Chapter 2— Death of a King

A petal flew along the soft patterns of the breeze, the color of amethyst, catching the sunlight that managed to escape the shades of the ivy crawling through the screen roof. The petal landed on a cup of freshly brewed tea, made from oleander leaves. The blond prince took a hefty sip from it, tongue burning yet not a budge of pain was evident on his face. He eyed the flowers that his mother loved, they were white, with a hint of violet from the seams, just like the eyes that he got from her.

Mother

The Royal Garden held a mysterious allure for him, a haven veiled in beauty and secrets. Its winding maze of emerald-green bushes led to the heart of the estate, where the glass greenhouse stood, bathed in sunlight. As a child of merely seven, he observed how the servants avoided the glass house, their footsteps skirting its edges like wary ghosts.

One fateful day, he strayed from the labyrinth's path, drawn towards the greenhouse's core. There, he was picked up by a servant—a poor lad. The woman's skin erupted in swells, her breath labored, and crimson flecks stained her lips. Luckily, the late Queen—his mother wasn't only harboring deadly plants but the cure as well. The boy's innocence shattered as he realized the truth: his mother's botanical treasures were lethal. Deadly yet he's sipping on the cup like it's a plain herbal tea. Poison immunity was it? Or was it a blessing from Adhara? either way he was odd and peculiar.

Father

He had a hunch, knowing that his father's death was a scheme orchestrated by his uncle, Duke Daemon. Perhaps Daemon longed to seize the throne from his brother, who outshined him in everything. Daemon wielded influence—the support of factions, nobilities, his wife, son, and raw power. His facade was impeccable, but Lucas saw through it—the hidden grin and sick whispers were as loud as thunderstorms.

It was fun witnessing the horrified expression on Daemon's face as he stood before the nobles. His eyes widened in panic, gasps of breath escaping his trembling lips—it was a comedy playing out in his mind. Lucas knew he needed evidence, proof that it was Daemon's authority that allowed him to seize all of King Aeron's letters sent back to the kingdom. And then there was the staged soldier, laughable in his lax demeanor as he entered the gate. Did they truly believe Lucas wouldn't see them from afar? Another blessing from Adhara, perhaps—the gift of keen vision. Impressive, just like the hues of a hidden truth.

He greatly underestimated him. The throne must become his, allowing him to seek vengeance for his father's death and hunt down the bastard fox that took his beloved mother's life.

"It's time." The massive gates, wrought from centuries-old steel, stand tall and imposing. Their timeworn surfaces bear the scar of countless generations passing through, even the traumatic burn of that night stained the already dark walls of the gates. The woman blends amongst the crowd of the subjects of Adri, hands shaking as she pulls the hem of her hood further down to mask her uncanny features.

As the trumpets played, cheers of the people from different crevices of the capital emerged from the already boisterous large mass. Carriages from different houses of Adri arrived, Nobles of all rankings came in with their finest apparel. Lucas was a man of secrecy, his presence was so scarce, so scarce that people were thrilled to witness even a strand of his luscious gold mop.

The strange woman was about to bolt out of the scene when her eye caught a glimpse of a knight lined among the gateway. There he stood tall and stoic, face grave and alert. His hair shows a glint of blue under the sun. Face of youth yet disciplined, almost as if he was part of royalty. Suddenly, their eyes met. she felt cold, hairs on her nape sticking up, What was that?

All eyes on the humongous doors that opened, their faces bask on the warm light that poured in. Awes and admiration was evident in their gaping expressions, as Prince Datura Lucas Adri Devereaux will finally be crowned as King of Adri. Even though the circumstances were not great, considering the unsolved death of the late king.

He trudged the crimson carpet, stretched all the way from the altar, where portraits of past kings are widely displayed. The organ, positioned on a raised platform, began to play a majestic fanfare. Its notes echoed through the cavernous cathedral hall that resonated through the heart of Sui de Valentine. She wore her most precious jewels, neck adored with a ruby red pendant. The green balloon gown almost swallowed her fitted corset.

Why was she having inappropriate thoughts of the priest when the real deal is just a fingertips away? Of course! Her betrothed, dressed in his pristine white coat, adorned with golden intricate patterns. His golden hair slicked back, exposing his eyes that hold the color of a deadly nightshade. How could she cheat on him with such naughty thoughts? Adhara would have punished her if she could hear her.

Could she?

The courtiers and nobles hushed as Lucas knelt before the High Priest of Adhara. His white robe etched with golden lines. His moonshine hair cascaded down his back, his silver eyes held the power and divinity granted by Adhara, reminding everyone of his prowess and position. Adarius felt an ominous stare somewhere in the crowd, a pair of orbs with murderous intent. Carefully, he lifted his gaze from the golden mops of Lucas and searched the crowd for any auspicious person-yet he saw nothing?

Is someone out to kill the Prince of Adri?

He wasn't sure but he needed to warn the boy of his surroundings. "Beloved people of Adri," His voice echoed. "Today, we gather to witness the union of mortal and divine. The Prince of Adri, Datura Lucas, kneels before us, a vessel of divinity, courage, and wisdom. " He prayed, asking for guidance and protection for the longevity of his reign-please, please keep him away from the dangers that he may encounter.

"By the grace of Adhara," head hung low, Datura Lucas anticipated the next words, staring at the blood-dyed carpet. This was the beginning of his sovereign, Where he'll execute his first step, he longed for the blank pages of his mind to be answered. Daemon Adri Devereaux will go down as soon as he is—

"Take this scepter of Adhara, a symbol of royal authority and sovereignty," Lucas held the scepter adorned with sacred motifs that were handed down generations from him. " And take this Sword of Ydric, as a symbol of justice, valor and protection."The priest felt another presence as he lifted the weight of the sword as if it held a hundred years of legacy, battle, and blood etched on its blade. Datura lucas felt the same as the latter, a spark of electricity flowing within his body. But the sword was no more than a formality for its dull blade can no longer kill a man, nor can it slice with its rigged edges—like scars from the battlefields.

"Through this holy annointing I, Adarius, The High Priest," From a cushion held by a courtier lies the brightest gold of a crown, its four high peaks adorned with the jewels of diamonds, each point has emeralds and the front etched with a big ruby.

"Ask Adhara and our ancestors to guide you with their grace, may Adhara free you of sin, save you and raise you up." Blinding as the lights bounced at an angle. he lifted the crown from the cushion and carefully put on Luca's blond head. Prince Datura Lucas Adri Devereaux as the rightful King of Adri. Lucas couldn't stop the grin that escaped his lips as he can almost taste the victory.

He stood up from his seemingly hours of kneeling, facing the High Priest eye to eye, he was taken back. His eyes looked him like he was a son, sent to out to war, odd, as it opposed his face that was full of youth. Was he worried? Afraid? Afraid of what? He wondered. The priest seemed to notice his query look, in which he replied with a smile instead.

"Long live King Datura!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices filled with emotion. Lucas scanned the audience, his gaze sharp, seeking the face that burned in his heart—the one he yearned to ruin. And there they were: the Royal Duke Daemon and his son, Prince Daemizio.

Daemizio, cheering and clapping, was the embodiment of youthful exuberance. His loyalty, like a bright flame, warmed Lucas's resolve. But Daemon—the cunning puppeteer—only smiled. His eyes, like polished stones, held secrets. Lucas knew that Daemon's facade was as fragile as spun glass, and soon it would shatter, revealing the true colors beneath.

The smirk that curved Lucas's lips was a silent promise. He would play this game, dance with shadows, and expose the treachery that lay hidden. But Daemizio—the innocent caught in the crossfire—weighed on Lucas's conscience. He hoped the truth wouldn't break the young prince, even if it revealed the atrociousness of his own father.

The knights that patrol the gates were assigned to guard the banquet hall as they celebrate the coronation of the newly crowned king of Adri. Lewis–a knight, wasn't particularly fond of the Prince-was Prince as he doesn't often see him around the castle grounds. He figured he was always locked up in his room, or was having his tea at the glass house. The seniority of the knights and servants warned him to never go near the garden.

He knew the prince-was prince was just a snob, a spoiled son with attitude problems. What a loss, really. He was sure Prince Daemizio was more capable of his position, He has seen him everywhere, the capital, the market, even the kitchen where he knows a royal will never even once bother to visit. Prince Daemizio even asked him to spar with him, recognizing his skills and performance in cavalry and infantry.

Speaking of, he spotted Prince Daemizio giving his what seemed like a congratulatory message to the king. The king looked fond of him who resembled his father Prince Daemon, Both who posses ebony hair with ruby shaded eyes. Yet he noticed the distance he gave to Daemon. Not so fond of him huh?He thought. Of course it makes sense, Prince Daemon was a threat to his throne after all. He was the late King's brother, next in line if the king didn't have his heir.

A noble lady approached the King and Prince. Gripping the hem of her emerald green gown as she gave a curtsy to the both. He knew her. She was the lady that was said to be arranged to his majesty. She always frequented the castle to look for him, only for her to leave frustrated because she couldn't find him.

Her face was star-strucked, hearts shooting out of her eyes as she looked at the two men in front of her as if they were candy. A sweet treat for her eyes. He chuckled, she was as pretty those royals. Her dusted color hair complemented her eyes that matched the shade of her clothes. Her eyes have an innocent deer look, contrasting her pump lips that gave her a sultry mix.

The king only gave her a smile as if saying that he is done. He excused himself and sauntered to his throne, watching his subjects like ants socializing. His eyes darted to Lewis' position from afar—in which he averted his stare, pondering 'How in Adhara's name did he see me from that distance?' The banquet hall was a massive space that couldn't be fully occupied even if all the people from the capital were to attend. So a distance from his position is a strain to even look to someone's eyes.

Datura Lucas felt the urge to grin as the blue-haired soldier quickly shifted his burning stare from him. Of course, it was reality, not everyone is going to like his sovereign. They didn't know him, he was a stranger to their eyes, even if they've been with him at the castle most of their life. But that doesn't matter, he just needed the power to be on his side, everyone will bend to him right away.

Sipping on the golden goblet filled with the highest quality of wine, his eyes wandered on his subjects one more time when he noticed some missing faces. Daemi, where is he? He felt the hairs on his neck rose, goosebumps all over his body. Did something happened? He worried. Quietly he tried to bustle out of the crowd but some nobles were just a simp for his attention. A few blockades and he escaped the people dying to talk to him.

He knew the castle like the back of his mind even when he was often on the warmth of his glass house. The west wing  was his and Daemi's playground, where they used to play fight with wooden swords. His chamber also lies there, years when he last visited as far as he could remember. Just as he turned, he caught a glimpse of him entering the hall that led to his room.

As soon as he arrived at his door, he knocked a few before calling out his name "Daemi? are you fine?" He waited for a few seconds but none answered. He then felt the cold sensation again and decided to open the door. Surprised that it wasn't locked, he strode inside the dark room with only the lights from the hall illuminating. Odd, he  definitely saw him enter so where did he go— The smell of rust hit him, Blood!

He assumed a fighting stance, about to draw out his sword when—shit, he didn't bring it with him.

"You forgot your sword your majesty, " blood ran cold when he felt a blade slide between his ribs. The blade wickedly dull as he gasps a guttural pain from his muscles being torn and rigged metal scraping against his bones. His vision blurred but managed to kickback to create distance from his perpetrator and him. He anchored himself on a desk, books and papers flung and thrashed as he struggled to balance his self, despite the blurry vision, driven by the anger and last strength left of him, he turned his head. His eyes meet—

"Daemizio? you fuckin—" He choked, blood filling his lungs. Daemizio was a traitor, his sinister grin pierced his heart, more deadly than the sword literally plunged on his ribs. "Did that hurt your majesty?" and if one wasn't enough, his son of a bitch of a father appeared on the entry way like a dog who bit its own master.

"You, you did this to my father, I-I knew it." he struggled, even with his lungs on fire. Daemon grinned, closing the door behind him, taking away his last resource of light. "Take a look at yourself Lucas, boy, you are a mess!" Daemon pulled the hem of the curtains, the moon cast a light to his once pristine coat. "A king of Adri isn't fit to your likeness. You bear the blood of a witch, and the blood of my damn brother."

"Bastard—" Lucas breathed. "That's right I'm the bastard son, now you get it. " Lucas felt his strength leaving his body as he struggled to anchor himself on the desk. Finally weak enough, he slid down on his side, clutching the blade that was still plung in his body. "I hoped you enjoyed your time as the King of Adri even for a few hours," Daemon and Daemizio had their fit of laughter until a chuckle from Luca's dying body interrupted them.

"Know this, I will— I will climb from the depths of the underworld and drag your rotting body down with me, where I'll feast on your flesh, eat you and spit you out like the scum that you are." he cursed, spitting blood as he felt gasp for his last breath. "Your so-called reign ends here, your majesty. " Daemizio let out a sardonic snicker. The last thing he saw before finally succumbing to the darkness.