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For best reading experience, download the free PDF here: https://t-e-woodard.itch.io/sovereign-echoes-part-one

(Seriously, this is a long one, PDF highly recommended)

1

After all, he was the rightful heir to the throne, and he should be the one to put an end to his father’s tyranny. For most of his life, he could do nothing but watch as the innocent were carted away for torture and execution. Death was merciful, but more often than not, it came following countless hours of agony whilst waiting to succumb to injury or disease while on public display, all to dissuade violations of the king’s bizarre and cruel laws. No more. Never again would mothers have to sing lullabies to their children to drown out agonized screams in alleyways beset by the odor of decay. It was Alexander’s responsibility, his duty, to put an end to such things. 

Fueled by the continued cheering of his compatriots, Alexander raised his already bloodied sword overhead and swung it downward. The rusted blade carved halfway through the king’s neck, dispersing a red mist into the air, and though that would have been fatal enough, Alexander saw fit to raise his blade again. With one final swing, the king’s body slumped forward onto the floor, the head of which came to a rolling stop at Alexander’s feet with glazed eyes turned up toward him. He picked the head up by its gray, wiry hair, and marched out of the throne room, through the entry hall, and into the courtyard. Atop the highest step leading up to the palace’s doors, he lifted the head high above his own, eliciting more deafening cheers from the crowd outside. 

Once the cacophony died down, he called out as though to the heavens themselves. “The tyrant is no more.” His words rebounded off the walls surrounding the courtyard. “From this day forth, the laws of my father hold no bearing over the people of Lagaundriel. No longer will its citizens live in fear of false imprisonment or uncertainty of going without. We will all know peace for the first time in many years.

“While there is still plenty of work to be done, you may rest tonight knowing you secured a better future for yourselves, your children, and their children. Now, return to your homes. Tend to your wounds. Tell your loved ones that they are now safe. And for those who laid down their lives tonight to that end, drink deeply in remembrance and gratitude. In the morning, we begin rebuilding Lagaundriel anew.” He tossed his father’s head down onto the chipped cobblestone pathway leading up to the palace entrance, leaving a bloodied impression where it collided with a thud that cut through the last remnants of celebration by his comrades before rolling into the windswept grass. Before its eyes could fall upon him again, Alexander spun around and re-entered the palace, tailed by a few other figures who waited for him to pass before falling in behind him. 

Most of the bodies he stepped around were those of their enemies, their lives cut short by virtue of doing what they were paid to do. If it were any consolation, he would ensure their families would receive that payment. It’d be the first thing he did as king, though it was probably a moot point. Money in exchange for human life was hardly a fair trade. Short of bringing back the dead, there wasn’t any better recourse for what had to be done. He could only hope that those young men caught up in a battle they were ill fated to fight understood their deaths held meaning, and that the families could learn to forgive their murderers. 

“We’ll give them all a proper burial,” Alexander said as he entered the throne room to rejoin with the few soldiers who lingered within. “Even him.” He motioned his head down toward the king’s body.

“The people won’t take kindly to the king being buried next to those he’s killed,” Julius said while wrapping a bandage around his sword arm. 

Alexander nodded in agreement. “They won’t. But they must learn to move on from the past without forgetting it, lest history repeat itself in the future.”

“Speaking like a king already.” 

Alexander chuckled and stepped closer to Julius. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Do you need help with that?” He pointed at the wound.

“No, I’ve got it.” Julius pulled the bandage tightly with his teeth and tied it into a knot. “That’ll do for now.” He stood up from the bench with a grunt and retrieved the sword of a fallen kingsman from the ground, playfully reflecting the light that bounded off of its blade around the room. “There may be holdouts within the palace. We should find them before they find us. Alexander, you know this palace better than anyone, are there any hidden passageways we should be aware of?”

“Not to my knowledge, but we should still proceed with caution. There’s no telling what’s changed since last I was here. The entry hall splits off in two more directions. On the eastern wing is the dining room, kitchen, and servants’ quarters. The western wing holds the study and some other bedchambers. Both wings reconnect before the royal bedchamber.”

“And do you remember the color of the curtains, by chance?” one of the men asked with a scoff.

“Tiberius,” Julius snapped, making the young man wince. When he didn’t respond, Julius continued. “We’ll split into two groups and move through both wings of the palace simultaneously. If you encounter anyone, raise an alarm, but do not engage on your own. Tiberius and Marcus, you two will be with me; the other two will go with Alexander.” After acknowledging the order, the group filed out of the throne room behind Julius and split into their respective units. 

Alexander’s group passed beneath an archway, through which was the dining room still laden with platters of half-eaten food and toppled glasses of wine that dripped into small red puddles on the floor. Between the silver candelabras dotting the tables and golden sconces lining the walls, the room was awash in an unnaturally bright glow for such a moonless night. Immediately outside the window facing out into the courtyard was similarly illuminated, mocking the flora with imitations of sunlight. 

Opposite the window was a wooden door, beside which was a small opening through which wafted the aroma of herbs, an affront to the citizens who could hardly fathom a full meal, much less one which was pleasant to the palate. Alexander nudged the kitchen door open and peeked inside. The cooking fire seemed to be long extinguished, though the contents inside the pot still produced steam. On the counter behind it were the bones of a chicken with nary a shred of meat still attached. 

Through the doorway past the dining hall was another hall with a dirt-crusted rug that guided them past a series of closed doors. Two of the doors led into the servants’ quarters, the interior of which was completely bare, save for the dust that kicked up into the air as they walked. Behind the third door of the hallway was the royal latrine, containing a short row of stone seats with holes cut into them. 

The hallway came to a sharp bend and continued on, connecting with the hall from the opposite end of the palace that bent in the same way. At the center of the connecting hallways was a set of double doors with statuettes of a nondescript man placed on either side. Alexander’s group was the first to reach the doors, but Julius’ group was quick to join them. As the groups convened, Julius pushed the doors open and the musty odor of the bedchamber overtook them. On the far wall, aligned with the entrance, was a canopy bed that was enshrouded in translucent, purple silk which waved in response to the door’s opening. A breeze also flowed through the room from an open window before which was placed a stool. Julius raised a hand up beside his head and pointed to the bed. The group paused and watched for a moment as a lump upon it rapidly, subtly rose and fell. Julius raised one finger to his lips and motioned for the group to follow. 

They crept along, each person keeping a steady eye on all corners of the room as they moved. Once they reached the bed, Julius held his hand up again before moving the shroud aside. In the middle of the otherwise well-made bed was a mass which appeared to be trying to remain still, but its uneven breaths betrayed its presence. Julius raised his sword, grabbed a fistful of the blanket on top of the lump, and ripped it off.

“Please don’t kill me!” begged the trembling voice of the man that was revealed, his sagging cheeks glistening from tears that streamed down his face. He pushed himself as far back on the bed as he could while repeating his words until he was out of breath.

Alexander placed a hand on Julius’s shoulder. “I know this man. Lower your weapon.” Julius obliged and took a step back so that Alexander could step forward. 

“Alexander?” The man asked, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “My dear boy, it is you!” He wiped his eyes again and smiled.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive, Advi.” Alexander returned the smile.  

“Advi?” Julius asked.

“Short for advisor,” Alexander clarified. 

Julius raised an eyebrow. “You’re the king’s advisor?”

Advi nodded. “I am. Or, well, I suppose I was. Your voice carries, Alexander, though I didn’t recognize your voice until now. Of all the usurpers to overthrow the king, I confess I’m relieved it was you.”

“It needed to be done. If not by us, then others would have put an end to this nightmare.” 

“Others might’ve stabbed first and asked questions later.” Advi forced a nervous laugh as he gestured toward Julius.

Reaching an arm out to help Advi down from the bed, Alexander asked, “Do you know if there are others left within the palace?”

The old man shook his head. “Before you came, it was only the king, a few guardsmen, and myself in the dining hall. When we heard the commotion outside, I ran back here. Tried to slip out through the window, but these old bones don’t move quite like they used to, so I tucked myself away.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t caught in the onslaught. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“My son can surely spare a bed.” 

The group of men escorted Advi out of the palace, making sure to warn him of the bodies they would come across along the way. In those areas, he held onto Alexander’s arm while keeping his eyes securely shut, and once off of the palace grounds, he thanked them and went on his way, not realizing, or perhaps not wanting to realize, that he left bloody footprints as he walked. Once he was out of sight, Julius pulled Alexander aside, instructing the other men to wait for them at the entrance to the palace while they patrolled the exterior. 

“Something feels off about all of this,” Julius said as their knees were consumed by the grass.

“My thoughts exactly. All things considered, we came out of this fairly unscathed.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Alexander shook his head. “We can only speculate. Perhaps the king saw the end was near and decided to face it with the last shred of dignity he could muster. Wishful thinking, I know.” 

Julius inspected the blood coating his hands. “I would almost be inclined to agree with you, but that’s giving the bastard too much credit. Yet if he was awaiting the end, why throw away the lives of mere children in a vain effort to defend himself?” 

As they rounded the back of the palace, Alexander placed a hand on Julius’ shoulder. “Guilt over things we can’t control will get us nowhere, my friend.” 

“You may be right.” He balled his hands into fists and sighed. “So when begins the reign of King Alexander?”

The question caused the weight of his new title to hit him all at once. At the very moment his blade cleaved the old king’s head from his body, Alexander took on a world of responsibility he wasn’t sure he could fathom. He could lead a rebellion, rally a group of men to lay down their lives for the promise of a better tomorrow, but to go from devising plans in the tunnels beneath the city to guiding an entire people was an immense leap. When he responded, his voice was quiet, nearly lost in the whispers of wind rustling the grass. “Tonight, I suppose.” 

Julius turned his head back toward Alexander when he realized he was no longer at his side. Lost in thought as he was, Alexander’s attention was called back when his friend smirked and reassured him. “You’ll make a fine king.”

With a nod, Alexander recomposed himself and continued walking, his eyes drawn to the wildflowers that dotted the grass and vines that grew along the outer walls lining the palace grounds. They rounded the final bend and rejoined with the men who stood at the entrance to the palace. “Julius, secure a cart that we can use to transport the bodies.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Julius returned shortly thereafter with a cart upon which they began loading the bodies of fallen comrades and enemies, finishing the pile with the body and head of the king. Under the light of lanterns in the graveyard on the outskirts of the city, they set to work burying the dead one by one. Final among those buried was the king, laid to rest amid those whose lives were cut short by his reign. Dawn broke shortly before the final few shovels of dirt were thrown on top of the old king, sunlight dissolving hazy clouds and shining brighter than perhaps any of them had witnessed in their lifetimes. 

King Maximus II was gone. All hail King Alexander. 

2

Saying that the old laws were no more and making them that way were two entirely different beasts, as Alexander came to find out. While citizens of the capital were no longer persecuted for the same things they had been previously, residents in other settlements around Lagaundriel weren’t as fortunate. Official letters were penned as fast as could be written and carried by way of courier to the furthest reaches of the kingdom, oftentimes with those same couriers returning with tragic news of lives recently cut short before their letters could be delivered. It was an arduous process with little time for debate. 

What Alexander and his advisors settled on was a systematic approach of overturning the most perverse laws first that carried harsher punishments. That in itself took several days of checking and rechecking poorly kept records to ensure they didn’t miss anything that could potentially still be enforced. From there, they went down a list of all the laws to detail which ones should be repealed and which ones should be kept. In total, over two-hundred were tossed out–almost every single one that the previous king passed during his reign. 

But finally, as the fireflies of summer began gracing the night with their presence, it was done. Alongside his advisors, Alexander completed what he set out to do. His people could rest. He could rest.

3

“I mean no offense when I say this, but you cannot rule from a hovel,” Julius said with crossed arms. “Forget appearing humble, eventually the people may believe you think yourself superior for not requiring the same amenities they do.” 

To this, Alexander could only nod in agreement. His home prior to the rebellion was a ramshackle hut on the edge of the city, one of many that were interspersed past the exterior of the outer wall. The area was home to many of the militiamen in the planning stages of the rebellion, with most having since moved deeper into the city now that secrecy was no longer a concern. “You needn’t worry about offending me; I’ve always appreciated your candor. As much as I want to disagree with you, I know you’re right. I am not better than them, but I do preside over them and it would be a show of weakness not to assume my responsibilities from a king’s throne. The palace is stained with the blood of those who fell, and reminders of my father are still prevalent within. Perhaps that’s where my hesitance lies. When we meet on the palace grounds, my mind is consumed with thoughts from that night. Though it’s long buried, I can still see his face staring back at me when I close my eyes.”

“I know it was difficult, but you did what had to be done.”

An almost inaudible “Hm,” escaped Alexander while he crossed his arms. A warm breeze blew across his face, cutting through the sweat that dotted his forehead. On that wind was carried memories of a time long ago, ones that seemed to occur to him more frequently than they did before, and at the most peculiar times. “The earliest memory I have of my father is from a carriage ride he took mother and me on. He was eager to show me some of his favorite places from when he was a boy. I couldn’t have been older than four or five years old, but I remember the luscious grove that grew so thick you could barely fit an arm through the gaps between the trees, and the plateau overlooking a clear-bodied lake cradling a fishing village. The wind there blew so intensely that I could hardly keep myself upright, but my father stood steadfast, as though it didn’t even affect him.”

One corner of his mouth formed a slight smile that faded as he continued. “He promised so much more to come after that, but then mother fell ill, and past that, there are no more good memories of him.” Alexander turned back toward Julius. “The look upon his face as it stared back up at me when we buried his body reminded me of that time in a strange way, though I failed to recognize it at that moment. His face wasn’t marred by fear, anger, sadness, or regret. It was peaceful, as though he was relieved that the nightmare of his own creation was over.” 

“Maybe it’s as you said that night. The king saw that the end was near, and rather than fight it, he welcomed it.” 

“Perhaps.” He uncrossed his arms and turned his eyes toward the city. “As it is now, the palace stands as a relic of a bygone era. I doubt our people will look upon it as it is now with anything other than disdain. We’ll begin restoration efforts on it come the morning. I trust you can handle the arrangements?”

Without hesitation, Julius clapped his hand on Alexander’s arm. “I certainly can.” With that, he set off toward the city, jogging all the way to and disappearing through the gates. 

Alexander lingered outside for a while, leaning against the wall. It creaked and bowed with his weight against it, as did the floors when he walked on them, as did the shelves inside when objects were placed upon them. It smelled of must and every surface felt almost damp to the touch despite the last rainfall coming weeks ago. It was overgrown with vegetation that seeped into the gaps between the floorboards, as though nature itself was trying to reclaim the dwelling and the natural materials it was composed of.  It was nowhere for a king to live. It was hardly anywhere for a civilized person to live. And it was certainly nowhere for his wife to live, especially while she was with child. In his heart, he knew the right decision was made when he said that restoration efforts would begin in the morning, but that same heart pounded at the thought of setting foot back inside of that place. At least he had time to acclimate to the idea.

For now, he only had to worry about setting foot back into his current home. The door’s hinges squealed when he pushed it open, signaling his return. Inside consisted of a single room that was sparsely decorated, containing some shelving, a table surrounded by a few chairs, a straw bed in one corner, and a cooking pot in the other. An open window occupied the center of the far wall, allowing sunlight to peek in. Lanterns hung from metal hooks dotted the walls, though the light they provided seemed to be absorbed by the grayish wood that surrounded them. Sat at the table, underneath one of the lanterns, was his wife, Lucia, reading from one of the many unfurled scrolls Alexander brought her from the palace archives.

“So we might be moving to the palace soon?” she asked without looking up at him.

“Yes, we will.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” 

“I am.”

“Then we have so much work to do!” She jumped up from her seat and began pacing around, mumbling to herself while hovering around the few items they’d collected over the years. “We have to keep this. And that.” She said, repeating, “And that,” as she pointed at more objects. 

“You do know that furnishings will come with the palace?” Alexander asked with a smirk.

“Yes, yes, I know.” She scowled and waved him off. “Some of these things simply can’t be replaced.” She continued sorting through the items they had, creating two distinct piles of essentials and trinkets. The sun was beginning to set by the time she finished and sat down at the dining table where Alexander joined her. “Tell me, what’s it like living in a palace?” Her eyes beamed with excitement while awaiting an answer to her question. 

Alexander hesitated for a moment as he recalled his past experiences within the palace and tried to carefully select which portions he told. “The walls are tall and spread far apart. The hallways are wide, wider even than our home here, and adorned with artwork collected from the far corners of the world. The bedchambers each could fit an entire family comfortably, and the meals displayed in the dining hall could feed a village.” Throughout his description, as he fed into Lucia’s imagination, the images that were conjured within his own mind were of the bloodstained halls with torn tapestries and shattered ornaments.

“I can’t wait! And I’m really going to be your queen?” 

“You already are.” Alexander chuckled. 

She took a deep breath and let out a long exhale. “I can’t believe it. Never would I have imagined something like this.” 

“Nor would I.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a smile. “But here we are, bearing the burden of sovereignty.” 

Those words seemed to snap Lucia out of her dazed fantasy for the moment, and she placed her hand on Alexander’s. “Know it’s a burden that you don’t have to bear alone.” 

Alexander nodded and smiled once more before wrapping his arms around his wife in a tight embrace. It was all he truly needed in this world. Be it in a palace or in a hovel, as long as he had her, his life was as complete as he needed it to be. 

Night wore on as Alexander regaled Lucia with more tales of palace living, of the many privileges that came with being royalty, while sharing more personal stories of time spent playing games in the courtyard with the servants and guardsmen, and those of finding himself on the end of a paddle when he neglected to pay attention during lectures administered by Advi. At what point Lucia fell asleep, he wasn’t certain, but her rhythmic breathing and occasional snores served as responses while he continued sharing his stories to deaf ears. There was comfort in it, of getting to relive those more pleasant memories while his mind was plagued by those of more recent times. It was a welcomed relief, but not one that persisted into slumber. 

4

Renovations were well underway by the time Alexander arrived on the palace grounds in the morning. He found that counting the number of workers was a fruitless task, as the heads that weaved in and out from his view changed by the minute. Clanking of tools pervaded the air, rendering any conversation that happened in the vicinity of the palace nearly incomprehensible. Still, Alexander couldn’t help but mouth his astonishment. The grass surrounding the palace was freshly cut and appeared greener than he remembered, and the vines that once clung to the walls now lay on the ground in heaps. Cracks in the stone facades were in the process of being patched while old cobblestones were plucked and new ones were laid in their place. The previously gray and dilapidated courtyard now shone brightly from the light dispersed by the freshly polished stones. 

Inside the palace, workers went systematically from room to room, filling in parts of the walls that were damaged in the siege and scrubbing the dirt-crusted floors until they gleamed. Old tapestries emblazoned with the crest of the previous king were gone, and though their absence left the space they once occupied bare, the palace appeared brighter overall without them. The throne room and dining hall were emptied of their old furniture and replacements were soon to come, with a new dining table being constructed on the spot. The kitchen was similarly emptied with vacancies ready to be filled. 

Slack jawed, Alexander continued his self-guided tour. Workers greeted him with a bow that he returned in kind while thanking them for what they were doing, but his thanks were rebutted with the workers insisting that it was them who should be thanking him for such a grand opportunity. With little enough to go around, trade and craftsmen had to watch as their tools grew dull and rusty from disuse after turning to farming as a means of survival. Not only were they now able to show off their skills, they could do so under promise of payment and future prospects by being able to point to the palace and proudly state they transformed it into the marvel it was to become. 

Hours slipped away as he watched the palace transform from its dilapidated state. Watching the workers was mesmerizing with their rhythmic movements and constant sounds filling the void between seconds. Their efforts saw that over half of what needed done on the palace was completed by day’s end, and had they not families themselves to tend to, they would have stayed and finished the rest that night. The main halls, dining area, kitchen, and royal bedchamber received the most attention and sat with a few tasks left to complete in the morning. Likewise, the throne room sat unfinished, lacking a throne to sit upon while benches rested against the walls, patiently awaiting placement in their new homes.

While a throne had been commissioned, it would be at least a week before its delivery. For the material, Alexander settled on pine, a far cry from the dark stained oak that comprised the old one. A week, a month, a year, he didn’t much care how long it would take for the new throne to be delivered, nor did he care if it was delivered at all. The mere thought of sitting on one made him shudder. But if he had to sit on one, at least it would differ from his father’s, and it’d be more approachable due to its austerity. Or so he hoped, anyway. 

When the sun began retreating below the horizon, the cacophony of clattering, pounding, and speaking slowly faded away as weary craftsmen filtered out. In their place, they left collections of tools and materials, marking the rooms and hallways with distinct paths recalling where they once were and where they yet needed to go. Following along the path, Alexander entered the western wing of the palace that lay largely untouched. 

Behind the first door of the hallway was his own bedchamber when he was a boy. The surfaces within the room were coated in dust, though the floor brandished footprints most likely created on the night of the siege. The prints made a circle throughout the room, turning at various intervals where he imagined Julius or his men paused to inspect an area for any signs of life. Atop the bed was a woolen blanket that was pulled back, but the bed itself was otherwise undisturbed. Everything else was as he left it the day he made the decision to flee from the palace, down to the three letters on his writing desk. 

The ink on the letters was faded, and any legibility was eliminated by direct sunlight bleaching the parchment year after year. While he couldn’t quite remember exactly what the letters contained, he recalled the sentiment well enough. Each detailed his reason for leaving, and each called for his father to end his tyrannical ways if he ever wanted to see his only son again. Either his pleas were willfully ignored, or his father didn’t care enough to read his letter. Whatever the case was, he made his decision and suffered the consequences.

No, he didn’t suffer the consequences. He was permitted death when such a thing was too good for him. That man should have found himself in shackles, working the fields until his frail body collapsed and withered away. Every Lagaundrien citizen should have gotten a turn or two lashing the old king. Even then, that wouldn’t have been enough to repay for the crimes he committed. 

But it was done. There was no further recourse for the tyrant, merely the memories Alexander and his people held, bitter as they were. While those recollections once served as fuel to the fire of rebellion, they now acted as a poison that were best left in the archives, not held onto by the populus. Much he told himself that, it still didn’t shake the urge to dig up the bastard and kick his skull around. Before any further memories could fill his mind, Alexander absconded from the bedchamber. 

Perhaps this whole restoration effort was a mistake. If exploring his old home filled him with such bitterness now, he couldn’t bear to imagine what it’d do to him to live in it again. There wasn’t much choice in the matter. As Julius made plain, he couldn’t rule from a hovel. His people needed a strong leader, so that was what he needed to be. With time, he supposed his disdain for these halls would dissipate, and with all his kingly responsibilities, he wouldn’t have the time to ruminate on them. 

The room diagonally across the hall from his own was always a spare room, one which he imagined would have held a sibling had his mother not succumbed to illness. Whatever its purpose was before, it was largely empty, but diagonally across from that one was the study where Alexander had lessons as a child. It was where he became proficient in mathematics and fell in love with poetry. In his youth, he considered himself something of a poet, but upon reflection, his writings only mimicked the greats, and often bordered on blatant theft. He opened the door to the room expecting to see it unperturbed as well, but was taken aback when he was met with a vast collection of paintings lining its walls, with one yet unfinished painting on the easel in the center of the room. 

His eyes darted between the paintings in an effort to count them, losing track after a few dozen and not bothering to restart. He never knew his father as an artist, only as an art connoisseur back before his madness took hold. But here, before his eyes, was evidence to the contrary, with each piece holding the king’s signature in the bottom right corner. Some of the paintings were self portraits that showed a rapid progression in age, going from a youth with long, black hair and fair skin to an old man whose hair was thin and gray with deep wrinkles and sunken eyes. 

Beside the self portraits were paintings of the king’s wife, though each iteration looked somewhat different than the last with her features growing less distinct until her face was a rounded blob. Still, she maintained her smile in all of them, a smile that Alexander returned until his eyes fell on the portraits of himself beside her. They were not smiling. His face was twisted into a permanent scowl that was replicated in every portrait of him. 

In the far right corner of the room was another painting that appeared yet unfinished. Who it was meant to be was unclear, but its employment of swirling reds, yellows, and oranges resembled a blazing inferno–a stark contrast to the comparatively muted colorings of the other portraits in the room. While those portraits all sat in close proximity to one another, the inferno seemed largely separated, begging further inspection. Alexander approached it, trying to decipher who the subject of the painting was that appeared in its center. They were obscured by the flames, and though he craned his neck to varying degrees to see it from every angle imaginable, none of them freely portrayed who the person was supposed to be. 

Another peculiarity caught his attention, however, when he stood before the painting. The wall it was placed upon appeared to jut out to a near imperceptible degree, one he wouldn’t have noticed had he stood any further than practically right in front of the painting. As many times as he’d been in this room in his youth, he never noticed such a thing. Chances were that it was some kind of modern addition or repair made to the palace. Save for it jutting out, the wall itself looked identical to the ones surrounding it, and there appeared to be no seams on any of its sides. 

Curious, he ran his finger along its borders. While they seemed to be more coarse, almost sandlike, than the surrounding walls, they were otherwise unremarkable. He carefully removed the painting to see if there might be something behind it, but all he was met with was more wall. Setting the painting down on the floor, he ran his hand over the space it once occupied to no avail. Aside from the different texture and odd placement, there seemed to be nothing remarkable about a rather shoddily constructed wall that piqued an unsatisfiable curiosity. That was until he leaned into it. 

Pressing upon the wall made it budge slightly, and when he pressed with both hands, it moved backward until a metallic click emanated from it. From there, he found that he could slide the wall to the left, revealing a dark room. With little sunlight left lingering outside to pierce through the window, he could only make out vague shapes that suggested what some objects were. It was a cramped space. From where he stood, he could reach out and touch the back of a chair, and taking a step inside, he felt the top of a desk before it, topped with scattered pages that littered it and the floor based on the crinkling that emanated underfoot. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, more details became apparent, most striking of which was a silver candlestick that occupied the center of the desk. Held by the candlestick was a long, thin candle with an unmistakable crimson hue. The lack of melted and rehardened wax hinted at the newness of the candle, and while he would have liked to light it, the lack of anything with which to do so was perplexing. 

Putting that out of mind for now, he picked up one of the pages and held it close to his face, but was startled when he heard Julius calling his name from the hall. He replaced the page on the desk and swiftly exited the room, not quite certain if he should divulge its existence just yet. Once he slid the false wall back into place and replaced the painting upon it, Alexander made his way to the center of the room and called back, “I’m in here, the room with the paintings.” Shortly thereafter, Julius opened the door and entered while carrying a small, wooden box that rattled in his grasp. 

Alexander turned his head to look back at Julius. “I’d like to keep this room as it is.”

“I thought that might be the case. I advised the workers to avoid this and the one beside it for the time being. I assumed they may hold some sentimental value to you.”

Returning his attention back to the paintings, Alexander responded. “How easily you read me.” 

Julius stood at Alexander’s side and joined him in appreciating the paintings. “She looks exactly how you described.”

“It’s as if he plucked the image of her from my mind’s eye.”

“It must do you well to see her again.” 

While he didn’t respond outright, a soft smile crossed Alexander’s face that drew one from Julius as well. As his smile faded, Alexander asked, “What’s in the box?”

“Some old keys I found in a drawer in the royal bedchamber.” He handed them over to Alexander. “After some inspection, I believe enough renovations have been completed to accommodate you and Lucia.”

“Oh?”

“You could both move in tonight if you wished. You might be awakened by workers in the morning, but I imagine it’d still be more comfortable than that ramshackle hut you call a house.”

“Interesting proposal.” Alexander’s eyes wandered back to the fiery painting in the corner of the room. Perhaps he’d be able to receive answers sooner than anticipated. “I suppose it isn’t much of a choice.”

A triumphant grin overtook Julius’ face. “I knew you’d be in agreement. Would you like to see the royal bedchamber?”

Alexander turned around and motioned forward. “Lead the way.”

The pair exited the room and sauntered toward the bedchamber, passing through an unfinished portion of the hallway where the rug that spanned most of it was folded over on top of itself. Their footsteps began echoing as they transitioned from rug to marble floor, though only for a short time before they rounded the corner and stood once again on another crimson rug that bridged the gap between halls. Lanterns hung on either side of the double doors that marked the entrance to the bedchamber, and beside those were flat tufa blocks, ready to accept anything that may be placed upon them. 

Julius threw the doors open, revealing that the bedchamber looked similar to the incarnation they saw on the night of the siege, but with some alterations and rearrangements. Rather than the purple cloth that enshrouded the bed, there was now an equally translucent turquoise one, drawn to allow a view of the bed itself. The bedding was composed of cylindrical, ruby red pillows with golden borders, and a similarly styled blanket was draped over top of a featherbed. On one wall was a long couch that bore resemblance to the bedding with a chair to one side that sat in front of a wide bookshelf, filled edge to edge with tomes and scrolls. On the other wall was a fireplace with two more chairs placed before it, and to either side of the fireplace stood an armoire that nearly grazed the ceiling. Spanning across the floor, as if to connect all four walls together, was a silk rug that alternated between golden and dull red colors in a rectangular pattern until it converged into a final crescendo of gold in the center. 

Alexander’s eyes darted around the room, soaking in every detail. He attempted to form words to compliment what he was seeing, but all he could do was open his mouth and close it again in repeated attempts to speak. This room in itself was larger than the so-called ramshackle hut in which he and Lucia lived. Its vibrant colors were the antithesis of the drab wood he was so accustomed to. After trying and failing to come up with adequate words, he turned to his friend and muttered, “It’s perfect.”

5

That night, the new king and queen moved into the palace, bringing with them only their most valued possessions and leaving behind the life of squalor they once knew. Upon first seeing the palace, Lucia dropped the few items she held and ran inside with childlike wonderment, pointing out all of the decorations that caught her eye as Alexander and Julius struggled with their respective loads. 

“Oh, it echoes!” She squealed in delight while stomping her feet along the marble floor of the entry hall, enjoying the sounds of her footfalls as they rebounded off the walls. She giggled to herself, then let out a bellowing laugh when her giggle similarly reverberated through the hallway. “Is this really happening?” Her voice was nearly breathless while her eyes lingered on a piece of artwork hung on the wall. When the two men caught up to her, she turned back toward Alexander and clapped her hands together. “Where’s this bedchamber you were telling me so much about?”

Alexander grunted. “Just down the hall, follow us.” But before he could take the lead, she raced off ahead of him, zigzagging along as she took in every detail. He let out an exasperated chuckle. “Your queen, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I’m certain the people will love her as much as you do,” Julius replied.

“Hurry up, you two!” Lucia called from the other end of the hall. Once they caught up to her, she skipped over to the doors to the bedchamber and pushed them open, letting out a gasp when the interior came into view. Despite having already seen it himself, Alexander couldn’t help but be awestruck once again. 

He and Julius dropped their burdens down onto the couch while Lucia scurried about the room. As predicted, she was particularly drawn to the bookshelf where she ran her hand across the spines of the tomes on its many shelves. She perused the selection for a while, pulling books out to flip through the pages and replacing them, before making her way to the featherbed and falling backward onto it. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes and whispered, “I could die right now and everything would be perfect.”

Alexander sat on the bed next to her. “I think I could, too.”

“Are we really royalty now?” she asked while turning toward him, her eyes dazzling in the lantern light. 

Alexander wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tightly. “As royal as they come.”

“My king,” she whispered before laughing to herself. “I’m still calling you Alexander.” 

Julius cleared his throat. “As much as I hate to interrupt, I should inform you that there will be a heavy guard presence around the palace now that you’re both here.”

“Fair enough,” Alexander replied, his attention still focused on Lucia.

“Furthermore, and I’m sure this comes as no surprise, you’ll both be accompanied by guards for all excursions.”

“Understandable. Thank you, Julius.” Alexander’s gaze broke away from Lucia and he stood up from the bed. He stepped toward Julius and clapped his hands on his shoulders. “Thank you for everything.” 

With a nod, Julius stepped out and closed the double doors, leaving the king and queen alone in the bedchamber. Alexander yawned and returned to the featherbed, whereupon Lucia was already lying with her eyes closed. Despite it being improbable that she was already asleep, he did his best to lower himself down beside her as gently as he could manage. As soon as his body was relaxed on the bed, he, too, found himself unable to keep his eyes open any longer. It was as though he’d never slept before in his life at that moment, and now that was all he could will himself to do. Whatever secrets lie in the chamber he found could wait until another time. It could…

His eyes shot open. Cold sweat poured down his face that he wiped away while bolting upright. How much time passed? It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, though the position of the moon as it sailed along in the sky gave him cause to reconsider. His heart was racing, and flashes of the nightmare came to him. It was similar to one he had before, in which he stood above his father with his sword raised in preparation to deliver the fatal blow. In it, his blade was so dull that it bounced off of the king’s neck while the king, his guardsmen, and Alexander’s own men laughed at his incompetence. After several more fruitless slashes, the king lunged forward with a hidden dagger, plunging it into Alexander’s heart while the men surrounding them still laughed.

Just as the moon drifted across the sky, he and his wife drifted further apart on the bed while they slept. They were each lying at their respective edge. At some point, Lucia must have awoken and covered them both, though that blanket was stretched to its limit between the both of them. She was faced toward him, her face illuminated by the glow of a moonbeam peering in through a small gap in the curtains. Watching her sleep helped to quell the pounding in his chest, and her peaceful demeanor was a reminder of a promise kept that, some day, she would live a life of comfort. What greater comfort was there than being a queen? 

When he could finally muster the will to look away from her, his mind turned back to the thought he had before falling asleep. If ever there was a time to investigate the secret chamber, it was now. Careful not to disturb her, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. In their haste of falling asleep, neither of them thought to extinguish either of the lanterns that hung beside the double doors. Their glow was somewhat diminished, but would otherwise be serviceable for navigating the darkened palace corridors. He took one from the wall and passed through the doors, leaving them ajar as one more measure to ensure his activities wouldn’t awaken Lucia.

The lanterns that dotted the walls were all still extinguished, and were it not for the one he held, he would have been swallowed by the darkness that consumed the halls. Even with it, his vision was limited by the flicker of the small flame. He crept along, his steps feeling as though they brought him no closer to the room he sought, as though the empty corridors stretched on eternally into the night and he would be trapped, forever walking until the flame died and he was left alone in blackness. Eventually, though, he did reach his goal, and he stood outside the entrance to the painting room with his hand resting on the door handle. The pounding in his chest returned upon turning the handle, and he considered, for the briefest of moments, removing his hand and turning back around. He allowed the momentary hesitation to pass, turned the handle fully, and entered the room, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. 

Within, the eyes of his mother, father, and himself fell upon him. Though their faces were obscured by shadow, the whites of their eyes seemed to have an unnatural glow, glistening from the lantern light. Their gazes seemed to follow him throughout the room to the corner upon which the fiery painting hung. He removed it from the wall, set it aside, and pushed. Like before, the wall slid backward, clicked, and was then able to be moved aside. Just inside was a hook upon which he hung his lantern before stepping inside. 

What he was expecting to find, he wasn’t quite sure. He accepted long ago that he’d never understand why his father acted the way he did. Much as he scoured the premises, it was evident his father left no explanation behind for him either. But this final unexplored bastion, maybe it held something, anything that could provide Alexander or his people with some kind of closure. 

Uncertain of where to begin, Alexander picked up the same page he started with when Julius interrupted him before. There were impressions upon it where it appeared someone attempted to write and gave up, like their ink ran dry and they willed the pen to produce words regardless of its inability to do so. Most puzzling, however, was the dried ink on the tip of a sharpened reed resting on the desk beside a capped inkwell. Yet the page he held now was blank, as were many of the pages beneath it, each one warped by the pressure applied by the writer, but none revealing their intentions. 

Uncapping the inkwell revealed that the ink inside was still in a usable state, further adding to Alexander’s confusion. No matter which way he looked at any of the pages, he couldn’t decipher what was upon them. About midway through the stack was where words began appearing, neatly written in a uniform fashion, styled in an all too familiar manner. They were all penned and signed by his father, each one detailing every law he enacted during his reign, dating back to when Alexander was a boy. 

Their ordering bordered on the obsessive, organized such that they formed a complete timeline. Not only that, they followed an escalation. The first few laws the king passed were simple, even reasonable–a simple tax increase and seizure of various properties for cultivation of crops. Those were fairly standard things for a king to do, and were also items on Alexander’s own agenda, but it seemed those were the only normal things the man did.

Forbidding the wearing of red clothing, barring trade between neighboring provinces, and disallowing alms to the poor were the laws that marked the king’s descent into madness. Alexander flipped through each one, clenching his jaw tighter with each page he let fall to the floor into an ever-growing accumulation of the past. None of them came as a surprise, as each one was now repealed, but reminders of each injustice his people suffered transported him back to those times living among them. It made him sick to his stomach. 

By the time he reached the bottommost page, the words passing before his eyes lost all meaning. They became a nonsensical mishmash of nothingness. But the date on the last page snapped him out of his trance. It shared the same date as the night of the siege.

Abandonment of Children in Public Spaces

By decree of King Maximus II 

Children found unattended in public areas may be permanently requisitioned by the state for purposes of servicing the state. 

Parents found to have abandoned a child will be put to death.

One more night. Had the siege been delayed one more night… Alexander swallowed. His head spun. His legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed onto the chair. The page slipped out of his hand and glided down onto the floor. He rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes. Only a single thought occurred to him; he needed to get out of this room. He needed to leave and seal it up forever–the final tomb to his father’s madness.

When Alexander opened his eyes again, they were immediately forced back shut from an unexpected brightness that filled the room. White light overtook the room, the viewing of which, for the split second that he did, was like gazing directly into the sun on a cloudless day. He clasped his hands over his eyes, though the damage was already done, and while he should’ve seen naught but darkness, his vision behind his hands and eyelids was consumed by that light. At first, he thought himself blinded, but upon opening his eyes and pulling his hands back slightly, he was able to see just fine. The wick of the red candle before him was now consumed by a flickerless flame, bathing the room in its harsh, white glow. 

A dull ache began behind his eyes that only grew in intensity. Looking away from the candle provided no relief, nor did pressing his hands into his eyes once more, and as the pain grew, burning and stabbing into the deepest depths of his skull, with it came a whisper. What it said was indecipherable, a cacophonous thrumming which reverberated within the confines of his mind, repeating endlessly while he was left to writhe in the chair. While his throat vibrated from the utterance of a groan, it was inaudible to himself over the whispers, as was the clattering of the chair when it fell backward from his attempt to stand. 

Alexander collapsed onto the floor, torn between covering his eyes or his ears to quell the pain. Nothing helped. Nothing would. It was only by some kind of mercy that it began to recede alongside the deafening whispers in his head. 

You’ll do.

Nonsensical as the rest of the whispers were, those two words were of stark clarity. With them, the light in the room faded, retreating into the flame of the candle before disappearing entirely, leaving Alexander in the near darkness of the secret chamber with his lantern’s own light appearing diminished. With shaking limbs and ragged breaths, he crawled out of the room and slid the false wall back into place, realizing only after night enshrouded him that the lantern was still on the other side. It could stay there for the rest of eternity for all he cared. For now, he was content to embrace darkness and silence, welcoming them as comforts unlike anything known to him before. 

Those comforts were short lived, broken by a light shining through the gaps of the painting room door, and the voice of Lucia calling out for him. Alexander scrambled to his feet and called back to her, “I’m in here.”

The door handle rattled and turned, and the door swung inward. The appearance of her silhouette enshrouded by the warm glow of her lantern was enough to settle him for the moment, and he donned an uneasy smile as she asked, “What are you doing in here?”

“I awoke and needed to relieve myself.”

“Hardly looks like the place for that.” She glanced around at the paintings on the walls, then returned her gaze back to him. “Or maybe it is. To each his own, I suppose. Wanted to piss on the old man one last time?”

Alexander let out a light chuckle and made his way to the door. “Something to that effect.” He swallowed. “No, I simply got lost.”

Lucia’s face turned from bemusement to concern upon his reaching her. She lifted the lantern up higher. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I feel fine. Why?”

“You’re pouring sweat.” 

He reached up, felt his brow, and wiped the sweat away from it. “I feel fine,” he repeated.

“If you’re certain,” Lucia said with a tinge of doubt in her voice. She spun around and began leading the way back to the bedchamber while recounting a dream she was having before she awoke, all while Alexander struggled to cling onto the minute details of the words she spoke. From what he could make out, they were dancing in the entry hall surrounded by a large crowd, with Lucia clad in an elegant blue and silver gown made of fine silk. Past that, he lost track of what she said, nodding along to feign understanding despite her being two paces ahead.

When it seemed that she was finished speaking, Alexander cut in. “Perhaps we could have the tailor make such a dress for you.”

The suddenness with which she stopped caused Alexander to bump into her. “Do you really think so?” She spun around to face him, her mouth agape as though he were presenting the outfit to her already. 

He took a short step back. “Pay a visit to the tailor tomorrow. I’m certain they’d be delighted to work on such a thing for their queen.”

A wide grin crossed her face before she threw her arms around him, catching him off guard and forcing another backstep. She closed the distance regardless, and followed up with a swift kiss. “I’ll go first thing in the morning!” 

The pair returned to the bedchamber, wherein Lucia once again fell asleep as Alexander lay awake, staring up into the darkened void that loomed above the bed. Each attempt he made to close his eyes saw them shooting back open until the morning sun began to peek over the horizon, its brilliance now tarnished by the events of that night. 

6

He was awakened by the sound of rapping on the bedchamber door. At what point he fell asleep, he wasn’t sure, and he found himself alone in the bedchamber. Lucia must have left early to see the tailor as they discussed the night before, a suspicion that seemed to be confirmed when he saw a note was left on his bedside table. His eyes were heavy and he struggled to sit upright on the bed as more knocking resounded. With a grunt, he stood, hobbled over to the doors, and opened them. Before him stood Julius, arm raised in preparation to knock again. 

Julius looked him over for a moment. “Difficulty adjusting to the new environment?” he asked, to which Alexander replied with a nod. “Give it time. I wanted to let you know that the workers will be coming in soon, in case you wanted to vacate. Won’t be ideal for sleeping, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said with an exhale. “I’ll get dressed and leave shortly.”

“I’ll keep them occupied until then,” Julius said with a smile. When he began to pull the doors closed, Alexander gently grabbed the handles to stop him. “Hm?”

“Julius, do you know where Advi is these days?” 

“The old fool opened a shop in the market with his retirement money.” Julius laughed. “Bought one of the abandoned buildings, no less, trading in odds and ends that pique his interest. I stopped in there once myself, but some of the things he deals in makes my skin crawl.” He laughed again. “I’m sure he’d love to see you. He asked about you when I was there. His shop’s the one on the eastern end of the market, has a sign out front with ‘Advi’s Curiosities’ carved into it.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said again, releasing the handles and allowing Julius to pull the doors closed. After dressing himself, he left the palace in search of Advi’s shop, his mind racing with an endless slew of questions. Whether he’d be able to voice them, though, was a different matter entirely. How could he describe what he saw the night before and not appear as a madman? But since Advi was advisor to the old king, surely he would know something about the secret study, about the whispering voice he heard, something, anything at all. 

Before he could leave, though, he needed to see to it that no one else could discover the secret he knew. In the box Julius gave him the night before were several keys, each one looking similar to all the others, and with some experimentation, Alexander found that one fit into the lock of the painting room. With a click, the door was locked and the handle stuck in place. Satisfied, Alexander returned the key to the box and stored it on the top shelf of the armoire while procuring clothing for his excursion.

He caught a few stray glances from workers outside as he passed by them, donning a woolen cloak with a hood that he used to cover his head. Sweat began pouring down his face shortly into his journey, but the protection the cloak provided from the eyes of the populus was more than enough reason to endure the heat. Though passersby looked at him, they seemed unaware of whom they were walking amongst, perhaps thinking him strange for wearing such clothing at a time like this. Some voiced their speculations regarding his mental state openly, and for those, Alexander considered lowering the hood so they could see who they were insulting. He smiled to himself, imagining the shock on their faces, but dared not to cause a scene, opting instead to remain obscured on his way through the crowded streets. 

On his journey, looming no more than a few paces behind him at all times, were two guards who did little in the way of not drawing attention to themselves. They were clad in chainmail armor and appeared three-legged with their spears doubling as walking sticks. Those features on their own were reason enough for most to give the group a wide berth, with the shadows they cast over most men being the final hint they needed to clear a path. Neither guard spoke a word, not between themselves, to Alexander, or any passersby. Were it not for the rattling of their chainmail and the rhythmic tapping of their spears against the ground, they would have been phantoms.

Upon reaching the markets, Alexander stared with wonderment out at the sea of people lined up in front of stalls with sacks and baskets ready to be filled. It was a far cry from how they used to be, both the markets and the people. With finite resources between merchants and customers alike, there was hardly a need for a marketplace. Many of the old stalls would be stripped of any spare wood and fed into a fire to keep a family warm for another night. Even if someone was set up to sell something, they’d find their time wasted by hagglers and their goods stolen by thieves. That was if they were lucky. If rattling came from their coin purse, the merchant could count themselves as good as dead. 

Seeing coins and goods being exchanged without the typical air of misery was a marvel. As a ruler who put an end to the tyranny of his predecessor, there was an expectation for Alexander to feel proud of himself. Or at least he expected to feel some sense of pride for the accomplishment. In truth, he was mixed on the concept. Yes, his people no longer suffered, but the path to reach that end was etched in blood. Perhaps if it had been the blood of anyone other than his own, he could have come to peace with it. As it stood, and what he was hesitant to admit, was how hollow of a victory it was. Until now. Witnessing the marketplace exchanges, how jovial everyone seemed to be, was enough to move him to tears that he hid by pulling the hood down further. 

Past the stalls, on the eastern side of the markets, were several rows of stone buildings with signs out front displaying what could be found within. The sweet smell of baked bread came from one of the buildings he passed, and beyond that, from an adjacent building, came the succulent aroma of roasted meat and herbs. On the end of the final row of buildings was Alexander’s quarry, denoted by the sign labeled as Julius told him. The door was propped open with a large stone, and inside was Advi, long, gray hair held behind his head with a leather band that waved around as he swept along the floor.

“You two will wait outside,” Alexander commanded his guards. They returned with a silent nod, posting themselves to either side of the door.

Alexander entered the shop and lowered his hood, though Advi seemed too wrapped up in his sweeping to notice that anyone entered. It was when Advi turned and began sweeping the accumulated dirt pile outside that he saw Alexander. The broom fell to the floor as Advi threw his arms up and embraced the man without a moment’s hesitation, a wide, toothy grin plastered on his face. “My boy, what a pleasant surprise!” He stepped away after a prolonged hug and looked Alexander over. “What brings you here of all places?” 

“I came to see you, of course!” Alexander replied, trying to match Advi’s enthusiasm. “I apologize for not doing it sooner.”

“No apology needed, my boy. I can’t imagine being a king affords you much free time.” Advi’s eyes wandered to the guards standing outside. “Nor much privacy.”

“And I thought you’d have all the free time in the world. What happened to retirement?”

A grunt escaped Advi as he bent down to pick the broom back up, only for Alexander to lean down and grab it for him. “This is my retirement,” he said with a chuckle. “Sitting around, doing nothing all day,” he waved his hand, “it was all too boring. I’d always dreamt of running my own shop, dealing in unique items, meeting new people. This building was for sale, and at a good price, too, so I bought it, hired a few fellows to make it decent, and furnished the shelves with things I’ve accumulated over the years.” 

While Advi continued sweeping the dirt pile out the door, Alexander walked along the shelves to see the wares that he offered. Much of what he had seemed to be various parts of animals: detached antlers, feathers, skulls, and organs preserved in jars. There were old artifacts ranging from pottery to ceremonial masks, blades with peculiar patterns etched into them, and jewelry that must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of years old for it to be displayed in glass cases atop gold-embroidered pillows. While Alexander understood Julius’ previous comment about some of the items causing his skin to crawl, he couldn’t help but admire the collection and wonder how Advi came into possession of such items.

“In truth, I came because I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh?” 

The words caught in his throat when he tried to speak them the first time around, and doubt crept into his mind about everything that happened the night before. It seemed so real then, but now it was almost like a dream–albeit a rather lucid one. When Alexander saw concern in the old man’s eyes, he closed his own, and took a deep breath. “Know I don’t say this lightly, and I hope you won’t think me mad.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I found a secret chamber in the palace. In the room with the paintings.”

The sweeping stopped again, though this time Advi leaned the broom against one of the shelves. “I-” he started before cutting himself off and jerking his head toward the open door and the guards standing outside. “It may be best not to let wandering ears hear our conversation.” 

The seriousness in Advi’s voice provided some relief. Raising his own, Alexander called to the guards. “This is a private matter, please ensure no one enters until we are done.” The men nodded before one removed the rock propping the door open, allowing it to fall shut with a soft thump. Turning his attention back to the old man, Alexander dropped his voice once again. “So you do know about it.”

Advi nodded and motioned his hand toward Alexander, beckoning him to follow. He led Alexander into a small room in the back of the shop that was furnished enough for a single person to live comfortably. On one end was a table with two chairs to either side, situated before another, smaller table topped with a bucket, kettle, and several small cups. The other end contained a small cot, and between the two spaces sat a fireplace with a low-burning fire within. “Please, have a seat.” Advi motioned toward the table as he began filling the kettle from the bucket and set it over the fire to boil. He remained over by the fireplace, watching it intently with his arms folded behind him.

“Alexander,” he began, “I wasn’t always your father’s advisor. You were probably too young to remember Hector. I believe you had just begun to walk when he passed and I was brought in to fulfill the role. One of my first tasks was to sort through all the documents he left behind, and there were quite a few. In one of those documents was mention of the very room you described with further details explaining it was permanently sealed and should remain that way. At the time, I kept that document to myself. I thought that since it was sealed, there was no point in making its existence known.

“In all honesty, I forgot about that document until a few years after its discovery when your father said something very similar to what you just did. ‘I found a secret chamber.’” He chuckled and took a deep breath. “I can still hear those words exactly as he said them.” Advi’s voice was shaky. “The so-called permanently sealed chamber was, according to him, easily opened. He was never the same after its discovery, and then when your mother passed… well, you know the rest.” 

The room was overtaken by the crackling of the fire once again as both men stared into its dancing flames. Advi turned to face Alexander as he spoke again. “So, you were able to open it then?”

“Yes.”

Advi winced at the word and turned back to face the fireplace. He sighed and shook his head before whispering to himself, “Then Hector was truthful in his recordings. Hmph.” After another moment of silence, he returned his attention to Alexander, joining him at the table. “The night of the siege, your father gave me one final instruction, to seal the chamber such that no man could open it ever again, and that’s exactly what I did. At least, that’s what I thought I did. I lined the door frame with resin and tested it myself to make sure the door was sealed.”

“Perhaps the binding wore off,” Alexander said.

With a shrug, Advi replied, “I suppose anything is a possibility.” A weak smile crossed his face as he turned his head to wipe away a tear that began making its way down his wrinkled cheek. Both men sat in silence while waiting for the kettle to begin hissing, their eyes focused anywhere but each other. 

“Old friend, my apologies for dredging up such bitter memories.” The legs of Alexander’s chair scraped against the floor as he backed away from the table to stand. 

“No tea then?” Advi asked, letting out a forced chuckle while wiping away at another tear.. 

“Not today, thank you. The next time we have tea together will be a happier occasion.” 

“I’ll look forward to it.”

With a nod toward his friend, Alexander walked out of the back room and through the shop, eyeing the wares once again while his thoughts wandered. An urge to shatter one of the glass cases welled up within him, which he suppressed by smacking his hand on the shelf beside it. There wasn’t much use in being mad at the old man, especially not after he practically raised Alexander in his spare time. Whether he knew of the whispering entity in the chamber was another question entirely, and one he wasn’t sure he wanted answered for fear of snapping on him. Fact of the matter was that Advi knew something was off about it, but if his story was to be believed, he kept a dark secret for a good reason. 

Inside of the case beside his hand was a shining, silver bangle inlaid with sapphire gemstones. He lingered there for a moment, admiring the craftsmanship of it while recalling the dress Lucie described to him the night prior. The two items would pair well together, assuming the dress somewhat resembled how he envisioned it. “Advi,” he called out. “What would you want for this bangle out here?”

Advi emerged from the back room and walked toward Alexander while delving into the object’s history, confirming a suspicion Alexander had about the shop’s true intent. Ever the storyteller, he began, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That piece comes from an ancient tribe that was wiped out by barbarians centuries ago. It belonged to the tribe’s queen, and the story goes that the barbarians only attacked because the glimmer from it shone directly into the chieftain’s eye. At his command, they wiped out the tribe, took the bangle as a trophy, and locked it away so the chieftain would never have to see that glare again.”

“Quite the story. What price would you give such a valuable artifact?”

Advi stroked his chin in thought. 

“And don’t say that it’s free.” 

“It’s my shop, I can give it away for free if I want,” Advi shot back. “Truthfully, Alexander, were it not for the money you gave me for retirement, I wouldn’t have that item to begin with. What you’ve done for me, for everyone in Lagaundriel, how could I put a price on that? If you want it, it’s yours. With one caveat.”

“Name it.”

“Stay away from that chamber. I don’t know what evils it holds, but I watched one man enter and come out a monster. I won’t see that happen to another.” 

“I already planned on that.”

“Good man.” Advi removed the bangle from the case and handed it to Alexander. “Then this is yours.”

Alexander accepted the bangle, and tucked it beneath his cloak. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around the old man again. “Take care, old friend. We’ll see each other again soon, I’m certain.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

7

Not a cloud hovered in the sky, nor did the slightest hint of wind blow to provide any relief from the scorching sun. Before reaching the privacy of the palace grounds, Alexander removed his hood and fanned himself with his hand while walking, periodically stopping in whatever shade he could find. As much as he suffered, it was nothing in comparison to what he witnessed in his escorts. They didn’t complain, but their faces were drenched in sweat that sizzled and disappeared when it fell onto the pavestones below. 

His presence walking among the common folk wasn’t as eventful as he believed it would be. Then again, while an introduction would reveal his stature, his face was unknown among the vast majority of the populus. While some greeted him with a respectful bow, it seemed that most were just as preoccupied with trying to endure the heat as he was, commenting on it as they walked past him without realizing to whom they were complaining. The summers in Lagaundriel seemed to only get hotter each year, at least that’s what everyone else would have him believe. Come winter time, they’d be saying the same thing about the cold. He was guilty of making the same complaints, and that commonality between himself and those he walked amongst helped to keep him grounded in reality. While being royalty had its advantages, he and those he ruled over would all suffer the extremities of weather in the same way.

“You’ll do.”

But they would never have to deal with that. Not that he had an inkling of how to deal with it himself. Those two words alone, as they recurred in his mind, sent a shiver throughout his entire body. Maybe the solution was as simple as Advi made it sound–stay away from the chamber. What if that advice came too late? He’d already been inside the chamber, and whatever entity lurked within made contact with him. What if the seed it sowed was enough to do with him as it willed? 

“Sir?” one of the guards spoke for the first time since they left the palace that morning. The voice snapped Alexander back to the present where he was at a complete stop in the middle of a crossroads. How long he’d spent standing there in the open sun was unclear to him, though it was long enough to draw concern out of an otherwise stoic set of men. Without a word, Alexander continued walking forward. “Not headed back to the palace then?”

Alexander stopped again and looked around at his surroundings, realizing that he was passing straight by the outermost gate to the palace. His escorts stood in the open gateway, hovering beneath a thin strip of shadow that obscured their faces. “Beg pardon,” he replied. “I was lost in thought.” He turned toward the gate and proceeded past the guards.

Observing workers toiling away outside on the palace grounds, faces reddened and drenched in profuse sweat, was nearly convincing enough to call the entire restoration effort off until more desirable weather came. Sure, the workers were there of their own volition, but it still wouldn’t be a good look for the new king if he allowed people to die because he wanted his place of residence to look pretty. The interior of the palace didn’t provide much better working conditions either. Hot, stagnant air bore down upon all who were inside, and though the window in the dining room was open in an effort to circulate the air in some way, the lack of wind made it just another entrance through which the heat could enter. 

If the workers were bothered by the heat, however, they didn’t make it apparent. Those who noticed Alexander’s approach greeted him similarly to the day before, with a bow followed by restating thanks for being allowed this opportunity, to which he voiced his own appreciation for the workers’ hard efforts. When he followed up by asking if they needed anything at present, they all declined and resumed working as though their bodies didn’t require the same provisions as his. A slight hint of guilt came when he gulped down a couple of glasses of water from the kitchen before continuing on.

Despite his excursion not taking long at all, the continued transformation of the palace could have fooled him into believing an entire day passed between the time he left and when he returned. The hall he traversed that morning was nearing completion. The rug was now fully unfurled and spanned the entire length of the hall, anchored down on either side with four sets of tufa blocks placed at even intervals throughout. As much traffic as the rug was seeing now, the weight on its corners and edges kept it from bunching up in the slightest. Where cobweb-draped brass lanterns hung before were now ones cast from iron, the light they emitted amplified by pristine, white stone walls.

Breathless, Alexander traversed the hall, fighting himself on whether he should continue drinking in this part of the palace or if he should go see what other wonders it now held. Though maybe that was something best saved for Lucia’s return, if she wasn’t back already. Together, they could share in the excitement of seeing how their home transformed before their very eyes. First, he needed to stash away the surprise he had for her. While he was certain she’d love the bangle, it was a gift he wanted to wait to present to her until she was wearing the dress she envisioned. He withdrew the bangle from his cloak and held it up to the light, admiring how the sapphires twinkled from various angles. 

Upon lowering the bangle back down, his eyes fell on the painting room door. There was a small gap, only a finger’s width in size, between it and the door frame. Whatever jubilance he had vanished in an instant, replaced with a sinking sensation that served to anchor him to the spot. He pressed his palm against the door, and gritted his teeth when its hinges creaked. The majority of the room was swathed in darkness, save for what light spilled in from the open door, and the hint of sunlight blocked by curtains that were newly drawn closed.

He took a few steps inside the room, peering into the darkness in a vain effort to see someone or something in the shadows. “Hello,” he called out in a low voice. “Is anyone in here?” No answer came, nor did subtle breathing or muffled footsteps betray the presence of anyone who might lurk within. “You won’t be in trouble if you make yourself known now.” Still nothing. He scanned the room end to end one last time, and when he was convinced no one remained inside, he began withdrawing from the room. Then his eyes fell upon the fiery painting in the corner, where a thin strip of sunlight caressed part of its rightmost edge. It was crooked, sloping downward toward the window. If memory served, when he hung it back on the wall the night before, he took care to ensure it was level. Admittedly, in the state he was in, it was certainly possible that he only believed he hung it properly while reality begged to differ. 

Either way, what he was absolutely certain of was that he locked the painting room earlier that morning. That was cause enough for concern. Furthermore, the room was disturbed, and the painting demarking such a horrid secret was askew. To him, that warranted investigation. Those whispers left himself cowering on the floor. He dreaded to think what they could do to a common man, what one could be convinced to do if they were heard. 

That momentary thought caused Alexander to bring his hand to the dagger affixed to his hip as he backed out of the room and ran down the hallway toward the royal bedchamber. Upon bursting through the doors, he was relieved to see no one inside. The room was as he left it that morning, or at least as he recalled it. Still, he took care to push curtains aside and look behind the armoires until he was certain no one lurked within. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Alexander pressed his hands to his face, wiped away more sweat, and shook his head. Paranoia was unbecoming of him, but life experience taught him he could never be too certain of anything. 

Once the pounding of his heart in his ears subsided, Alexander deposited the bangle into the armoire and retrieved the box of keys from it. It was when he locked the painting room once again that it dawned on him to question how the door was unlocked in the first place. Unless an unsavory type was snooping around in places they shouldn’t be, no one should have known where the keys were stashed, much less would they have been able to fumble with each one until figuring out which key matched the painting room’s lock, not without being seen. Question after question piled up in his mind. One way or another, he’d get answers.

With the painting room locked again, its sturdiness tested by Alexander pressing his full body weight against the door while trying the handle, he returned the keys and set off to find Julius. If anyone could help right now, it was him. It was a short search that took Alexander to the servants’ quarters. It, much like the rest of the palace, was mid-transformation, shifting from a vacant, empty shell to a somewhat lavishly furnished abode that could make commoners envious. The once barren rooms each contained a woolen bed fit for a single person, a table and chair with a small candle lantern adorning the table, and an oaken wardrobe. 

In the common area was a long table situated before a cooking fire that had a new cooking pot suspended above it. There were shelves lining the walls that held wooden plates and bowls, and suspended off of the shelves were cooking implements and dining utensils organized according to type and length. 

“Ah, there you are,” Alexander said upon entering the common room to find Julius wiping some dust from the table.

“Back so soon? I told you that place was creepy.”

A forced chuckle escaped Alexander’s lips. “You were certainly right about that, but I think it has some charm. Either way, the old man’s happy with it, so who am I to judge?”

“Ever the optimist. Come to inspect?”

Alexander wiped away at his brow again and hesitated a moment before responding, uncertain of how to convey what he needed to without giving too much away. In his haste to find Julius, he didn’t give much consideration for how to approach the situation. He clasped his hands together and leaned in. “Yesterday, you told me that the workers were informed to stay out of those two rooms on the western side of the palace.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you sure all of the workers received that message?” 

“I’m certain. I made special mention of it yesterday morning before they began working.” Julius crossed his arms. “Why? Did something happen to the rooms?”

Alexander swallowed. “Just the painting room. The…” he shook his head, knowing how petty what he was about to say would sound, but he couldn’t think of a better way to say it. “The curtains were drawn.” 

“The curtains were drawn?” Julius mouthed, repeating the words almost inaudibly while raising one of his eyebrows, the hint of a smirk crossing his lips. “Anything else?” 

Alexander took a deep breath. “One of the paintings was bumped, but I suppose that’s not important. Thing is, I locked the door just this morning, so how anyone got inside eludes me.”

At those words, Julius resumed his serious demeanor, dropping his arms back to his sides while the smirk was replaced with a frown. “I see. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Before Alexander could utter a reply, Julius was already marching out of the servants’ quarters and calling out for all workers to meet him at the front of the palace, the booming of his voice similar to that of crashing thunder. That was the voice that led them to victory in overthrowing the old regime. It struck fear into the hearts of foes and allies alike, and no matter how many times Alexander heard it, he still jumped when it came out with such force. 

One by one, workers exited the palace and congregated at the base of the steps that led up to the entrance. Atop those steps, in the center, was Julius, arms folded behind his back with Alexander standing to the side. Sets of eyes darted back and forth between the two, and questions surrounding what was going on were whispered among the group. 

In that same booming voice, Julius addressed the crowd. “It has been brought to my attention that one of my directives from yesterday has either been forgotten or disregarded, so I’ll repeat it this one time. In the western wing of the palace are two rooms that are off limits. For the directionally challenged among you,” he lifted his left arm and pointed in the direction of the western wing. “Do not, for any reason, enter either of those rooms unless you receive specific orders by the king or myself to do so. Is that understood?”

The group responded all at once, voicing their understanding in a jumbled mess that sounded closer to, “Yer,” than, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now before you all get back to what you were doing, would anyone that entered either of those rooms please make yourselves known?”

Silence fell over the crowd, and before Julius could say anything else, Alexander cut in. “You’re not in any kind of trouble, of course.” He ignored the look that Julius shot him. 

From the crowd arose a stuttering voice. “I-I did, sir.”

“Mind stepping out so we can see you, please?” Alexander asked.

The young man obliged and took a few steps to the side of the group. He stood much shorter than his contemporaries, with thin arms that held no tools and fragile legs that threatened to betray his stance. His voice quivered when he spoke, sounding as though tears would begin streaming down his face at any moment. “My apologies, my lord. I got winded while carrying some supplies inside and leaned against one of the doors. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it wasn’t completely shut, and I fell in when the door gave way. Then I saw all the paintings lit up by the sun. My father was a painter, you see, and he always told me that a painter should never leave their works out where the sun can touch them, or else they’ll fade away, so I closed the curtains and left.” He concluded by repeating, “My apologies, my lord,” while wringing his hands together. 

Alexander gritted his teeth and raised a hand up to stifle any additional apologies the young man may try to voice. “Thank you for being so kind as to do that for me. Those paintings are dear to me, and I cannot thank you enough for helping to preserve my family’s history, however tainted the past may be.” He smiled at the young man who tried to return it with a twitching chin. Afterward, Alexander turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. Their faces were red, and their clothes bore obvious signs of heavy perspiration. He looked up at the sky for a moment, shielding his eyes with his hand, before looking back down at them. “It’s a hot day, and it’ll only get hotter, I’m sure. I see no reason to make you all slave away on a day like this, not when there isn’t adequate enough urgency to warrant it. Return to your homes, to your families, for the rest of the day. Find some way to stay cool or otherwise enjoy yourselves knowing you’ll still be compensated for a full day’s efforts. You may grab whatever belongings you need to take with you, and then you are dismissed.”

Whatever tension was in the air seemed to evaporate the same as the sweat that fell onto the ground. The workers stood up straighter while turning to their neighbors to ask if they heard correctly. Once confirmed, they reentered the palace after Alexander who pulled Julius aside in the entry hall. “I’m going to wait in the empty room on the western wing. Bring that boy to me.” 

Julius’ eyes widened at the command, and his lips parted as if to ask for clarification, but he stopped himself, then nodded. “Yes, sir.” With that, Alexander scurried off toward the empty room, knowing he’d owe an explanation for detainment of who was most likely still a child. But he needed to know what the boy knew, or rather he needed confirmation that he didn’t know anything. 

Before long, Julius delivered the boy. “Should I pat him down?” Julius asked, his voice rife with sarcasm. 

“That shouldn’t be necessary. Would you mind waiting outside?” Julius obliged, exiting the room and shutting the door behind him. The boy lingered by the entryway, eyes downcast and body trembling with his arms folded down at his abdomen. “Relax,” Alexander told him. “I just have some questions, then you’ll be free to go.” He stepped away from the boy and sat down against the wall. “You may sit if you like.” Without hesitation, the boy sat down against the opposite wall. “What’s your name?”

“Brutus, sir.”

“A nice, strong name. And how old are you?”

“Sixteen years, sir.”

“So young,” Alexander smirked. “Too young to be laboring away, but I would wager the previous regime made it a necessity. In truth, Brutus, I have one question that needs answering, and I would appreciate it if you’d be completely honest with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alexander leaned forward. “When you were in the painting room, did you notice anything peculiar?” 

“No, sir.” His voice cracked with the response.

“Nothing at all?” When he began to respond again, Alexander cut him off. “Look into my eyes and tell me.”

Brutus raised his head toward Alexander, meeting the king’s gaze with tear-filled eyes that told him all he needed to know. There was no falsehood in his answer, nor was there any certainty in whether he’d walk out of the palace alive. Alexander could speak assurances until he ran out of breath, but there was only one certainty in the boy’s life, and that was cruelty enacted by monarchs. “You needn’t answer again,” Alexander muttered. “Thank you for your hard work today. You’re dismissed.”

Without breaking eye contact, Brutus scrambled to his feet and retreated out of the room. Outside, his hurried footsteps were drowned out by those traveling at a much more relaxed pace. When the halls fell silent, Alexander did the same, absconding to the dining room where he collapsed onto a chair. Not long after, one final set of footsteps echoed toward him, but these he knew well enough, especially when rattling accompanied each pace. 

Julius entered the dining room, though Alexander dared not look up at him. Neither uttered a word as Julius disappeared into the kitchen, emerging soon thereafter with a jug of wine and two glasses. He placed the glasses on the table, filled them to the brim, and set one down before Alexander. They both drained their respective glasses, only for Julius to refill them before sitting down. “Something’s troubling you, my friend,” Julius said after taking another sip from his glass.

“That obvious?” Alexander sighed. He took another large gulp from the glass and sat it back down. His eyes remained fixated on the distorted visage of himself within it.

“Care to elaborate?”

Alexander picked up the glass once more and drank the rest of the wine within, knowing the words he wanted to speak but finding them difficult to produce. When he sat the glass back down and attempted to summon up the courage to say what was on his mind, his throat burned and the urge to retch overtook him. He opened his mouth, then covered it with his hand in case anything did try to escape. With a swallow, he removed his hand and finally looked up to meet his friend’s eyes. In them, he didn’t see the anger or bewilderment he imagined he would, but instead saw genuine concern. It was enough to dislodge some words from his throat, dancing around the truth with a vague answer. “I wish I knew.” That wasn’t enough. He knew that full well. It wasn’t enough for himself, nor would it be enough to satisfy Julius’ curiosity. With another swallow, he continued, “Forgive me. There are so many thoughts going on in my head that I don’t know which to settle on and have it make sense. Perhaps that’s the lot of a king, the mind consumed by so much that it’s no longer its own. Or perhaps that’s the lot of mankind in itself and I’m only just becoming aware of it.”

“You’re in a cumbersome position.” Julius patted Alexander’s back. “And I don’t envy you one bit. You shoulder the burden of an entire kingdom while having to prove that you won’t be like your predecessor. But, my friend, remember that you don’t have to shoulder that burden alone. Yes, you are responsible for countless lives. I’m sure that weighs heavily upon your conscience, but you’ve done so much good already, and I’m certain you’ll do even more. And when it all becomes too much to bear, remember that you have many people around you who are as eager to help you now as they were before the old king fell.”

“That young man today may not think as such.” 

“Maybe not. But he is alive and unshackled. How many could say the same after an encounter with your father?”

Alexander’s back straightened as he digested Julius’ words. “You’re right,” he said with a growing smile. He fished for more words to say on the matter and found himself drawing another blank, instead settling on the desire for more wine and the comfort of his bed. “I think some rest is in order for both of us.”

“Is that by decree?”

“Yes, it is.” Alexander raised his hand and motioned as if he were signing a document suspended in the air. Once finished with his imaginary signature, he rolled up the invisible document, stamped it with his fist, and passed it to Julius with a wide smile. Julius reached his hand out for it and both men began laughing at the farce until they were struggling to breathe. Once settled down, they stood up from the table and walked toward the entry hall while Alexander carelessly swung the jug in his hand, a few drops escaping the container and fading into the crimson rug on the floor. They bade each other good day as Julius left the palace and Alexander left for his bedchamber. He shed his clothing and lowered himself onto the bed. After downing the rest of the wine, Alexander rested his eyes for a moment, and shortly thereafter found himself drifting away.

8

A shrill, distant scream forced him upright on the bed with a gasp. The black veil of night that covered the room left him questioning if his eyes were open or shut. After a few blinks and rubbing his eyes, he tried to look around once more. Clouds outside of the windows blotted out what moonlight tried to peek in, and all he could see within the room was the outline of the doors as they were illuminated by lanterns hung on the other side of them. Just as he was considering if the scream he heard was from a dream that leaked into the waking world, it came again, then was followed by Lucia’s voice crying out, calling his name, pleading for him to help her. Alexander leapt up from the bed and ran to the doors. When he threw them open, the screaming came again, echoing from the hall toward the painting room. 

Somehow, some way, she must’ve found the secret chamber. But why? She would’ve had to go through a great deal of effort to gain entry. Light of a sleeper as Alexander tended to be, the sound of her entering the bedchamber alone would have alerted him, as would the rattling box when she procured it from the armoire. Did it compel her to do so? He didn’t have time to consider such things. As another scream tore through the palace, Alexander barrelled down the halls and stopped before the painting room door. It was once again partially ajar. Of course it was. Pushing it the rest of the way open and stepping inside was a plunge into the abyss. Not even the faintest hint of light penetrated within.

Alexander stepped inside, using the wall to navigate toward the secret entrance, upon which still hung the fiery painting. When his hands gripped its sides, he stopped in place. Entering the room with the painting still on the wall shouldn’t have been possible. The gap the false wall slid into was too narrow to hold it.

Before he could give it much more consideration, another agonized cry came from the other side, ending with a prolonged groan that was all too telling of the kind of pain she must have been in. It was a pain he knew well, and one he couldn’t let her suffer through any longer. He tossed the painting to the floor and slid the wall aside. It, like the room outside, was completely black. There was no Lucia, no white flame, no more screams or cries, nothing at all existed inside that liminal nothingness.

But as Alexander gripped the edge of the false wall to slide it back into place, the wick of the candle flickered into being, casting its blinding light not only in the secret chamber, but all throughout the painting room and into the hallway beyond. Robbed of all strength at once, Alexander was unable to brace himself for what was to come. Aching behind his eyes began again, and with that came the hushed, dissonant tones and drones inside his mind, like tearing cloth and rusted metal bent until shattering, shards of which scattered within his head, rattling against his skull and blurring his vision.

Black dots formed before him, swirling into blotches that came together to form the visage of a featureless man sitting at the desk, quill in hand scribbling upon parchment. As for what he was writing, that remained unclear until the shadowy figure stood and turned to face Alexander. It pointed at him, then to the desk, and spoke in the same whispers that roared in his mind. 

Bodies of the dead are to be left as they are found. Attempts made to remove them by unauthorized individuals will be punished with imprisonment. 

In the agonizing cacophony of percussive noise, there was a momentary silence, a calm in the storm where everything clicked and finally made sense. A shiver shot down his spine as the thought occurred to him. Everything his father did, all of the cruel laws he passed, weren’t of his own creation. They were musings delivered to him by an ethereal entity that resided in the darkest recesses of the palace. 

And Alexander killed him for it.

Whether the tears that flowed down his cheeks were from his realization, or the excruciating pain, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both. When the whispers resumed at full volume, he clapped his hands over his ears to no effect. He was beginning to pant from the toll being taken on his body simply by keeping himself standing upright. If he was meant to stagger over the desk and do as the entity commanded, it made the task impossible. But he wouldn’t do as it commanded, not if he had a say in the matter. “I won’t!” he croaked out, his own voice rendered mute, overshadowed by the one in his head. 

The whispers grew louder in response to his protestation. Words began layering over each other, repeated in higher and lower pitches, at slower and faster speeds, interlocking into a web of utterances that were simultaneously indistinguishable and perfectly clear. Alexander removed his hands from his ears and replaced them on the false wall. There was no shutting out the voice, not the way he was trying. If anything was going to grant him some reprieve, it’d be getting away from this chamber. With all of the strength he could muster, he pulled on the edge of the wall, straining as though he were trying to pull the palace in its entirety. Unleashing a pained groan through gritted teeth, he managed to pull the wall fully into place, cutting the painting room off from the all-consuming light within the study. 

All fell quiet around him, but not within him. The endless stream of whispers were gone, though the message they conveyed looped in his head such that the words may as well have been his own thoughts. They repeated as he sank down to the floor and tucked his head between his knees. The wails that came shortly thereafter were the only sounds he had to combat the noise he couldn’t quiet in his mind. Whatever strength he had left that allowed him to sit on the floor left him with each sound he made, and without realizing it, or perhaps not caring that he was doing it, he collapsed onto the floor.

The time he spent there was marked by the passage of the moon as it peeked in and out from behind the veil of wispy clouds consuming the night sky. Closed as the curtains were, the occasional light was dull. Though when it pierced through a narrow gap between them and the wall itself shining onto his closed eyes, his heart pounded again. Never in his life had he feared anything so much as he did now with light. Its soft caress against his eyelids drew out another long wail. If it alerted the guards or his wife to him, then so be it. Of all the people in the world, if anyone had a right to be a broken mess lying on the floor, it was Alexander, patricidal monster haunted by a vile creature the likes of which no other man would be willing to face. This was his birthright, his inheritance, his kingdom of smoldering ash. 

His own ideations did little to quell the repeating words of the entity in his mind. They were like two concurrent, symbiotic thoughts, each necessitated by the existence of the other. It was a bitter balance that left him derelict, the sole recipient of endless torment in a nightmare from which there was no awakening. Only when his body began to ache from his scrunched position on the floor did he find the will to move again. He pushed himself upright, wiped his eyes, and staggered to his feet, body trembling as if from a hard day’s labor. 

His feet dragged along the floor in uneven steps while his arms dangled by his sides, swung by the whims of his shambling. Before he could exit the painting room, his eyes hung half-lidded while the beginnings of dreams drifted across his mind. With them came more vocalizations, this time of guards within the palace speaking in hushed voices that he couldn’t quite make out. It wouldn’t surprise him if they actually were doing so. Loud as his wails were, the whole kingdom probably heard them echoing through the night. They could say whatever they wanted about him. It didn’t matter anymore. 

It was when he opened the painting room door to exit out into the hall beyond that he was brought back to full alertness. Instead of a corridor, he was greeted by the royal bedchamber, and when he turned around to look behind him, he saw the darkened halls of the palace stretching out as they were supposed to from where he stood. Just like that, an interstitial moment was robbed from him, one he wouldn’t remember a few days from now anyway, but one that he couldn’t recollect even now, seconds after it happened. 

Alexander chuckled. What else was he to do? There were no more tears for him to shed. The well ran dry. All he could do was laugh, and when he looked back into the bedchamber, his laughter morphed into a guffaw when his eyes fell upon Lucia lying there. She appeared peaceful, breathing softly, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. It must’ve been a deep sleep, as his boisterous laughter did little to disturb her past causing a subtle shift from her on the bed. She must’ve been there the entire time. Grateful as he was that she hadn’t been trapped in that chamber, he also couldn’t help but have a tinge of envy when considering how lucky she truly was. 

***

Beneath the city streets, its entrance hidden inside of a building with cracked, crumbling walls on the verge of collapse, was the place from which the overthrowing of the old king was planned. Its labyrinthine passageways snaked their way throughout the underbelly of the capital with many forks and dead ends that served to dissuade explorers from discovering the murky chamber at its center. In all parts, the ceiling hung low enough so as to make men of average height hunch over as they wandered, and other parts saw the ceiling and floor making close acquaintance, hovering a hand’s height from each other. Its brown brick walls had long been overtaken by fungus growing in the dim environment, slowly swallowing the thin passageways. Were it not for passersby, it would consume the passages entirely, sealing the secrets away inside. 

The tunnels once served as a sewer system in the early days of the city before modern inventions, and now lay abandoned by the society that once touted its existence. The chamber at the center, however, was a recent addition, carved out by militiamen who desired a safe refuge to discuss their plans. It was in this since-abandoned central chamber that men gathered once more, summoned by Julius who greeted them each with a silent nod. When shuffling no longer emanated from the entryway, he moved to the wooden panels that lined the floor at the opposite end. Elevated so, he addressed the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Know that I do not call this meeting lightly, nor do I do it with ease of conscience. In our king today, I witnessed behavior that reminded me far too much of his predecessor. Some of you were there and saw it for yourselves, and I’m certain you felt the same unease I did as events transpired. While I do not yet suggest another coup so soon, I would be remiss to instruct you not to keep your blades sharp. As I continue to monitor the situation up close, be prepared to stand again for the good of Lagaudnriel. I open the floor for discussion.”

Tiberius readily stepped forward, arms outstretched while addressing the general. “And who, pray tell, would ascend the throne should another king fall? You?” He gestured toward himself. “Me?” Stifled laughter came from the crowd. “I know I certainly don’t want the responsibility of a dying nation. Not with assassination so readily on the table.” 

“You needn’t attempt to make a mockery, Tiberius. I’ve given it much thought, and I believe the future of our country is not under monarchical rule.”

“I wasn’t consulted on this.” He turned aside. “Were you? No?” Then he turned to the opposite side. “How about you? I didn’t think so.” With a grin, he faced Julius again. “Sounds to me like you’re making decisions about our future, just like a king would. As I recall, when it was decided that Alexander would take up the mantle of ruler, the majority of us agreed. What makes you high and mighty enough to make such decisions on our behalf?”

“As I recall,” Julius started through gritted teeth, but stopped for a moment to take a deep breath before continuing. “You were in opposition to Alexander’s reign.” 

“Opposed, yes, but the decision was respected, and I made no plans otherwise.”

“Fine, then let’s open it up to the rest of the group. Who else wants to live the same cycle of tyranny until we all end up in mass graves?” No one vocalized an affirmation or raised their hand. “Did you have a change of heart already, Tiberius? I see not even you believe what you spout. Now, unless anyone has anything else to say on the matter, you are all dismissed.”

One by one, the men filed out of the chamber while Julius and Tiberius stared at one another, neither willing to break eye contact. When it was down to just the two of them, Tiberius finally took his leave. “General,” he said with a quick downward nod. 

“You’re a brash bastard, but a good man. Don’t do anything stupid.” Despite his best effort to maintain a neutral expression, he couldn’t help but flash a brief smile of his own. As much as a general needed men who followed his every order, having one who questioned him was equally as valuable. It kept him thinking at the very least, and he knew if anyone would have anything to say at all during this meeting, it would be the man whose heart was made of fire. Such was the making of a strong ally and a dangerous foe. 

They parted ways, exiting the tunnels and emerging above ground separately. It all left a bitter taste in Julius’ mouth. He couldn’t help but compare himself to the man he helped place on the throne. Alexander would’ve handled that exchange much better than he did. By the end of his speeches, everyone left with a sense of hope, smiling at the prospect of a brighter tomorrow. As it stood, the streets of Lagaundriel were dark when they emerged from the tunnels; tomorrow had already come and gone, leaving them in its shadow. Why did the previous king’s madness have to infest his successor so? 

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