Salvation of The Scum Fifth Prince

[53 - please; persisting warmth]

Soren's mind throbbed as he trudged along the shadows, body still weary from the extensive battle with Celine. She'd forfeited easily, though that outcome had been expected when Uriel's name was mentioned.

For some reason, he had a faint feeling that Vendra would find Celine soon.

The memories were growing more painful; he felt it. The sweet memories at the beginning flowed through like honey, but it had been the apocalypse.

When all the sweetness was stripped away, what would be left but the bitter taste of nothingness?

As he neared the King's room, the lacking guards became more apparent. Earlier, they had flocked as if protecting a national treasure, but now it laid barren, as if the treasure had been swiped away.

'He's fast.'

Cowards usually were quick at running away.

He stepped inside, scanning the room which screamed luxury — as expected of the King. Glittering gold in elegant designs from every corner, silky velvet draped across the bed that flowed like cloudy rivers.

The chains rattled around Soren's arms, and he swiped the raven curtains, tugging on the cloth before throwing it over his body. He didn't necessarily care about revealing his bare legs under the scraps of skirt which he had torn off, but it was cold.

And when given a choice, Soren much preferred remaining warm.

He tugged it over after walking out of the room, fidgeting with the fabric to find a way to have it remain over his shoulders without holding it.

The direction he was heading was simple.

Most likely, the entrance that Brioc had revealed to them was compromised after their arrival. The route that the King would set his eyes on would be the very method his son had used to escape him.

Ironic, it was, in its own strange way.

Soren moved faster, even in his lazy movements, than the King could even imagine.

The Haze King tried to run, but Soren already knew.

He stood waiting at the secret exit, languidly leaning against a wall as he stared at the dripping ceiling carelessly. When the patter of footsteps entered his hearing, he glanced sideways through the mist of murderous eyes.

"You're here."

"You—" The King stopped dead in his tracks, face contorted. It was rather different from his typical arrogance, that haughty look that stared down from his throne; the throne that Soren had stolen in the chaos above. "How are you here?"

He snatched out a sword angrily, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. He held it up in a clumsy fashion, one easy to swipe or attack.

A fine line kept his sanity, yet it trembled on its teetering edge.

"No, that doesn't matter. Had it not been for you or that cursed man, I would be still sitting on my throne! Don't think you can snatch it from me. I'll get it back, fifth prince of Qazia."

Soren frowned. "...? I don't want the throne."

"What lies you speak! There is none that exists who do not wish for power!"

"Dealing with traitors, management, territory sounds like a pain. Why would I want that?"

"How hypocritical. You play the saviour, as if your desire is to save lives and that only." A mocking laugh ripped from his lips, crazy licking at the tips of his words. "You knew of my plans for a while, didn't you? Including the deal I made. But you only interfered when those children were involved, otherwise, if I had set the lands ablaze, would you have acted?"