The night hung heavy over Varcia's royal citadel, its torches flickering like dying hearts against the cold marble walls. The royal chamber reeked faintly of myrrh and old iron. King Gosley rested upon silken sheets, his once-imposing presence diminished but not defeated by illness. His breath rattled through cracked lips, and the crimson stain spreading across his handkerchief looked too bold against his ghostly skin.
A violent cough tore through his chest. The sound echoed like thunder in the still chamber. His trembling fingers clutched the bedpost as if to anchor himself to life for one more breath. Two physicians hovered close by, their faces drawn tight with worry. One dared to lean in, whispering something about another draught of elixir, but Gosley's hand shot up weakly.
"No more potions," he rasped, voice gravelly from blood and exhaustion. His eyes, still sharp beneath the haze of pain, shifted to the shadowed ceiling. "Bring me my wife... and my boy."
The words cracked the silence like the strike of a blade. The physicians exchanged nervous glances, whispering low enough for none but the dying man to sense their fear. For a long heartbeat, neither moved. Then, with a flurry of bowed heads and rustling robes, they turned and hurried from the chamber.
The door shut softly behind them. The king's gaze lingered on it, unfocused, as though he could already see through time, past the veil where the living and the dead touch briefly before parting forever. He coughed again, harder this time, the pain twisting his features.
His mind wandered through the corridors of memory: the first war he fought, the crown heavy upon his brow, the promise he made to his people that peace would come. But peace never came. The ghosts of rebellion and betrayal had gnawed at his reign like rats at grain.
"Bani…" he murmured, the name scraping his throat. "My son… don't inherit my silence. It destroys kings faster than swords."
His voice broke into another fit of coughing. Blood dotted his sleeve. He sagged against the pillows, chest heaving. A gust of cold air whispered through the window, stirring the crimson drapes, a cruel reminder that the world outside still lived and breathed while its king withered in shadows.
One of the candles sputtered, dimming. For a fleeting moment, Gosley thought he saw a shape moving beyond the veil of light, something watching, waiting. He closed his eyes and drew another ragged breath, summoning the last fragments of his will.
The latch turned. He did not look up, but the faint echo of hurried footsteps reached him from the corridor.
The physicians were gone to fetch the queen and the young prince.
The doors creaked open, and a gust of chill air slipped into the chamber. Queen Victoria entered, her silken gown trailing across the marble floor like the sweep of mourning itself. Her eyes were swollen, their shimmer dulled by sleeplessness. In her arms, she carried little Prince Bani, the child's hair brushing softly against her chin. He blinked curiously at the dim light, too young to understand the gravity that clung to the air.
"Your Majesty," she whispered, her voice trembling as she approached the bedside.
The king's head turned weakly toward her. "Victoria." The sound of her name came out as a sigh, not a word. His lips trembled before shaping a faint smile. "You look… tired, my love. I've burdened you too long."
"Don't speak like that," she breathed, setting Bani gently beside him. Her hands sought his, pressing them between her own as though warmth could chase death away. "You'll see morning yet. The healers, "
"The healers can't bargain with time." He coughed softly, the sound wet and final. "Listen to me, Victoria. My voice will not carry much longer."
Her lips quivered, but she nodded, biting down on her grief.
He turned his gaze upon his son. "Bani," he said faintly, his hand trembling as it reached for the boy. The little prince, hesitant, placed his tiny palm against his father's. A ghost of strength flickered through Gosley's fingers as he held on. "My brave one… the throne you'll inherit isn't just gold and glory. It's rot beneath the marble. Men who smile with daggers behind their teeth."
Victoria's brow furrowed. "Gosley, he's only three."
"He must hear me," the king said, his eyes brightening with a flash of defiance. "This kingdom bleeds from within. Every treaty, every oath, it's poisoned. You must guard him, Victoria. Guard his heart more than his crown."
She bent closer, her breath trembling against his cheek. "I will, I swear it. You have my life in that promise."
He exhaled a shuddering laugh that broke into another cough, pressing a handkerchief to his lips as the spasm took him. When he lowered it, fresh blood had bloomed across the linen. "I never doubted you. You were always stronger than I ever was." His eyes, glassy yet burning with an echo of his former command, lingered on her face. "When they come for him, and they will, remember that power feeds on fear. Don't let them see yours."
Tears finally slipped down her cheeks, falling soundlessly onto his hand. "I can't do this alone."
"You won't be alone," he murmured. His fingers slackened, his voice barely a whisper. "You have him. And… he has you."
A moment of stillness followed. His chest rose once, then fell and did not rise again. The candlelight seemed to falter with his final breath.
Victoria leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his hand. Her sobs were muffled against Bani's hair as the child stirred and clutched her tighter, sensing the hollow silence that had fallen.
The queen's cries trembled through the chamber, swallowed by the shadows that had gathered to witness the fall of a king.
The chamber was still. Only the fading hiss of the candle's wick broke the quiet, its light trembling over the dead king's face. Queen Victoria's soft sobs filled the room, the sound thin and aching against the marble walls. Prince Bani stirred in her arms, his small hand clutching the folds of her gown.
Then, footsteps. Slow. Even. The latch turned with a muted click.
Prince Frederick stepped into the doorway, his silhouette cutting through the faint torchlight. At thirty-three, he bore the poise of a man who had spent his life watching, waiting. His dark hair was brushed neatly back, his black tunic glinting faintly with silver threads that caught the light like blades. His expression was composed, but his eyes, cool gray and piercing, missed nothing.
"Brother," he said softly, the word too calm, too measured. "So it's true."
Queen Victoria rose slightly, clutching Bani tighter. "You shouldn't be here yet. The physicians, "
"They are needed elsewhere," Frederick interrupted, his voice like the quiet edge of a knife. He took a step closer, his boots soundless against the floor. "The kingdom must be told. A throne without a king draws vultures."
Her eyes flared. "Then the vultures will find a king waiting."
Frederick's gaze shifted to the child in her arms. "Ah," he murmured. "The heir." His tone neither mocked nor admired. It simply observed, yet there was weight in that observation, something that made the air grow colder.
Bani blinked up at him, curious and unafraid.
"He's but a child," Victoria said, her voice trembling but firm. "And still my protection."
Frederick stopped before the bed, looking down at the lifeless king. He bowed his head briefly, respectfully, but without warmth. "Father gave his life to keep Varcia from falling apart," he said. "Now it will test us all to see who can keep it standing."
"His will is clear," Victoria replied. "Bani inherits the crown."
He smiled faintly, too faintly. "Yes. A three-year-old monarch. The Council will be… delighted." He turned his gaze on her, studying her face as though searching for cracks. "You will serve as regent, of course. A heavy burden for one already grieving."
"I'll bear it," she said. "For my son."
"Then may the gods grant you strength." He inclined his head. "You'll need it."
Something flickered in his eyes, a quiet calculation, quickly masked by composure. He reached out, brushing invisible dust from the foot of the bed, then turned toward the door.
Victoria watched him leave, unease prickling her spine. His calmness was too precise, his grief too disciplined.
Frederick paused at the threshold. "When the sun rises, Varcia will want to see a king," he said without turning back. "Make sure it's the right one they see."
The words lingered like smoke as the door closed behind him.
Victoria's hand flew to her chest. Bani whimpered softly, sensing the tremor in her arms. The queen's breath caught, her heart poundin
g against the hush of the chamber as Frederick's cold shadow faded into the corridor beyond.