Chapter 3

King Alastor

King Alastor's enemies were multiplying, driven by his increasingly volatile temper. His inability to forgive what he deemed treasonous crimes had pushed the kingdom to the brink of rebellion. Distrust gnawed at him, fueled by his creeping insanity and inability to control his erratic emotions. Paranoia gripped his mind, leading him to purge his council members for the slightest mistakes.

Rebellions flared across the land like wildfires, spurred by his harsh decrees and relentless purges. Villages burned, and once-loyal subjects took up arms, their faces twisted with desperation and anger. The attempted assassination of his beloved daughter had only deepened his madness, the near-tragedy haunting his every waking moment. He couldn’t lose her too. At first he isolated himself further, his grip on reality and his kingdom slipped, setting the stage for inevitable chaos.

Among the casualties of Alastor's madness was House Sentil, a noble family loyal for generations but now marked for elimination over a minor slight. Of the many great noble houses within Medour, House Sentil was one of the most loyal, but they dared to disagree with the king on matters of governing the regions outside the capital’s walls. Chaos engulfed the outer cities but the king did nothing to put out the flames. The poor could no longer afford the unreasonable taxes to the royal crown. The people desperate for survival fought amongst themselves allowing violence and crime to flourish. A problem any honorable king would try to solve. Hundreds died from starvation and others met a much worse fate.

Laynaar of House Sentil, an intelligent man, suggested lowering taxes and encouraged the king to send the Royal Guard to decrease the violence. However, the King refused. He decided that the outer regions could do with a little violence to help eliminate the weak. Laynaar knew a rebellion ensued if they did not do something so he decided to assist without the king's knowledge. This was a terrible mistake on Laynaar’s part. The King’s right hand made it known to Alastor, whispering hints of “treason” in his ear. The snake of a man was none other than Anwir, the king’s much younger brother, the only one who could sway his mind. Alastor sought to imprison anyone that did not agree with him. With Anwir in his ear, he imprisoned Laynaar. Others feared stepping out of line for the king's unpredictable behavior made it difficult for those in court to last longer than a few years before being dismissed or killed. However, devious forces working in the shadows could not predict the outcome of the assassination attempt causing an awakening within the king.

As King Alastor withdrew from the excesses of drink and the company of whores, a noticeable change began to unfold within him. He wanted to keep his promise to his daughter and this was the only way to keep her safe. The fog of wine that once clouded his judgment began to lift, replaced by a burgeoning clarity and sharpness of mind. His eyes, previously hollow and void of reason, began to regain their intellectual and strategic insight.

With this newfound clarity and the drive to become a better father, the king's interactions became more thoughtful and deliberate. He sought wisdom from his advisors, his responses measured and insightful, showing a depth of understanding that had been masked by years of debauchery and alcoholism. The court noticed these changes, and whispers of approval began to circulate, reflecting a collective relief at their ruler's transformation. As he embraced this new found change, King Alastor found himself reconnecting with the responsibilities of his crown. This massive shift not only marked a personal victory but also opened a hopeful new chapter for his reign, suggesting a return to the wise and just governance, from before Queen Idyora died, something his kingdom sorely needed.

* * *

The king sat calmly before the council, the weight of recent turmoil etched into his features. They had gathered to discuss potential negotiations about Laynaar, aware of the peril that awaited them if they failed to secure his release. Men and Women from the various houses loyal to the throne were seated around the grand oak table, their expressions grave and somber. T

he atmosphere carried an unspoken air, each member of the council casting furtive glances at the vacant chair, once filled by their trusted advisor and friend, Lord Laynaar. The absence of Laynaar, with his wisdom and steady presence, left a palpable void in the room. Even the king's eyes lingered on Laynaar's empty seat, a shadow of grief passing over his face, as he struggled to maintain composure.

Despite the tension, the council did not blame the king. They understood that his mind was fraying, unraveling under the strain of his paranoia and grief. Some saw who they thought was the real architect of their woes, Anwír, the cunning advisor. Whispers stirred of his manipulation of the king’s fears and insecurities to consolidate his own power. He was, after all, the king's brother. The council members exchanged knowing glances, silently acknowledging the dark influence that had sown discord among them. They knew their duty now was not just to negotiate for Laynaar’s release but also to find a way to save their king from the shadows that threatened to consume him.

Negotiations with King Alastor began, the council members skillfully planted seeds of doubt in his mind about Anwír's true intentions. They spoke gently, weaving tales of loyalty and treachery, guiding the king's thoughts toward the realization that his brother may not have his best interests at heart. Alastor's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions - doubt, anger, and a sliver of hope. As the council continued, the heavy wooden doors to the chamber creaked open, revealing Anwír standing in the doorway. His tall, imposing figure cut a sinister silhouette against the flickering torchlight, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous sort of intelligence. A cold, lifeless smile played at the corners of his lips as he sauntered into the room, his presence sending a ripple of unease through the assembled nobles.

King Alastor tensed at the sight of his brother, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his eyes before he schooled his features into a mask of regal indifference. Anwír's arrival was unexpected, and yet there was an air of inevitability about him, as though he had been pulling strings from the shadows all along.

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"I see we are discussing matters of great importance," Anwír remarked smoothly, his voice honeyed but laced with malice.

Anwir strolled leisurely towards the table, his gaze sweeping over the council members with a predatory gleam. His attire was tailored to accentuate his long slender frame. He wore dark colors that shimmered slightly under the council chamber’s chandeliers. It was woven with intricate silver embroidery catching the light with every step he took. His long hair was tied back loosely, strands occasionally brushing his defined cheekbones, adding a touch of wildness to his otherwise meticulous appearance. Even with his dark clever eyes, he was still strikingly handsome. The fineness of his clothing, from the silk of his shirt to the lavish amulet that hung around his neck, spoke of his status and the meticulous care he took in his presentation to the council.

The nobles exchanged wary glances, a silent understanding passing between them of the danger Anwír posed with his appearance. They knew his cunning could outmatch even the king's unraveling mind, and they braced themselves for whatever he had in store. King Alastor regarded his brother with a mixture of wariness and resignation, the conflict within him evident on his face.

"Anwír," he acknowledged with a nod. "What brings you here, brother?" King Alastor's voice was unstrained but barely concealed the undercurrent of tension between them. Anwír chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing as he took his place at the table, uninvited but unchallenged.

"Merely to offer my counsel, dear brother," he purred, his words dripping with what seemed to be false concern. "I couldn't help but overhear your deliberations, and I thought it prudent to lend my expertise."

Anwír took the seat nearest to the king, lounging casually as though he belonged there among the council members. His eyes flickered towards Laynaar's empty chair, a calculating glint briefly visible before he masked it with a look of feigned concern. The council bristled at Anwír's intrusion, their unease growing palpable. They had long suspected his machinations behind the scenes, orchestrating the chaos that threatened to drive the king to madness or worse tear the kingdom apart until there was nothing left.

“Your council dearest brother, will not be needed today,” Alastor said firmly. Anwír, sensing the shift in the king's demeanor, grew wary. His influence over Alastor was slipping, and he knew he had to act swiftly before he lost control completely. Where was the king's chalice, Anwír wondered. Had he truly abstained from his wine? How unusual. Anwír’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of anger, but he quickly masked it with a cold smile.

"Very well, brother," he said smoothly, rising from his seat. "I shall take my leave. But remember, my counsel is always available should you need it."

King Alastor nodded curtly, his eyes narrowing as Anwír walked towards the monumental wooden doors. The council watched in silence, the tension in the room was suffocating. Anwír paused briefly at the threshold, his eyes meeting Alastor's with a lingering look of suppressed rage before he turned and exited the chamber, the doors closing behind him with a resounding thud.

The moment Anwír was gone, the council members let out a collective breath they didn't realize they had been holding. Alastor's expression softened slightly, but the weight of their earlier discussions still hung heavily in the air.

"Let us continue," Alastor said, his voice regaining some of its former authority. "We were discussing the matter of Laynaar."

One of the older council members, Lord Locke, leaned forward, his eyes grave. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, we must address the growing unrest. Laynaar's imprisonment has only fueled the fires of rebellion. We need to show the people that we are listening to their grievances."

Alastor nodded thoughtfully, but before he could respond, Lord Branic, another trusted advisor, interjected. "Your Majesty, if I may, there is another pressing issue we must address—the attempted assassination of the Princess."

The king’s face darkened at the mention of his daughter, his hands clenched into fists. "Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We must ensure her safety. She is the future of this kingdom."

Lord Branic continued, his tone measured and respectful. "Indeed, Your Majesty. The assassination attempt was a clear message from our enemies. They seek to destabilize your rule by targeting your daughter. We must act swiftly and decisively."

"Your Majesty," another council member, Lady Tarly, spoke up, "we must also consider her betrothal. A strong alliance could provide much-needed stability in these troubled times."

Alastor's eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and determination. He wasn’t ready for Amaira to marry. "And whom do you suggest for this?"

Lord Feron cleared his throat. "There is one young man who stands out. Caius, the second child of House Wynn. He is brave, loyal, and has proven his worth. Most importantly, he does not have a direct claim to the dukedom, since his sister Seren is the heir, which means he would not pose a threat to the throne either."

The king's eyes narrowed in thought. "Caius Wynn. I have heard of him. A formidable warrior, and from a family that has long supported the crown."

Lady Tarly nodded. "Indeed, Your Majesty. His union with the Princess would not only strengthen our ties with House Wynn but also send a strong message to our enemies that we are united and strong."

Alastor leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. The room was silent, each council member holding their breath, waiting for the king’s decision. "Very well," Alastor finally said, his voice resolute. "Begin the negotiations with House Wynn. If Caius is as capable as you say, then he shall be betrothed to my daughter."

"Your Majesty," Lord Locke interjected, "if the negotiations proceed smoothly, we should consider announcing their engagement at the Princess's coming-of-age ceremony next month. It would send a strong message of unity and strength to our people and our enemies."

Alastor responded, "Yes, that is a wise suggestion. Let it be known that we will not be cowed by threats or treachery. This kingdom will stand firm. We must ensure we stop any rumors of her assassination attempt from leaving these walls as well."

The council members nodded in agreement, their expressions a mix of relief and determination. They had taken a crucial step towards stabilizing the kingdom, but they knew that the road ahead would still be fraught with challenges.

"We must remain vigilant," Lord Feron said, his voice echoing the unspoken sentiment of the room. "Our enemies will not rest, and neither should we."

The king nodded, his eyes steely with resolve. "We will protect this kingdom, no matter the cost. For my daughter, for our people, and for the future of Medour."

As the council dispersed, their spirits bolstered by the king’s renewed determination, they silently vowed to do whatever it took to guide their troubled kingdom through the storm. The shadows of doubt and discord still lingered, but they were united in their purpose, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.