Deserter

THIRTY-ONE

{Chapter Triggers: major character death, lots of crying and sadness, brief mention of potential assassination. Those are all I can think of/figure out from reading through the chapter, I apologize if I missed any and feel free to inform me.}

Virgil groaned and cracked open an eye as he heard the door to his quarters open.

"Roman, the sun isn't even up yet... what do you want?" He grumbled, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes again.

In the five years since the attack (that they had begun to call Deceit's Last Stand), Virgil had found more pride and joy in his work than he had his entire life. Working as Thomas's Chief of Defense was rewarding and taxing, and he always had something to do.

The servants and others in the castle weren't stupid. As soon as Virgil had started talking to many of them, asking about parts of the castle and things that happened throughout the typical day, many of them had recognized him as the younger brother of the king. 

But no one said a word, and Virgil quickly realized that Thomas was trying to give him the life he had been trying to find when he ran away.

"Good morning, Your Majesty." Roman muttered.

Virgil waved a hand in his general direction, pulling his pillow over his face. "Oh come off that. That's Thomas's title."

"Not anymore."

Virgil froze, his blood running cold. He slowly tugged the pillow away and sat up, looking at Roman.

Silent tears were streaking down the knight's face. He stood tall, keeping up the outward appearance of strength, but Virgil saw the pain clearly in his eyes.

He didn't even ask what had happened, just scrambled out of bed. Grabbing the nearest tunic and his boots, Virgil practically flew out of his quarters and ran down the castle corridors.

He nearly lost his balance as he skidded around the first corner, but slammed a hand into the wall and turned, set on the royal bedchambers.

Two guards were standing outside the main door. When they saw Virgil they both saluted, then one opened the door. Virgil skidded to a stop, chest heaving.

Though everything in him screamed to just burst into the room, he took a few moments to try and regulate his breathing.

Finally he stepped inside, his heart hammering in his chest.

Thomas was too pale. His eyes were closed and Patton was sitting next to the bed, holding one of his limp hands and crying quietly.

Virgil felt as if he was sitting in the backseat of a wagon as his feet carried him across the room to the side of the bed. He carefully picked up his brother's free hand and rested two fingers on the inside of Thomas's wrist.

Nothing. 

It was like the world shattered around him. Virgil collapsed to his knees, gripping Thomas's hand as if he would disappear if he let go. He didn't even register the tears rolling down his face until one of them dropped onto the back of his hand.

"What- what happened?" Virgil finally choked out, looking up. Patton was nothing more than a swimming blob, hardly distinguishable from the rest of the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and held Thomas's hand tighter.

"Heart attack." Patton said quietly. "Similar to your father's."

Virgil nodded to show that he had heard. He wiped his eyes uselessly and looked up at his brother's face.

Two more people entered the room and Virgil glanced up. Roman's jaw was set, but he could still see the pain on his face. Logan was also displaying the rare show of emotion as he quietly dabbed at his eyes with a dark blue handkerchief.

For a long time no one said anything.

Virgil tried to speak and found that the lump in his throat wouldn't let him. He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath.

"Who's next in line?"

He knew the answer. Didn't want to hear it.

"As prince, you are." Logan said quietly.

Sometimes Virgil forgot how old the man was getting. The concussion he had sustained from the battle in the throne room seemed to have sped up the process, grey hair appearing quickly and abundantly in the few years since. His voice was reedy and soft now, though he still commanded the attention of a room when he needed to.

The prince slowly realized that the others were looking at him. He took a shaky breath and got to his feet slowly, still holding his brother's hand.

"What should we do, Your Majesty?" Patton asked quietly.

"Well to begin with, don't call me that."

The order came out much harsher than Virgil would have liked, and he forced himself to calm down. "I've been your equal for five years now. I am Virgil, or if you absolutely need to address me formally, use my Lord. I refuse to hear you call me Majesty.

"I also refuse to see you salute me, unless absolutely necessary."

Roman sighed. "Your- ahem- my Lord. We are obligated as men loyal to the throne to give you respect."

"You can respect me without using those terms and actions." Virgil said firmly. He took a deep breath. "I need you all to do something."

He started with Roman. "I want you to make sure that this was a natural death. With Deceit's Last Stand only a few years past, I want to be absolutely certain that it was not a clever attack. Make sure no one was in this room over the night."

Roman nodded, and his eyes twinkled a bit combatively as he tapped his fist to his chest in a formal salute and swept out of the room. Virgil rolled his eyes.

"Logan... a royal funeral will need to be arranged."

"And a coronation." Patton said quietly. Virgil sighed and nodded.

"I would also like you to begin looking for viable candidates to take the throne after I pass."

"That could be years from now." Logan said quietly.

"Yes, but two of my immediate family have passed from what could very well be a hereditary disease. I do not plan to have children and I know Thomas did not. The throne could be vacant again in a year."

Logan nodded slowly and left the room.

Virgil looked down at his brother, feeling a sharp sadness rising in his chest. He didn't deserve this kind of death, not so early in his life.

"Virgil? What would you like me to do?" Patton asked softly.

The prince let out a shuddery laugh. "A hug would be nice."

He heard a soft noise and looked up at Patton.

The healer smiled weakly, his fist against his chest in that formal salute that Virgil hated so much. Somehow, he couldn't be mad about it this time.

"Very well, my Lord."

{You have reached the end of the book Deserter. I hope you enjoyed.}