scars ran along his cheeks and forehead. Trophies from the war, he called them, as well as a reminder of what it took to take back their throne. Haryn was often told that he looked like his father, though he had no real beard to speak of. Only small patches could grow upon his cheeks and a bit on his chin. He’d like to have one some day, though.

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Alyn Mara extended his hand out to his subject and she kissed the knuckle to his middle finger. With a dismissive nod, the High Lady Juniper went back into the throngs of tables and merriment.

His father tapped him on the shoulder, bending down from his high seat to whisper. “I was frightened you’d make a scene for a moment, but I think you handled that well. Always listen to your subjects, even when it’s hard to hear what they have to say. Especially when it’s hard. I think House Faelor will fight for House Mara so long as Juniper’s will is well remembered, thanks to you.” Rare praise that was. His father only handed it out when it was deserved.

“I did not really do much, father.”

“You are right. You only did a little, but tis easy to forget to even do just a little. A little can be all that someone needs. When the world is unfair or unkind, a small gesture can mean more to someone than the world at that time.”

Haryn simply nodded. “Thank you, father.”

“Of course, my son. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming. I don’t want you to forget that, even though I forget to say it.” They both laughed for the first time in what seemed like ages. Haryn hoped there would be more laughs. More praise. More things to be proud of. If anyone could bring about a Mithrock with those things, it would be him and his father.

“ELIAS! COME AND DIE, YOU TRAITOROUS FUCK!”

The jubilation subsided. Laughter faded. The only sound heard was the rustling of bodies as the feast’s attendants looked to find the man who had said the words. Folks sat down at the tables in order to prevent being mistaken as the man. Those who could not find space on a bench found it on the floor. A few moments of silence passed before the man made his way to the center of the hall. Not a man, Haryn realized. A boy. One younger than himself.

One with golden eyes.

Haryn froze in his spot. This boy had the golden eyes of House Alden.

Murmurs filled the hall as the subjects at the tables came to the same realization. The murmurs began to turn into shouts and the King raised his hand. Silence followed. Haryn looked to every corner of the hall. Each and every archer had their arrows aimed at the boy. The white spheres of light had disappeared, a sign that the mages were preparing to fight.

The King spoke. “Eustace Alden. Why are you here?”

“I want Elias,” he said quietly. “I want him dead!” he yelled. “HE BETRAYED MY BROTHER, ALYN!”

Limerick Reagan stood up. His seat had been right next to where Eustace had planted himself. His red hair could be recognized from leagues away. His face was equally scarlet with anger. “Your cunt brother betrayed his king, killed my son! He deserves what he got!”

That was all it took.

Silver erupted in all directions, every bit of it stemming from where Eustace had stood. Heat filled the room, and the silver licked upwards from wherever it landed. Flames. The man created silver flames just has his brother had silver lightning. He turned his eyes back to Eustace. There were no bodies within ten feet of him. Only ash. Arrows were loosed in his direction. They burned away before they reached their target. Spell lights of yellow and orange and red flew toward the boy. Walls of flames stopped them in their place before reaching Alastor Alden’s youngest brother.

Haryn’s father screamed for the man to be seized. Men-at-arms and mages readied themselves. All of the nobility in the room began to walk toward the doors to the hall. Before anyone could leave, a wide wall of sterling flame erupted from the ground just before the doors and grew until it reached the ceiling. Eustace said nothing. He merely looked at them as though they were foolish for thinking they would be allowed to leave.

Pandemonium ensued.

Flames rushed around the room, killing anyone Eustace could catch with them. He defended himself in one on one combat while simultaneously allowing the flames to roam in an almost random fashion. The scents of hams and desserts were replaced by those of burning skin and ash. Heat continued to rise, and Haryn could feel his sweat mixing with his tears. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

His father had put his hand on Haryn’s shoulder. The King was looking to Elias as well. “Stay up here. I’ll see if I can talk to him.”

“Father, please. No!”

“My people are dying down there. I cannot stand by.”

“Father, no-“

The King’s eyes became fierce. “Elias. Keep my son up here. If he leaves the dais, then you will die.”

Elias’s voice cracked as he responded, “Yes, my King!” The bastard grabbed onto Haryn and held him with a much stronger grip than Haryn would have figured.

Haryn had to break free. He had to stop his father. This was foolishness.

- - - -

Alyn heaved himself over the dais and onto the stairs. Never in his life had he ever wanted to kick himself for never learning the Arcane. It mattered not. That was not a tool he had. This Alden boy was murdering his subjects. Those he had sworn to keep safe just this morning. Those who had placed a crown upon his head and called him sire. They had called him King.

He could not let anger take over. It was difficult. The heat made it harder. But he stayed calm. Eustace Alden was a boy of twelve. He was grieving. The boy had lost his mother, father, and two eldest brothers in the span of a couple years. His mind would be delicate at best. Cries began to die down. The flames seemed to as well. Eustace was responding to Alyn’s approach.

“EUSTACE!” he screamed. Not antagonistic, but loud enough to boom over the noise and catch the lad’s attention. The flames returned to the boy. His eyes were glazed over, but some sentience returned to them. He looked around the room, a bit of confusion appearing upon his face. Alyn did not look around. He could not. Ferocity was being forged in the depths of his soul. If he looked at the horrid amounts of ash that surely littered the room, the lives that had been taken, there would be no tempering it.

He put his hands out. “Lad. I have no weapons. None. I just want to talk with you.”

“I did not, I. I did not. I, Alyn. I. I. I only mean to hurt Limerick.” Eustace put his hands up to his head. He began to mutter. Sobs racked his body. He bent over and screamed into the ground, scratching his scalp and face as he roared in pain. This boy’s soul had been so horribly tortured. Had Alastor known that his would happen? Did Alastor realize his brother’s mind would break and decided to give him their Mark anyway?

It mattered not. Alastor was dead. He was not here to save his little brother.

Alyn eventually made it to Eustace. He knelt down, his good silk breaches being dirtied by the ashes of his followers. I must temper it. I must. He is a child in grief. “Eustace. You need to leave. Go home. Go back to Harley. Please, lad.”

The sobbing ended. It was gone nearly as quick as it had come about. The lad looked up to him. His eyes glazed over again. Insanity had him. Alyn had to tread carefully.

“I cannot, Alyn. I cannot.”

“Why not, lad? I am the High King. I will let you leave. You have killed enough. You don’t have to hurt anymore. Just go.”

“Elias is there. I killed everyone in here, but I just came for him.”

Horror reached in to the depths of Alyn’s soul, replacing the ferocity that had nearly spilled over.

“They all died for nothing if Elias lives, Alyn.” Alyn finally looked around the room.

No one. There was no one. The door had not been opened. The boy had not stopped the flames for him. There had simply been no one else to burn. Hundreds of guests had come to this evening feast. None had survived. He had promised to protect them so long as he was their King.

His promise had lasted less than twelve hours.

Eustace stood up and walked toward the high dais. Only Haryn and Elias remained. They were the only two left in this throne room other than Eustace and himself. He had failed. He had united the entire kingdom just so he could fail them in less than a day.

Alyn reached his hand out, grabbing Eustace’s forearm. He had no more room to grieve for the child. No more room for empathy. Mourning and despair filled him to the brim.

“Let me go.” The boy’s voice was cold, lacking any emotion. It would have chilled Alyn to the core if he’d had any room for it.

“I will not.”

“I just want Elias.”

“You will not have him.”

Flecks of silver began to coalesce around the two. They took longer to form than they had previously. Heat began to rise. Alyn had already decided to die here. No good King could live after allowing his subjects to die like that. He would do his best to end the boy.

“FATHER, STOP!”

The flames disappeared before they could fully form. Eustace looked up to the high dais. Haryn stood at the top of the stairs, the Regalian Throne looming behind him. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he met the boy’s eyes. What was he doing? Surely he wasn’t thinking of giving Elias up?

“If we give you Elias, will you leave us? Will you leave us be until the end of time?”

Eustace thought for a moment longer than Alyn had expected he would. How could Haryn offer up the man who had helped them put down Alastor’s betrayal? What kind of leaders would they be if they gave in to their enemies wishes like that?

The same kind of men who can’t maintain their oath for more than a day.

Eustace replied, his tones much more jovial. “Of course, Haryn. It’s that easy.”

It isn’t about the kind of leader I can be anymore.

“Father. Let go of him.”

It’s about the kind of king Haryn can be.

“Father. Please.”

He can still be great, even if I cannot.

“Alyn. Let me go.”

I’ll NOT let my son ruin himself just to save me!

“Eustace.” Alyn’s word quivered. He was afraid, but there was no other choice to make. “Eustace. I’m the one who told Elias to kill your father.”

Sterling flames enveloped Alyn Mara immediately. He embraced death knowing that his son could no longer make a choice which he could not have lived with.