Don't Mine At Night

IV

Logan Cutrer

The trek back to the throne room wasn't a long one, as it was strategically placed in the very centre of the castle, it was beating heart of the kingdom- what made everything such a finely oiled machine- a symbol of power and control. So it only made sense for it to be the epicentre of everything royal, everything commanding. All paths lead and stopped in front of the throne of the king: Brandon McCubbin. The man was by no means the symbol of grace or finesse, commonly seen slouching against his grand, golden-backed chair, yet he still held the poise of a person in power, of a king who, with a twitch of his pinky, could sentence a village to their deaths and not bat an eye. 

As Logan pushed open the heavy metal doors to the expansive, circular room, he was greeted by a line of guards- higher rank than he, who all had their weapons raised and pointed towards him. A singular thought occurred to him; they were expecting another assault. On the King's life?  With what had just gone down, it was quite possible.  He felt a surge of pride for his kingdom, for their steadfastness and courage- how they were prepared for everything in a quick and fashionable manner.

A taller guard approached him, sheathing his weapon. He wasn't wearing a helmet- so one glance at him and Logan recognized that sandy mop of hair as Cason Caines, a superior officer that had accompanied him during his first few months of noon patrols. Cason glanced around as if he was wary about speaking when danger might be lurking just around the corner. Logan surmised that word of the arrest hadn't yet reached the king or his knights.

"You're back?" Cason asked, "How did everything go? You did find the guy, didn't you?" 

It was asked with caution, his usual chipper voice slow and careful, as if any sudden moves from Logan would trigger a fight to break out. It was a sharp contrast from the man that Logan had remembered accompanying through the city. Cason was normally a fun guy to hang around- rarely serious, always cracking jokes to lighten a dark mood. But now? With danger hanging over everyone's heads (they'd all felt the anxiety of the break-in in their veins), Cason suddenly became a stone wall, his expression stern and weary. 

Logan shrugged one shoulder, metal plates clinking together, "He's on his way to a cell as we speak, everything is under control, I need to speak with His Majesty- privately. Got something for him to see, his eyes only and all that." 

Cason raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a frown, "Privately? I'm not sure if..." He trailed off and then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then, as if someone had flipped a switch, nodded and waved Logan forward, "I'll get someone to fetch him, the guy's been holed up in his room since well...you know. We've all been on edge, as I'm sure you know- the whole situation is rough."

"That's life." Logan mused, his fingers tightening around the box in his hands. 

Cason snorted and then turned to the guard nearest to him. He said something discretely, gesturing towards the throne that now sat empty- a jarring sight to see- and she nodded, scurrying off with haste.

It was an awkward few moments until she came back, the silence that hung between the two men and the dozen or so guards that lined the room was tense with the realization that more trouble was inevitable. There was strain within each man and woman's face, with the way their knuckles were white with the force of clenching weapons in their fists, the tightness of their expressions. There was nothing good that could possibly come out of this situation, and they all knew it.