Garden of Whispering Blooms And Thorned Melodies

Chapter 3 Temptation

The air in the kitchen became oppressive, thickened by the sickening combination of metallic tang and the pungent stench of raw flesh. Lysander, paralyzed by the surreal nightmare unfolding before him, struggled to comprehend the brutality inflicted upon his father's once dignified form. The reality of his father—the gruesome image—painted a horrifying picture that would forever be etched into Lysander's memory.

Marinfino wheeled back in surprise upon seeing Lysander. "Young prince! What might you be doing here?"

"What the hell have you done?" Lysander replied, his voice quivering with a mixture of shock and horror.

"Oh, this?" Marinfino gestured casually, using the curved blade in his hand to point toward the dripping carcass that used to be King Eldrick. "This is just my time; if you move, I'll make sure that you're strung up next to him too," he said, surveying the body with an unsettling intensity. His gaze lingered, looking down at a bucket full of glistening red blood.

"Almost full," Marinfino mused, nonchalantly grabbing a nearby pail and sliding it under his father as if Lysander's presence was inconsequential.

"You're a sick freak, you know that?" Lysander questioned, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion. The grotesque scene unfolding and Marinfino's casual demeanor in the face of such horror left Lysander struggling to comprehend the depths of madness before him.

"You don't know the half of it," Marinfino hissed, abruptly flashing in front of Lysander, their noses almost touching. "Now be a good prince like you always are and stand there and say nothing."

Lysander, caught in fear and uncertainty, stood frozen in place. The proximity of Marinfino and the commanding tone left him with a chilling sense of powerlessness, trapped in the nightmarish tableau that unfolded before him.

With a sudden shift in demeanor, Marinfino looked up from his grisly work, his dark eyes locking onto Lysander's. A twisted smile played on his lips as he spoke. "You know, Lysander, this could be an excellent opportunity for you to prove your loyalty to the kingdom."

Confused and alarmed, Lysander stammered, "What do you mean?"

Marinfino circled him slowly, the curved blade glinting in the dim light. "Imagine how grateful the kingdom would be if they found you standing here, your father's blood on your hands. The dutiful prince not wanting to become king seems englamouring," he suggested, his voice dripping with sinister intent.

Lysander recoiled, realizing the trap that was being set. The realization struck him like a physical blow, and panic surged within him. Lysander stood on the precipice of a choice that could shatter his world.

"What do you want?" Lysander, trying to stand his ground, responded with a mix of defiance and desperation.

"Oh, simple. I want the throne," Marinfino replied, each word dripping with poison.

"You will never get that. I will tell everyone what you did."

Lysander immediately regretted his choice of words, seeing Marafino lash back at him, a wicked grin dancing across his face. Without any warning, he reached out with an iron grip, grabbing Lysander's chin and forcing him to meet his gaze.

As Marafino's hand closed around Lysander's chin, the prince felt a cold shiver run down his spine. His eyes widened in horror as he noticed that Marafino's hand was covered in blood, crimson droplets dripping from his fingers onto Lysander's face.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air, and Lysander's stomach churned with nausea at the sight. Panic surged within him as he realized the gravity of the situation.