The Majors, Who Let the Demon Out? *under rewrite*

Chapter 16: The Thief

~Scott~

I was running.

Why they were here I didn't know. But I had to find out. The wind caught my cloak at my heels, hurtling from my left where there were no mountains to protect me. However, the warmth of the lights glowing within the arched and paned windows of the palace guided me to the doors. I didn't slow as I came to them.

The doors burst outwards as I drew close, a wave of heat flooding the arching entryway beneath the sloping, pointed roof.

"Rìgh Scott?" one of the àraid called out to me. I promptly ignored them.

I dove for one of the armor stands placed between the marbled pillars bracing the curve of the staircases up to the second floor, ornate silver armor placed carefully upon their perch. From its hands I took the sword, braced point down against the floor, hilt loosely wrapped in the armor's empty metal fingers.

"A Mhòrachd, dè tha thu a' dèanamh?!" one of the àraid demanded, her voice getting drowned out by the crash of the entryway doors as they shut.

(Your Majesty, what are you doing?!)

I didn't answer. They would hold me back. But I wasn't going to hide, I'm not a coward. Or at least, I told myself that.

Up the stairs I went, ignoring every shout, every warning signal going off in my head. The intruder was probably dangerous— but I could be more dangerous. Or I could get killed. It was really just one or the other.

I ascended the staircase to the next floor, into the hallway, the sweat of my palm making the leather grip of the sword tacky.

I ran down the passage, taking a right into the right wing, where I had seen the window shatter. Sure enough, several feet down, broken glass scattered the carpet, large, fractured shards that had most likely fallen silently against the blue velvet.

The freezing March wind whistled past the empty cavity where the panes use to sit, chilling the hallway. Yet there was no one but me here to notice. For now.

A shrill ringing echoed from the lower floor, distant but still loud. The Rabhadh.

And I was back in the throne room, the pillars covered in ash, the air filled with the sickening scent of burning flesh, and the body of my mother at the feet of the thrones, her glasses shattered into her hair.

Shouts from the staircase behind me snapped me back into the moment.

There was no way the intruder could have slipped down the staircase past the àraid at the doors. Though the palace was now on high alert, they had no idea there even was an intruder. Just that their Rìgh had grabbed a sword and ran.

I continued down the hall at a sprint, practically holding my breath behind my teeth. Reasons for the break in raced through my mind, several taking a lead against the others. An assassination hadn't been attempted for centuries. Although I highly doubted it was one, considering a trained assassin wouldn't have smashed a window for all to see. Not the most professional. And a trained assassin would have killed me on the way down from the temple, not enter the palace while I wasn't present.

So the treasury. They must be here for the treasury.

The paintings and statues and doors and alcoves against the walls blurred and turned into one, my vision deadset in front of me.

Did I care much about the money stored behind the vault's doors? No. What I cared about was showing that I, as the Rìgh, was capable. That I was not going to be a king behind closed doors, that I had fight in me, that I wasn't to be challenged.