Serpent's Strike

King Thaddeus of the Mbuzuoria Kingdom sat in his throne room, his sharp eyes surveying the grand chamber with a mixture of pride and impatience.

The room was a reflection of his own formidable nature, lavish, imposing, and designed to intimidate.

The high ceiling was adorned with intricate murals depicting the great conquests of Mbuzuoria, while the floor was paved with polished black marble that gleamed under the soft light of golden chandeliers.

Heavy velvet drapes in deep crimson framed tall windows, and the scent of incense hung heavily in the air.

Thaddeus was a man who radiated power and authority, his very presence suffocating. His broad shoulders and tall, muscular frame were draped in regal garments of black and gold, and a thick, dark beard framed his strong jawline.

His eyes, cold and calculating, were the color of stormy skies, and they now narrowed with barely contained fury as he listened to the report being delivered to him.

"The assassination attempt on Prince Eirik," the messenger began, his voice trembling as he spoke, "has... failed, Your Majesty. None of the assassins survived the encounter."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Thaddeus's face twisted in rage, his hand clenched around the armrest of his throne so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The room seemed to grow colder, as if the very walls were recoiling from the king's wrath.

Without warning, Thaddeus hurled the royal stamp across the room. The heavy object struck the messenger's face with a sickening thud, and the man winced in pain but dared not cry out. Blood oozed from a fresh gash on his temple, but he remained perfectly still, his head bowed, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

"You incompetent fool!" Thaddeus roared, his voice reverberating off the walls. His eyes blazed with a murderous fury, the veins on his neck bulging as he fought to control his temper. "How could this happen? Those men were supposed to be the best of the best, and yet they couldn't kill a single prince?"

The messenger kneeling before the king trembled, sweat trickling down his brow and stinging the fresh cut on his cheek where the royal stamp had struck him

Blood seeped from the wound, mingling with the sweat that dripped onto the polished marble floor. The man kept his head bowed low, every muscle in his body tense with fear. He knew that any wrong movement, any slight misstep, could mean his death. King Thaddeus was not known for his mercy.

His heart hammered in his chest as he remained kneeling, his body drenched in cold sweat.

The pain from his injuries was nothing compared to the terror that gripped him. He could feel the king's anger like a physical force, bearing down on him, crushing him with its intensity. He knew he was a hair's breadth away from death, and he dared not move, dared not even breathe too loudly.

King Thaddeus's chief advisor, Caledon, stepped forward, his face a mask of calm despite the tension in the room.

Caledon was a tall, slender man with a shrewd mind and a silver tongue, both of which had served him well in the treacherous waters of court politics

His dark, sunken eyes, always seemed to be calculating and analyzing. He wore a long robe of deep blue, trimmed with silver, that swayed gently as he moved.

"Your Majesty," Caledon said, his voice smooth and measured, "please, calm yourself. We cannot allow this setback to cloud our judgment."

Thaddeus turned his piercing gaze on Caledon, and for a moment, the advisor feared that the king's wrath might be directed at him next.

But Caledon held his ground, his expression remaining serene, though inside, his mind was racing. He knew how dangerous Thaddeus could be in his anger, and the last thing he wanted was to provoke the king further.

Caledon's voice lowered, taking on a more soothing tone. "We still have our spy in place, Your Majesty. There may yet be a way to ensure that Prince Eirik does not survive in Zephyros."

Thaddeus's anger did not dissipate entirely, but his expression shifted from one of blind rage to cold calculation. He stared at Caledon for a long moment before speaking, his voice a low growl. "Is there any new information from our spy?"

Caledon nodded, stepping closer to the king so that he could speak in a low voice, his words meant for the king's ears alone. "Yes, Your Majesty," he whispered, his eyes darting to the kneeling messenger, who was still trembling in fear. Caledon leaned in, his voice barely audible, as he delivered the message.

King Thaddeus's eyes narrowed as he listened, his anger slowly giving way to a wicked gleam of satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and that smirk quickly turned into a full, heavy laughter that echoed through the throne room, a sound that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.

"Good... good... good," Thaddeus muttered to himself, still grinning. His eyes sparkled with malice as he nodded, seemingly to himself, as if he were already picturing the chaos that would ensue.

He abruptly stopped laughing, his face returning to its usual stern, unreadable expression. "Caledon," he said, his voice now calm and composed, "deliver a message through the messenger bird to our spy. Ensure that the next step of our plan is carried out flawlessly."

Caledon bowed his head in acknowledgment, his face betraying no emotion as he accepted the letter from the king's hand.

The parchment was sealed with the royal stamp, its contents known only to the king and his most trusted advisor. Caledon knew that failure was not an option; to disappoint Thaddeus now would mean a fate far worse than death.

"At once, Your Majesty," Caledon said, excusing himself with a deep bow.

As he turned to leave, his eyes briefly met those of the kneeling messenger. He pitied the man but knew better than to show any outward sign of it. In this court, showing weakness was as good as signing your own death warrant.

As Caledon left the room, the kneeling messenger remained, his heart still pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The blood from his wounds continued to trickle down his face, his body trembling from both pain and fear. He dared not move, dared not even wipe the blood from his eyes.

King Thaddeus turned his gaze back to the messenger, his expression one of disdain. "Why are you still here?" he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind and have you beheaded!"

The messenger didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, his movements clumsy and desperate, as if he were being chased by some unseen horror. He fled the throne room as quickly as his legs could carry him, leaving behind a small trail of blood on the marble floor.

___

As the throne room doors closed behind the terrified messenger, another figure stepped into the room.

Crown Prince Carl of Mbuzuoria, the king's eldest son, approached the throne with a confident stride.

Carl was a striking figure, tall and broad-shouldered, with a sharp, angular face that mirrored his father's in both strength and intensity.

His hair, jet black and neatly combed, framed a face that was as handsome as it was intimidating. He was dressed in a finely tailored tunic of deep crimson and gold, with a cloak that billowed behind him as he walked. Every detail of his attire spoke of wealth, power, and authority.

Carl was a man who carried himself with the same air of dominance as his father, but with a cold, calculating demeanor that made him even more dangerous. His piercing blue eyes, cold as ice, surveyed the room with a predatory gaze as he approached the throne.

"Father," Carl began, his voice deep and resonant, "I heard about the failed attempt on the Valeidio prince's life. What are our next steps?"

Thaddeus regarded his son with a proud, approving look. Carl was everything he had ever wanted in an heir, ruthless, ambitious, and utterly loyal to the crown. Thaddeus's smirk returned as he leaned back in his throne, a dark glint in his eyes.

"You, my son, will represent me in Zephyros during the royal wedding," Thaddeus said, his voice laced with a sinister edge. "And you will work with our spy to eliminate Prince Eirik once and for all. This time, there can be no mistakes."

Carl's lips curled into a smile, one that did not reach his cold eyes. He bowed his head slightly, his voice steady and confident. "As you wish, Father. Prince Eirik will not survive the night after his wedding."