13
few days after our rendezvous, my father and my very–much–alive brother, Damian, surrounded Aethelgard with an army of several thousand
loyal soldiers.
Damian was outside, cleaning up the last remnants of the royal guard, while I, my father, and my mother walked into the Royal Palace, escorted by
Lord Marshal Gideon.
The King trembled on his throne. “You… How could you… You treacherous wolves!”
Before my father could land the satisfying final blow, the old King simply clutched his chest and expired right there on his throne.
That left only Trista and Prince Alaric, huddled behind a dwindling number of guards, looking like cornered rats.
Alaric, oblivious to the new reality, was still shouting. “This is treason! Rebellion! The world will curse your names!”
This time, my parents and I all laughed. “The world curses rulers who hold power but let their people starve,” I said, stepping forward.
*As for you, what have you ever done for the people? Besides squeezing them for every last coin, tell me, what good have you done?”
“When we parade you through the streets, do you think they will throw flowers at you? Or rotten eggs?”
Alaric’s face went from white to red, but he remained defiant. “I have done many things for the kingdom.”
*Such as?”
He fell silent, awaiting his judgment.
Trista couldn’t accept it. Her hair was a mess, her jewels askew. She stared at me, her eyes wild. “I’ve seen the story! I’m the protagonist! The Prince and the Lord Marshal were both supposed to be in love with me! You’re just a villain, a side character! How can you win?”
Now this was interesting.
So, Trista knew the plot too. No wonder she’d been so brazen.
But a plot is just a plot. People are people.
I sneered at her. “When the villain finds out the plot, it’s like a mouse in a cheese shop. We can do whatever we want. You, on the other hand, shou- Id probably start getting used to your new reality.”
Trista bit her lip, refusing to surrender.
Then she saw the Lord Marshal enter the room, and her eyes lit up.
