Aureate Fates

40

                          THIS CROWN OF MINE

                                       —ERIK—

Delphinia and the rest left him and Marisol in the space before the massive palace doors, two guards with them. It seemed like it had been yesterday when he had walked through these doors for the first time, Marisol at his arm.

And now when those doors opened, a single, bearded man walked through, eyes marveling at the ceilings, the floors, the ornamentation. And at Erik's wife.

Oh, this wouldn't end well.

Despite his look of appreciative wonder, the man stalked in like he had known the palace for centuries. Like it was his.

A set of maids made to slam the palace doors behind the man quickly, to block out the noise of the newly installed army, but they stopped short.

Erik knew immediately why their faces had fallen.

Captain Ferland walked freely through the doors, a smugness to his posture. He still looked sickly, like he did in the dungeons, but now he wasn't bleeding.

Erik could have killed him right there, but not before he knew the reason for his treason. But perhaps none of this was treason if Ferland had never truly been Verskyian.

The doors shut with a final echo, and both males smiled at him.

"King of Verskyia!" The first man praised, mockingly. "No one told me you were one scary-looking bastard."

The man laughed, and Erik had to keep himself from ordering the guards to hide Marisol away.

"He's just a man, Boris," Ferland added, simply, that Zardan accent becoming thicker. An unveiling of a well-engineered mask. "He bleeds, too."

Erik could feel the way Marisol's breath hitched, ever so slightly. She was breathtaking when she was angry.

"I wasn't just a man when I had you in chains, right Ferland?" Erik voiced, taking a step closer. "I was your lifeline. When you ate, when you spoke, when you pissed."

It was Ferland's worst fear to be anything but a man on his own two feet, Erik gathered that much. Ferland's face slowly paled, scar becoming redder. He clenched his fists.

Erik smirked. "It's a shame your men broke you out early. I had so much in store for you, friend."

Before Ferland could get any more flustered, Boris, the bearded general, held up a hand. He wore a long white coat, void of dirt and blood. Free of sin. His pants were of fine leather and his boots equally so.

Erik tried to recall everything he knew about The Republic of Zardan. Slaves, weapons, unfathomable poverty. Dictatorship.

Boris was their dictator. Drew would have been able to tell right away, but Erik only realized when he took in the lavishness of his rings. The embroidery of his coat.

"Is there somewhere comfortable we can sit?" Boris asked, in a tone that was genial and falsely cheery. "Maybe your lovely wife can fetch us a drink?"

Boris looked over at Marisol with a long look, taking in the shape of her face. The curve of her hips.

Erik nearly lost himself. Nearly skinned the man. 

"I'm queen," Marisol said, evenly, though Erik could feel her distaste. "I do not fetch anything, for anyone."

Boris' smile turned foul. He blinked, then looked to Erik. "I thought a man of your stature would keep a more obedient woman at your side. Seems I've been mistaken."