Fighting for a Crown

Chapter Fifty

It was a dark corridor at first, then past a small hall, two candles lit a few maids sitting at the table, whispering in richly accented Baracosian. One of them turned and almost caught me, but a conveniently unlocked wardrobe saved me. I clambered in as quickly as possible, my breath coming in short bursts.

These were footman uniforms I was pressed up amongst. What a beautiful stroke of luck. I changed hideously awkwardly, my ears constantly straining to make sure no unsuspecting member of staff found the crown prince of Yllers (their name for Ilragorn) half naked in a cupboard.

Everything was quiet outside when I cautiously stepped into the hallway again. My country needed me to succeed. These very moments would go down in history, in ballads, in books. These moments would be recorded in a great tome for my grandson's sweetheart to read in his study, waiting for a scandalous breakfast appointment.

Dark hallways passed me by. Three staircases passed me by. Marble doors edged with gold confronted me, their golden handle fitting nicely in my hand. This was my destiny. The door swung silently open for me, there was even a candle waiting in the next hallway. Fate guided me. Soon the old man would be dead and his daughter would welcome my alliance, her mother powerless to oppose her.

Here it was. The Golden door, belonging to the room of the Golden king. It clicked faintly, then swung inwards. The bed was just around the corner. A huge four poster, the teal and gold silks glimmering in the candlelight. The door clicked closed behind me. Slowly, feeling the weight of my life on my shoulders, I came to the end of the bed. There was King Thomas, the Golden king, father's enemy, Tommy's murderer. There he was. His grey hair was mussed, his beard glinted silver.

Something moved next to him.

Slowly, my eyes roved around to see vivid blue eyes staring back at me.

Queen Adrienne.

Shit. The Queen.

But people swore they didn't share a room anymore.

There was a moment, a destiny destroying moment, when we shared a look, shared the silence.

Then, "Gardes!" She yelled.

I panicked, turning to wide windows. Flying to them, I ached for my sword, or something, to smash the confining glass. My fist struck it once, then hard, heavy hands grappled me from all angles.

Someone punched me. My face hit the glass, which finally smashed. It seems my nose smashed too. There were shouts. I was wrenched up, then forced back to my knees. Two guards forced me down, their hands like vices. Two stood either side of me, guns pointed at my skull. I'd be wise to assume that there were two more behind me standing likewise.

But the man who was in front of me was the most important.

The Golden King stared at me incredulously, his wife at his side.

He asked me how I got in. I stayed silent. They punched me. He asked me how I got in. I stayed silent. They yelled for something which I didn't catch.

Another guard came in with two lanterns which illuminated his eyes as they widened in shock.

The lanterns were placed down by my feet. A stupid move, I could easily kick them away.

Nonetheless without my sword I would stand no chance. I'd be shot before I could get close to the king.

The guard who had brought the lanterns in went to the Queen, offering to take her outside, she waved him off. I made a note of that, it would've been useful to know had I not been on my deathbed.

Oh Evie how bad we are at planning.

"Prince Gavrila?" Someone spoke Ilragese in this congregation. Someone spoke my name.

I looked up and saw that it was the king. The king knew me.

"King Thomas." I responded. A little blood tricked into my eye.

"May I ask what you're doing in my private quarters? It's hardly visiting time and if I can remember correctly, we are at war." He spoke courteously, sitting down on a chair placed for him by a guard.

"Peace negotiations cannot be conducted at visiting hours, Roi des Berelyian." I growled. For once in my life, I was genuinely afraid.

The king laughed loudly, taking his wife's hand. "And how did you intend to negotiate peace between our lands? Especially when you do not seem to have power over your own."

My eye itched. I needed to wipe the blood out of it. I couldn't, but I needed to.

"Peace negotiations end with one king dead." I hissed. I needn't say any more. I'd read all the books written on all the wars in the last 500 years. Death was the only way peace had ever been obtained. And I was the one who would end up dead in this negotiation. Thomas would overpower Fana and rule father's kingdom. It was strange that he hadn't already overpowered my brother.

Adrienne whispered something to him and Thomas's smile grew.

"Fil des Yllers." Thomas folded his hands in his lap, looking down on me as though I was a child. "Whilst your country may be composed of savages, mine is not. You wish to end this war? This is our proposal."

I tried to stand, to confront him as a fellow king. His guards only held me down tighter.

Thomas smiled, his wife sitting demurely by his side. "You will take control of your country back from your brother." Thomas spoke slowly, over enunciating, his eyes glinting. "You will join with my country. Yllers and Berelyia will stop the war with a wedding. We will dethrone your brother for you, if you marry our daughter."

A wedding. My wedding.

I don't know why the idea of it hurt me so much. This was perfect. They wouldn't kill me, I would get father's crown back, I knew I must marry. I'd told Evie that I must marry. She'd understood that.

"Would you fight for me, even if it meant giving up your crown?"

"Yeah I would."

No I wouldn't.

Queen Adrienne sat forward a little. "Let us reiterate." She smiled sympathetically. Her accent was so heavy. "Either you marry Henrietta, or we kill you. You decide. Now."

I spoke before my mind or body could catch up.

"I'd be honored to marry your daughter." The voice was not mine, even though I felt it all the way up my throat.

The king smiled and the guards released their hold on me, giving way to an even heavier push, one that felt like concrete on my heart.

"Prince Gavrila of Ilragorn," the king said, my own country's name sounding unwelcome in his accent, "we'd like to invite you to stay with us in the Palais until your wedding."