Castling

CHAPTER TWO

Tanner steps from the King's Square, and the world feels much more polluted as he does. His lungs are smothered with the profuse amount of smoke billowing through the quiet streets. There is not a trace of life to be found. All that's left around him are burning buildings, with stone walls that are crumbling and wooden structures that are burning to charcoal.

He secures his wool cloak and walks cobblestone roads that he never has set foot on before. He knows where to go, and what he must do.

The reign of the current king is over, as it always is when a new person originates from the towering king piece. It is time for the king to relinquish his power, assuming that he is still alive. Within the fortified stone walls of the castle, it's likely that he is.

Tanner feels a shift in his blood, in his thoughts and his will. Should the king not already be dead, he will be soon.

"Help," a voice gasps. Their voice is dry and cracked; parched and in need of an oasis. Tanner looks down. Seared hands are groping against the ground, trying to find a hold so that they may pull themselves out from under a massive pile of stone. The entirety of their body is scorched and Tanner can only see wrinkled and parched skin. He cannot see a human. "Please."

"I can't," he murmurs, shaking his head. The person cries out weakly.

"You can't what?" Someone whispers, but as Tanner looks over his shoulder to see who spoke, he is greeted with no one. A shiver runs down his spine. He walks on.

He approaches the iron cast gate to the castle. It's been damaged enough that he can slip through the iron rows with ease. Tanner steps over pools of spilled blood that leak from the wounds of fallen palace guards and courtesans and privileged people who had the wealth to shelter in the walls of the castle.

"Guess it didn't pay off, in the end," he says, without pity. He continues forward, growing more and more numb to the destruction that lay scattered around him.

Tanner strides through the large, iron-welded doors of the castle. Each step he takes is smooth and precise. He is certainly not dressed as a king, but he holds himself as one.

There is a dark flash in the corner of his vision. His eyes narrow to slits, and he slips down the hallway in pursuit. An assassin. The king will never find himself more vulnerable than now, when his land is in ruins and a new ruler has risen. There are targets etched all over his body now.

He walks faster. His swift steps echo through the hallways. His heart speeds up with every step, and he is closer and closer and closer and closer...

His heart stops, then restarts.

His sweaty palms sting with scrapes as he presses them against a magnificent pair of wooden doors. They are miraculously intact and in good shape compared to the fallen and broken columns around him. As he closes his eyes and focuses, he can feel something stronger than he could anticipate behind them. It stops his breath in his throat. This magic, it does not belong to the king.

"You are not killing my target," he mutters as he throws open the doors with a strong pull. "Witch."

She reminds him of a cat. Everything from her movement to her looks is that of a feline. Her smile is wide and feral, borderline bloodthirsty. Her skin is dark and smooth, her body sinuous, her hair like black silk, and her eyes predatory. "Witch?" Her grin grows impossibly wider. "What a degrading term. Learn your place, boy." The man below her twitches. It's the king.

"I know my place, and I know it well."

"Do you?" She asks. The king twitches again, and she tightens her grip around his throat. Blood spurts past his lips, and Tanner winces. "Are you really supposed to take the king's place? Are you sure it isn't time for a queen to reign?"

Surely, up here in the castle, she could not have seen him take the girl's place?

"I happen to think," she continues, straddling the king despite his tremendous girth, "that I would look quite nice with a crown on my head. Don't you? I have dreamed of having fingers adorned with rings and wrists hidden beneath bracelets. The feel of soft, fresh fur on my skin... I'm making it so that I no longer imagine these things. I will feel them. And you aren't getting in my way."

Tanner has to kill the king. He must. It is in his blood, in his mind, his head, his soul, his heart...

He must kill the king.

"One more step, and this conversation is over." She's looking at the king, but he knows that her attention is all on him. "You can't be mad at me. I'm only following my dearest dreams, and," she smiles, "a girl does like her jewels."

Assessing what options he has, Tanner can only watch as more blood seeps down the king's face. The blood is dark and endless, continuing to pour forth from his lips. The king is starting to seize and twitch more regularly. His fingers and legs spasm and his chest heaves with a raspy cough. If the king is going to die by Tanner's hand, Tanner will have to make a move soon. He knows it.

"He might just die from bleeding out alone," the woman murmurs. She sounds sympathetic; pitiful. But knew better than to believe her bittersweet voice.

He's angry. He can feel his own blood pounding so furiously from his heart so quickly it feels like his veins are swelling.

What happens next, nobody in the room understands.

She is clawing at her throat like she can't breathe. Blood is gurgling out of her mouth and her chest is swelling and expanding as she struggles to get a breath. Blood starts dripping from her nose and streaming from her ears.

The blood is covering the king's chin and neck, blooming across his tunic and vest. Tanner feels unbearably hot. His face is red and his veins are pulsing beneath his skin. The woman is off of the man, gasping as she stumbles backwards, hardly able to keep herself upright. The moment she is clear of the king, Tanner leaps. He cuts his palm on a sharp piece of broken glass from nearby as he drags it quick and deep through the king's neck. Blood gushes out in crimson waves, dirtying Torrence's hands and splattering up his arms.

"You rat!" the witch shrieks, inexplicably recovered.

He scrambles off the king, slick with blood. Tanner's head slams into the ground and she's hovering over him. She bares her teeth, eyes ignited with fury. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but your reign is being cut short." She grabs his throat, cutting off his breath. Ignoring the way the glass cuts into his flesh, he stabs it into her side. With the last of his energy, he shoves her off.

He can do no more.

He lies on the ground with shallow breaths moving through his chest. When he opens his eyes, she is gone. All that is left of her are her bloody footsteps.