The Thief King

45 | The Young and the Green

The ceremony had been beautiful; he was told it would go down in history as one of the best. It had taken three days for the palace staff to organize all that needed to be done. Flowers had been ordered and delivered, food baked and cooked. Letters sent to all the noble families residing within the city and out. All had been invited to the funeral and ceremony, but not all had been able to make it. Some sent letters as a means of an apology, others sent chests of gold.

Logan had shaken sweaty and scented palms and found himself nodding and thanking people that all but reeked with sycophancy. It would have been unbearable had he felt himself entirely present for the proceedings. Looking back, he barely remembered a single moment. Each of the three nights had been some dinner with supposed conversation he could no longer recall with faces he could not picture. Blessings were made and wishes said, but no matter how hard he tried, he could recall none of it.

Logan was certain that sitting in his library a day after his father was finally put to rest in the tombs below the castle, was the first time he had been alone since the parade. The silence had brought him back to his body. 

He looked upon the papers that had been handed to him by one of his father’s advisors– My advisor now. His sigil was needed on most of the documents. Logan leafed through them and found the dotted line and empty space where his pen and wax were needed. He had no doubt that it was needed to begin the process of anointed a new King. First, letters would be sent, notifying all the kings of the Twelve Kingdoms that Lethilian was about to crown its newest king. 

After that, there was the coronation to plan and the banquets that surely followed. Rooms and quarters would need to be prepared for the guests and dignitaries and he was fairly certain that there was a document in the pile that awaited his approval to recall the Legion Warriors to help clean up the streets. 

Rumour was that the Thief King had died in a bar fire the night of the parade. He had not been seen or heard from since, at least not to Logan’s memory. He tried recalling if there had been a report, but none came to mind.

There was a small knock on the door that broke the silence and his reverie.

“Come in,” he croaked, leaning his head into his hands, hoping it was nothing important. He sighed deeply when Bastian walked in. “It’s you.”

Bastian tilted his head. He stood still for a moment before walking over to the mantel and pouring himself a drink from a decanter that stood full. Without asking, he poured Logan one too.

“I feel like a wraith,” Logan said, accepting the drink. He waited for Bastian to take his seat before taking a sip. “I move about this castle, but feel nothing but cold.”

Bastian turned the glass around in his fingers. His silence unnerved Logan. It was usually Bastian who spoke when Logan felt unmoved to speak. 

“I take it the meeting with the captains did not go well?”

“They want me to take my father’s place as marshall.”

Logan blinked in surprise. “That’s–” Surprising was too light a word for it. “Did they not fight for the position? Did nobody want it?”

“It’s not that they did not desire the position,” Bastian assured. “I think they see me as biddable and weak.”

“They see me biddable and weak,” Logan corrected.

“Perhaps they see the both of us as such. Being younger than any marshall in history to one of the greenest kings gives them an advantage over us. They have years of experience and wisdom and they think they could impart this to us over time.”