The Crimson King and the Masked Heir (#1)

Chapter 8

Lyra

Lyra did as he said and closed her eyes. A room formed from the darkness behind her lids, and details began to take shape. She was struck by how bright the room was, and not because of the lighting. The whole room sparkled with gold and white trim, from the columns in each corner to the lining of the blood pool surrounding the throne. Given what she'd always heard about the Crimson Kingdom growing up and what she'd witnessed living in the slums, she expected thorns and bones to be adorning the throne. Instead, a large gold chair with red cushions sat on a dais in the middle of the pool, with steps on each side. The steps were white marble. The chair itself had intricate designs carved into the gold frame and the emblem of the masked king on the red cushions. 

Standing beside the throne was a tall man with a round belly and a dark beard lining his chin. He frowned at the throne and shook his head. "This isn't right."

"The people need their sovereign," an older woman argued, though her tone was gentle and tired. "We aren't afforded the time to mourn, even at such a great loss."

"Who is that?" Lyra whispered to Alaric when the pair drifted into contemplative silence. 

"My uncle Lucian and my grandmother Veronique," he answered. He watched his uncle with intense scrutiny and drifted closer. "He seems so...sad."

"Power hungry murderers still have emotions," Lyra remarked. "Sometimes."

Lucian gripped the arm of the throne, his knuckles whitening as he let out a soft sob. "I told my brother I would care for him. What a disappointment I still prove to be to him, even after his death."

"I'm sure he would be proud of you for doing what is necessary now, Lucian."

Alaric reeled back in surprise. "What was necessary? Was she in on this too?"

Lyra placed her hand on his back and shook her head. "No, what is necessary. Now that you're gone."

Alaric wasn't comforted by the clarification. "I don't understand. If he thinks he succeeded in assassinating me, his plans succeeded. The throne is his now. Why the show of mourning? Is it regret?"

Lyra walked towards Lucian and tilted her head as she drew closer. Real tears spilled from his eyes, but more than that...there was genuine fear in them. "I don't think it's a show."

"I don't want this, Mother," Lucian confessed in a choked whisper. He knelt down in front of throne, his head bowed and his face, contorted with grief, reflected in the pool of blood surrounding him. "I'm not meant to lead. The people have seen my face. I'm no sovereign. And Alaric had no heirs."

Veronique walked up the steps to the throne and bent over. She gently pulled Lucian to his feet and guided him to sit in the throne. "This is your place now, wanting or not. As you said, Alaric had no heirs. We are in unprecedented times, filled with uncertainty. We only know one thing: The kingdom needs protection, and that protection has a cost that must be maintained by our blood. There is no use waiting or putting on a show. Do what must be done, my son. For the sake of us all." With that, she turned and left the throne room, abandoning Lucian to his thoughts and his duty.

Alaric crossed his arms over his chest. "He's right. The people have seen his face. Everything we know of the Crimson King is about to unravel, thanks to his lack of foresight."

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked.

"All the legends surrounding my role help to maintain it. People don't rebel against the throne because they're afraid of god-like wrath raining down on them," he explained as he paced away from the throne. "They fear seeing the king's face. They fear what happens if he isn't here to feed the spell the blood needed to maintain the protections against the darkness. They fear their god."

Lyra had seen as much during her time in the Crimson Kingdom. The Masked King was a mysterious figure, both revered as benevolent and loving, and feared as all-powerful. Was his bloodline truly the most powerful, or simply the most cunning as they had every other blood mage swear blood-oaths to protect the king? "Okay, so now the myths start to unravel. Is that really so bad?"

"For a people to be shown their beliefs are false overnight? I can imagine it will lead to chaos. The most devout will argue in favor of the Crimson King and warn that doomsday is inevitable now. They'll fight with the more logical and rational who see the lies for what they are now. And from their conflict, chaos will arise."

"They'll bring about their own doomsday," Lyra summed up, but disagreed. Sure, there were problems in the kingdom, just like any other. But people weren't oppressed. Unhappy with their lot, but not oppressed. "You don't have much faith in your people."

"It's time." Lucian rose from his seat on the throne and knelt down in front of the pool of blood. "Brother, nephew, I hope to do you proud. Forgive me."

Alaric's eyes widened when Lucian pulled his dagger from its holster. "No. What is he doing?" He rushed over to his uncle, shouting for him to stop as he sliced open his palm and held it over the blood pool. He watched in horror as his uncle's blood dripped into the pool and the blood waters began to swirl.

Lyra was about to ask what the big deal was if it was all lies and myths, but her questions died in her throat as the blood waters began to boil violently. "Is... is it supposed to do that?"

Alaric shook his head, backing away slowly. "No. When my father died, the pool accepted my blood and the throne glowed and that was it."

The blood rolled in angry waves and a strange wind filled the room, nearly knocking Lucian over as he stood in confusion. He held his arm over his eyes to protect him as blood splashed at his feet. He stepped backwards as the room began to shake, and stepped to the side of the throne in a move that likely saved his life as the throne became engulfed in flames. Lucian screamed as the flames licked up his arm, and he stumbled down the stairs. He ran for the doors as the entire room was swallowed by smoke and fire.

Alaric grabbed Lyra and then suddenly they were back in their cell, both panting and their bewildered stares locked onto one another. 

"What the hell was that?" Lyra asked.

Alaric didn't answer right away, stunned silent by the implications of what they witnessed. "I think," he paused and swallowed hard, "I think the legends about my blood might be true."