The King | Maxon Schreave

Chapter Twelve

Hello everyone! Sorry for this late publishing of Chapter Twelve, I hope you will like it still! Also, I wanted to let you know that from now on, I will be posting on Wednesdays instead of Sundays. Have a good read :) 

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The day is not yet dawn and the icy air whips my skin as I run to exhaustion in the palace park. Only an amber glow pierces through the trees of the forest, still plunged in darkness and leaving no room for imagination. But at this moment I concentrate on nothing else but my regular breathing and the pounding of my footsteps on the fallen leaves, when at last I can find myself alone, with no guards or advisors at my side to remind me of what I have to do and the endless list of tasks that await me, while I am the only master on board this ship that seems to be taking water from all sides.

A month has passed since the attack and yet my nightmares are more acute than ever; and even though I don't wake up screaming, a dull and well-known fright seizes me every time I close my eyes. Of course, the soothing warmth of America's body sleeping next to me always acts as the best of tranquillizers, but the only thing that allows me to forget everything is to immerse myself to numbness in those piles of files that will perhaps allow me to turn this steaming country into a haven of peace. Without wanting to inscribe my name in marble, I want my heirs to remember me as the one who made their lives more just and worthwhile to be lived.

My steps having unconsciously guided me towards the immense willow tree that spreads its branches in the centre of the palace park, I take the time to cut a white camellia not far away that I place on the frosted stone of my mother's grave. Closing my eyes, I take the time to kneel to contemplate for a few minutes, her features still so freshly etched in the depths of my memory.

A rapid squeak of footsteps on the gravel interrupts my solitary gaze, and I turn around abruptly, quite annoyed that someone dares to disturb me in such an intimate moment. Obviously, it is the piercing green eyes of Officer Leger that stare at me. And once again, I am caught unprepared by the contradictory emotions of jealousy and gratitude that the presence of this man brings out in me.

"What is going on that you are disturbing me so early, officer?" I sighed as I got up.

"I have been asked to find you, Sire," he replied. "It is an urgent matter, I am told."

"No one has told you what it is about?" I asked as I walked along, Leger following me closely.

"No, Your Majesty. I am not yet sufficiently ranked to be entrusted with state secrets, but it seemed to be very serious, judging by the look on the adviser's face who sent me to find you."

His reply cuts short our exchange, and I hasten to the palace to find out the reason for all this commotion. Various theories are building up in my mind, and soon the only thing that animates me is to make sure that America is doing well. Letting Officer Leger go down to the guards' quarters, I pass by my flats to swap my wet, sweaty clothes for a more adequate suit, and a glance in the doorway leading to her suite confirms to me that she is still sleeping peacefully. Reassured on this point, I hastened down to my offices, where there was a turmoil like no other. Two people are hanging on the telephone and I see Stavros shouting orders to the other advisers, apparently having just been dragged out of bed.

As soon as the occupants of the room realise I am there, silence falls and my domestic affairs adviser approaches me to inform me of the situation.

"Your Majesty, an anonymous phone call informed us of the whereabouts of three important members of the Southerners," he tells me. "We were waiting for your orders."

"What time was the call received?" I asked. "How long has it been since then?"

"About forty minutes, sir. Mr Jenkins has already ordered the troops to be ready to take off within the hour."